#1983 world cup

[digitalworld343]

When Underdogs Rose to Glory: The Remarkable 1983 Cricket World Cup

Cricket, often referred to as the gentleman's game, has a rich history of captivating moments and unforgettable tournaments. Among these, the 1983 Cricket World Cup stands as a beacon of hope, resilience, and sheer determination. In this blog post, we will delve into the extraordinary journey of the 1983 Cricket World Cup, a tournament that changed the face of Indian cricket and captured the hearts of fans worldwide.

The third edition of the Cricket World Cup was held in England from June 9 to June 25, 1983. Eight nations, including India, Pakistan, West Indies, England, Australia, New Zealand, Sri Lanka, and Canada, competed for the coveted title. The West Indies, led by the legendary Clive Lloyd, were the reigning champions and favorites to win the tournament.

Team India entered the tournament as underdogs, having never won a single match in the previous two World Cups. Kapil Dev, a young and dynamic all-rounder, was chosen to lead a team that had talent but lacked the international experience of their counterparts. India's journey in the 1983 World Cup would go down in history as a testament to the power of belief and teamwork.

The Miraculous Victory

The turning point of the tournament for India came in a group-stage match against Zimbabwe. After being bowled out for a mere 183 runs, India's chances seemed bleak. However, the Indian bowlers, led by Mohinder Amarnath, staged a remarkable comeback, bowling out Zimbabwe for 235 runs. This victory breathed new life into the Indian team and ignited the spark of belief.

The Semi-Final Clash

In the semi-finals, India faced off against the reigning champions, the West Indies, a team known for its formidable batting lineup and fearsome pace attack. Chasing 261 runs to win, India found themselves in dire straits at 17/5. It was then that Kapil Dev played one of the most iconic innings in cricket history, scoring an unbeaten 175 runs and guiding India to an improbable victory. The image of Kapil Dev's exuberant celebration is etched in the memory of cricket fans around the world.

The Historic Final

On June 25, 1983, India faced England in the final at Lord's Cricket Ground in London. India's disciplined bowling and sharp fielding restricted England to 183 runs. Mohinder Amarnath, the hero of the semi-final, once again shone with the ball, taking three crucial wickets.

check betting ID in cricket and casino games - cricket id

India's chase was a nerve-wracking affair, but contributions from Sunil Gavaskar, Kris Srikkanth, and Mohinder Amarnath ensured that India achieved the target with eight wickets to spare. The moment Kapil Dev held the Prudential Cup aloft remains one of the most iconic moments in the history of Indian cricket.

The Legacy

The 1983 Cricket World Cup victory was a watershed moment for Indian cricket. It instilled a belief in the players that they could conquer the world, and it ignited a cricketing revolution in the country. The team's triumph paved the way for a golden era of Indian cricket, with youngsters inspired to take up the sport and emulate their heroes.

Conclusion

The 1983 Cricket World Cup was more than just a tournament; it was a journey of determination, self-belief, and resilience. The underdogs became champions, and in doing so, they not only etched their names in the annals of cricket history but also changed the course of Indian cricket forever. This remarkable victory remains a source of inspiration for generations of cricketers and fans, a reminder that in cricket, as in life, the impossible can be achieved with unwavering faith and teamwork.

[musiquesduciel]

Maxi Kapil Dev-ing his team into the semi finals.

[anime-of-the-day]

World Cup Anime of the day: Captain Tsubasa

Released: 1983

This is a story about an elementary school student who loves soccer. To continue on his path to elementary soccer excellency, Tsubasa and his mother move to Nankatsu city and join an elementary school with an excellent soccer team. However, while Tsubasa was the best at his old school, this new school poses many challenges. He will face many rivals and make many friends on his quest to achieve his dreams: to represent Japan in a FIFA World Cup.

It’s world cup season, and because I can’t escape it at work, I might as well bring it around here. So, as the World Cup is kicking around, I will focus the anime recommendation towards it.

[ur-mag]

Gerry Ryan dead at 68: Former Brighton star who played in 1983 FA Cup final dies as club pay heartbreaking tribute | In Trend Today

Gerry Ryan dead at 68: Former Brighton star who played in 1983 FA Cup final dies as club pay heartbreaking tribute Read Full Text or Full Article on MAG NEWS

[skyblogsdotin]

1983 Cricket World Cup Indian Team Players

The 1983 Cricket World Cup was the 3rd edition of the Cricket World Cup which England and Wales hosted. A total of eight teams participated in the event and each innings was played for 60 overs with red balls, all wearing white jerseys. The 1983 World Cup laid the foundation for professional cricket in India. India clinched their maiden World Cup title at Lord’s by beating the two times…

[sccpmccabe]

"Women will not be allowed to practice sports that go against their nature, and for this purpose, the National Sports Council must issue the necessary instructions to the country's sporting entities”, said decree-law 3,199 of April 14, 1941. The article was created during the Vargas Era and was in force until 1983. During all this time, he banned, among the sports considered masculine, the practice of women's football in Brazil".

These were years of oppression. Years of struggle, losses, achievements, tears, sweat and lots and lots of blood. It has only been 41 years since the practice of football by women was allowed in Brazil and all the investment and visibility of this sport came in even more recent times, but still and as always, we overcame all adversities.

With just 41 years of freedom we managed to create a name and reputation for our women's team, we brought in important names that entered the history of the sport such as Sissi, Formiga and the most known of all, Marta. With all this history, we have two silver medals in Olympic games, third places in World Cups, several Copa América titles and football that enchants almost everyone.

Tonight, once again, we make history and exceed the world's expectations. After 16 years, the women's football team returns to compete in an Olympic final, beating France, the home team (and this being the first time in history that Brazil has won) and even more recently the current world champion, Spain, a team with countless strong and highly skilled players.

I can't express in words all the pride I feel for these women just for the fact that they exist, but even more so now that we're back to a time of glory even after a terrible group stage, but football is like that, at some point you're at the top of the world and in the next second you could be on your knees on the pitch, shedding tears over a lost game.

Minutes after the match, Jenni Hermoso gave the following statement to Spanish radio: "We conceded four goals from a team that, for me, doesn't play football. But in the end what matters are the goals. I believe these were our faults. We don't play our football. They study us, they know how to hurt us, for me it's not football. I don't like this type of football. Obviously, they gained minutes, they lost you time, and for them, that was worth it. They're in the final and we're going for bronze."

Even with everything we have achieved in such a short time and with immeasurable difficulty, they still try to diminish us, our achievements, our struggles. But the message at the end of all this is this: You may not like us, how we play, how we vibe, how we cheer on and off the field, our celebrations and seeing us at the top, but that doesn't matter because back in 1941, the majority didn't like it either, but still Here we are. In search of glory, once again.

[henry-fox-biggest-stan]

I have the Stranger Things: Worlds Turned Upside Down: The Official Behind-the-Scenes Companion book, I got it in 2018, so here are some fun facts from it

In the party’s dnd charts it says Will’s class is “magic-user” 👀👀 and one of his abilities is “true sight” 👀👀

The first scene written and the first scene filmed are both the dnd game at s1 ep1

Mike supposedly has rainbow blinds in his room (as a reference to E.T since Elliot also has rainbow blinds)

When El throws Lucas against a wall, that was Caleb, not a body double. Apparently he was excited to film without a double and asked for it (he was thrown against a mattress). Called said he had so much fun.

During the scene where El sends the van flying, the duffers said than when they first tried it (without filming) it all went as it was supposed to, it flew the right directions. The first time they filmed, tho, the van fell on top of one of their cameras and destroyed it.

Steve is in his last year of high school (as opposed to Nancy, who is in her second, or Jonathan who is in his first)

Steve plays basketball and baseball. He was supposed to be an asshole and die the first season, but Joe Keery came and gave a bit more depth to Steve’s character.

243 people auditioned to play El

Some of El’s powers include biokinesis, teleportation, and psychometry

Hopper fought in Vietnam 

At first the upside down wasn’t supposed to appear on screen at any moment. We would have heard what happened over walkie talkies or radios.

A demodog is just a teen demogorgon (I think this was explained at the show, but I have seen people say they are different creatures)

Jonathan does cycling, is in the school newspaper, and the photography club

Caleb is very good crying on command

Mike’s bike is the newest because his family has the most money, Dustin begun painting his bike but hasn’t finished it yet, and Lucas has a fluorescent saddle

At first they weren’t allowed to use ghostbusters costumes but they talked to Ivan Reitman and eventually got green light 

Dart was supposed to appear in the first season but they didn’t have enough time

The upside down was originally called the underworld 

Nancy and Jonathan (their relationship) are inspired by David and Jennifer from WarGames (1983). Also by Willie Scott and doctor Jones from Indiana Jones

Bob was supposed to die on ep 4 instead of ep 8

For the scene with Will and Morse code (when he’s tied to a chair) the duffers just told Noah to watch a YouTube video on Morse code the day before 

Talking about Noah, after being possessed and convulsing to the point everyone was amazed with his acting, the moment they stop filming he just gets up and asks for a cup of tea like nothing happened

For the upside down spores they actually used dandelions 

Hopper is repeatedly described as a cowboy lmao

In s1 when the boys dress El up in a wig and a dress and Mike does her makeup, they are dressing her up in their vision of what a girl is

Finn said than it was only halfway through the second episode than Mike realized than El is a real girl, a real person, and not E.T.

The duffers were inspired by the breakfast club for the making of Nancy, Jonathan, and Steve’s characters!!

Nancy played volleyball, was in the cheerleader team (?!?!?!), was in the French club, volunteered at church and did social volunteering, and did a writing workshop

Barb played softball, the clarinet, was part of the Mathematical Olympiads, volunteered at the library, and was a babysitter.

[zepskies]

✍🏽 Writing Update: "Lost on You" - Coming Sooner!

Hey, friends! Happy Wednesday. I'm almost ready to post Part 1 of Lost on You, and it's coming at ya earlier than I said! Until then, here's a sneak peek...

Coming on Friday, 8/02:

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Supe!Reader

Summary: 1983 is a big year for you. You’re finally chosen to join the ranks of Payback, led by the most (in)famous supe in the world: Soldier Boy. He’ll never admit that he’s trying his damndest to figure you out. You’ll never admit that he’s actually growing on you. But the problem with this game is deciding who’s the predator, and who is prey.

👀 Sneak Peek:

You eventually noticed him with a smile.

“Good morning, sir.”

Ben gave you a charming grin, blatantly eying you from breast to toe before he noted that the coffee had finished percolating. 

"Hey there, sweetheart,” he said. “Pour me a cup, would ya?" 

You did so, and he admired the graceful movements of your hands, and the sweet sound of your voice as you continue to hum to yourself. 

"You're a little crooner, aren't you?" he asked, taking the plain white coffee mug from you. 

When your hand brushed his, he felt it.

Your power.

It threatened to overtake him, drawing you into him like the crash and current of a tidal wave, where he couldn’t help but be pulled undertow.

▶️ Part 1 is out now!

[jimraisedmeup]

TICK // 4.1 - the chain

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Rating: mature (talk of homophobia, angst, language, sexual content)

Word Count: 1300

☾

Listen to the wind blow, watch the sun rise Running in the shadows, damn your love, damn your lies

☾

December 1983 - junior year

The morning after the barn party, you sat uncomfortably on the pew in between your mother and Robin.

The pastor was ranting about something you really didn't believe in. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see your mother quietly nodding along to the sermon. Robin, on the other hand, was particularly jittery - her leg bouncing up and down made the whole pew shake slightly.

Your father leaned his head forward, shooting his two daughters a stern look. 

"Sit still. Can't either of you behave appropriately in public?"

You spoke up before Robin could. "Sorry, Dad. I shouldn't have had that second cup of coffee today."

He scrutinized his eldest daughter for a moment. "This is the house of God. Pay attention."

Once your parents stopped fussing, you looked at your sister. Robin still seemed anxious for some reason. Trying to make the best of an annoying situation, you gently pinched Robin's arm.

Love you, Robbie, you mouthed at her.

Minutes ticked by and it felt like hours. 

Successfully drowning out the noise of the church service, you pondered over your actions from the night before. 

Daydreaming about sinning in the Lord's house. You almost snickered to yourself. 

Eddie Munson.

You didn't believe in anything religious, but for lack of a better word, you felt possessed at the thought of him.

Sure, growing up you were a firm believer in God and everything that came along with it. Your parents were devout Catholics. They did their best to raise you and Robin in a God-fearing household.

Things changed over the last two years, though, and as you watched your younger sister suffer so greatly at your parent's beliefs, your own beliefs slowly dissipated. 

What kind of God wouldn't accept Robin Buckley, no matter who she loved?

You felt jaded and a little betrayed. The girl you used to be - who thought God was always right and we should repent for our sins - was naive and brainwashed by her parents. By the church.

You would take Robin's secret to your grave, or at least until the day where the younger Buckley girl could kiss a girl in public and not be burnt at the stake. You felt an uncontrollable instinct to protect your baby sister.

That's where your cynical view of the world began to take over. You suddenly felt free and independent, not to mention closer to Robin than you ever were before. But you were always on edge, fists up, ready to fight anyone who wanted to judge Robin.

And now you had a whole new thing in your life. A boy that most people in Hawkins looked down upon simply because he was different. Weird.

Your parents would probably have simultaneous heart attacks if they found out that you had your first kiss behind a dirty barn, kneeling in front of Eddie like you were worshiping at an altar.

Squirming a bit in your seat, you glanced at your parents with an irrational fear that they might read your mind and discover your sins. Melissa and Richard Buckley were completely ignoring you, though, and kept their full attention on their beloved pastor. 

Until you could graduate high school and move out, you came to the gloomy conclusion that hiding most of yours and Robin's personal lives from your parents was the path of least resistance. Best to not disrupt Mommy and Daddy’s image of perfection! 

Don't look behind the curtain, Mr. and Mrs. Buckley. One of your daughters is a raging homosexual and the other one fantasizes about sweaty premarital sex with the town freak.

You weren't really sure what came over you the night before. Maybe it was the stereotypical jocks pissing you off at the party. Maybe it was your religious parents neglecting you at home. Or maybe you just liked having secrets, like the tattoo. 

Including little secrets like your damp panties after kissing Eddie at the barn party, which were currently sitting at the bottom of the washing machine so no one could side-eye them in your laundry basket.

You didn't feel judged by Eddie Munson. Even though he was everything that you were taught to avoid as a child.

The pastor before you spoke calmly. 

"...marriage should be honored by all, and the marriage bed kept pure, for God will judge the adulterer and all the sexually immoral…"

☾

And if you don't love me now You will never love me again I can still hear you saying You would never break the chain

☾

Monday arrived quickly and, for once, Eddie was actually happy to go to school.

He was nervous, though. Crossing his fingers, he was hoping that you weren't the kind of girl to kiss him on a Saturday night and then continue to act like she didn't know him in public.

Anger bubbled under his skin, simmering frustration. He reminded himself that he didn't really know you yet. The older Buckley sister was mysterious and closed off. It was hard for him to guess what battles you could be fighting in your mind.

Cause, hell, did he know all about inner demons.

The feeling of your cold lips brushing against his own was in the forefront of his mind. It was a quick, simple kiss - he had wanted to touch you, lay his hands between your warm thighs, but you pulled away and rushed back inside the barn before he could get a word out.

Eddie leaned against his locker. Gareth was talking to Jeff next to him, something about new t-shirt designs for the Hellfire Club.

He remained nonchalant as he watched students flood past him, bustling and energetic on a cold December morning. Among the crowd, Eddie spotted your distinct figure. Thankfully, you appeared to be alone.

"Buckley! Y/N, wait up, will you?"

As usual, your face was expressionless, but your eyes glinted with some kind of emotion as he walked beside you. You fiddled with the knitted hat in your hands.

"You know, sunshine, I am a classy broad. I charge fifty bucks per hour for my services. How long was our kiss the other night? Five seconds?" Eddie's confidence swelled when you smiled at his crazy antics.

But you still looked a little defensive, stopping and looking around you. "Uh, yeah. Five seconds, tops."

"So…" he continued, pretending to count on his fingers. "You owe me…"

"Four dollars and fifteen cents." You smirked at him.

Eddie groaned dramatically. "Oh, Christ, don't tell me you're a math nerd."

"I like to call it a gift, Munson."

"I probably wouldn't have let you throw yourself all over me at that party if I had known any better."

You snorted, "You're kind of an asshole."

"That's hilarious, because you're literally the biggest asshole I've met in a long time."

And then Nancy Wheeler appeared, closely followed by Carol Perkins. “Hey, walk with us to History?"

You waved Eddie off as you strolled away. "See you around." 

He would have written the whole encounter off as a win if he didn't catch the conversation between you and Carol.

"...what did he want? He's so creepy."

"Oh, nothing. Just questions about math homework."

☾

Listen to the wind blow, down comes the night Running in the shadows, damn your love, damn your lies

☾

He felt a little defeated for the rest of the school day until he walked out to his van in the parking lot.

A folded piece of paper was tucked under his windshield wiper. Eddie quickly scoped the groups of people around him, checking for any sign of it being a dumb prank. Like the time last year when someone wrote freak in red paint on his back window.

But no one was looking at him. The paper was probably just an advertisement or something.

Eddie was surprised to see a crisp ten dollar bill laying inside the folded paper, like a makeshift envelope. 

Unfolding it further, he could see neat cursive handwriting.

This should get me a few more minutes with you, right?

☾

Break the silence, damn the dark, damn the light

☾

(song lyrics credit: "The Chain" by Fleetwood Mac)

TAGLIST for this series if you would like to be notified when I post new chapters!

[loveinhawkins]

For the made up fic title game "1983 is Calling" bc 1983 by Neon Trees randomly came up on my Spotify lol

god i love this title so much. i think 1983 is calling has a Steve Harrington character study written all over it.

-

In the November of 1983, Steve Harrington’s world falls out from underneath him. When his feet finally find solid ground again, everything looks a little different, like he’s an Alice who’s grown just slightly too tall for his surroundings.

And maybe most people in his shoes would chalk that up to finding out that monsters are real, that a kid can come back from the dead. But Steve knows that’s not the whole truth.

What’s really tripping him up is the dangerously quiet anger he didn’t really know he was capable of; he spends many sleepless nights staring up at the ceiling, hearing his father’s words come out in his voice, slipping through clenched teeth, finish the sentence.

It’d be easy to brush it off after the quite frankly insane series of events he’s lived through, to claim that wasn’t me.

But it was. It was.

It’s not a dramatic transformation. If anyone was really looking out for it, maybe they’d notice him being just a touch more reserved in school. Slower to react, more careful with his words.

He doesn’t sit with Tommy and Carol in the cafeteria—and while there’s an ache in that decision which he steadfastly ignores, he finds that he doesn’t really mind sitting alone sometimes.

In the quiet, he has more time to think. He tries to keep his assumptions in check, finds that he cares less and less about cliques—does his best to ensure that his first thought about someone isn’t a judgement.

He remembers the casual indifference he had when watching Jonathan Byers put up a poster for his missing brother. His unbothered drawl, God, that’s depressing.

Never again, he decides.

Above all, he doesn’t want to be cruel.

One lunch, he sits with Jonathan, and they swap pudding cups, Steve trading chocolate for butterscotch.

“I… listen, Jonathan, I shouldn’t… shouldn’t have said what—what I said,” he starts, awkwardly, inadequately. “About. About your mom, and your family, and…”

It horrifies him still, the words that came out so easily, never mind if they were echoes of things he heard.

Joyce Byers is one of the strongest people he knows.

“Thanks,” Jonathan says, delayed. He smiles tightly, but Steve knows it’s not personal, that the guy’s still on edge from… everything.

Steve smiles back.

But there’s still a thorn that he hasn’t quite prised out.

“And I…” He lowers his voice. “I shouldn’t have called you that. Y’know.”

Jonathan’s eyebrows go up. “No,” he says mildly. “You shouldn’t have.”

“I…” Steve rubs a hand over his mouth. “I hate that… there’s nothing bad about…”

Jesus, what’s wrong with him?

Jonathan’s expression softens. He blinks, and he has that pensive look on his face, like he’s seeing the world through a camera lens—like the flash has lit up something unknown.

“I agree,” he says quietly, and then he digs into his pudding and asks genuinely about Steve’s holiday plans, talks about getting Will an Atari for Christmas.

At New Year, Steve is abruptly conscious of the fact that he really, really needs to look like he’s having a good time. He doesn’t want to analyse who the performance is for. If it’s for himself, he’s not convinced.

But drink dulls the anxiety; he laughs a lot, sways with Nancy in his arms because that’s what he’s supposed to do.

Even in the euphoria of the midnight countdown, he can see Nancy smiling too brightly, like her face might crack with the strain.

Do you feel it, too? he almost asks. Are we always gonna be back there? Are we always gonna be running from it?

The semester after winter break starts off reluctantly.

There’s a few classes with mixed year groups: they get an absolute horror of a substitute teacher in second period, one who insists on them copying things word for word from the blackboard. She makes her funeral march down the desks and shouts at a student for mis-spelling ‘January.’

“Psst,” comes a voice, before she reaches Steve.

He looks over to see Eddie Munson in the seat next to him, handing over an eraser.

“Wrong year, Harrington,” he whispers.

Steve glances down at his paper. Sure enough, 1983 stares back at him from the top margin.

Steve scoffs. “Figures.” He uses the eraser and passes it back to Eddie. “Thanks.”

“No problem. I wish we were still on vacation, too.”

“Eddie Munson.” The teacher slams a ruler down on Eddie’s desk so hard that Steve flinches. “Shall I send you outside for talking?”

“Oh, no, ma’am,” Eddie says, without missing a beat, “I’ll surely cry. Profusely.”

As other students stifle giggles, Steve manages to write the date down correctly before the teacher peers over his shoulder.

He can’t help noticing that even with the eraser, there’s still an imprint: 1983 faintly engraved on the page.

Well, Steve thinks wryly, so it goes.

[skepsiss]

For the @steddiesummerexchange to @stevesjockstrap!

Batter Up: Chapter 3 of 5

Read [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3]

Rated: Explicit

Summary: This fluffy story is about Baseball Player Steve Harrington, meeting Rock Star Eddie Munson and the whirlwind 1-week romance turned committed relationship. They're instantly obsessed with one another, but neither knows how to take things to the next level. Enjoy Steve being a love-sick idiot! (The story turns explicit in Chapter 4, other chapters are all fluff).

They're officially on their date! Steve is for sure putting on the cheesy moves and it is 100% working on Eddie.

Read Chapter 3 below, or [read it on Ao3]

Big thank you to @thefreakandthehair for beta reading for me and helping me with my NBA terms!

Graphic made by me!

“I didn’t know what to wear,” Eddie confessed as he got out of his black SUV. Any other time, Steve would have smiled and told the person he was with not to worry about it. He was used to having friends who didn’t know a thing about sports, and the fact that they had zero concept of what to wear to the batting cages wasn’t that strange. Any other time, Steve would do that. This time, he couldn’t do anything other than stare. 

Eddie looked bashful, but that only added to the pie as he stood there with lily-white skin, covered head to toe in tattoos for the world to see. Lots of skin. He was wearing cut-off jeans so short, Steve wouldn’t be surprised if Eddie told him the last time he had worn them was 1983. Cut off jeans, and a baggy T-shirt that was so badly moth-eaten that it had to be on purpose. You could see through to his ribs in places, exposing yet more tattoos to the sunny, Indiana day. 

Eddie’s driver pulled away and left him standing there, looking more like a kid being dropped off for his first day of school than a hot date. But— no, that wasn’t correct. Eddie looked fucking divine, and there was nothing kid-like about him other than his air of sheepishness. “It’s… fine,” Steve swallowed, trying to look Eddie in the face and being met with his own reflection in Eddie’s shades. He even had his hair tied back in a messy bun, and Steve might have needed to sit down for a moment if he kept looking. 

He peeled his gaze away instead, looking down at the bag of baseballs he was holding at his feet. It gave him something to do as he tried to wipe his mind clean. “I brought some extra gloves,” Steve offered, taking the spare pair out of his back pocket and somewhat blindly tossing them in Eddie’s direction. Eddie scrambled to try and catch the gloves, seemingly flinching back and cupping his hands at the same time. It was awkward as hell and it did something devilish to Steve’s stomach. He was a dead man. He was a dead-fucking-man. 

“Do you have to wear gloves?” Eddie asked, as Steve slung the ball bag over his shoulder and indicated for Eddie to follow him. “No, it’s just easier on your hands. No, uh, palm calluses and stuff,” Steve explained as he heard Eddie huff a laugh behind him. He half turned to glance at the other, noting that he had his hand up and one of the gloves pulled over his fingers. “Well, they definitely don’t fit,” Eddie replied, sounding amused as he waggled his hands in Steve’s direction. 

“Oh,” Steve said simply, staring for half a beat and then turning around again to hide any hint of a flush. “Oh…” Eddie repeated back to him, his tone sounding a touch playful in that flirtatious way. It made Steve’s back prickle, and he tried not to get too caught up in the idea of that so he wouldn’t get lost in a fantasy before they even made it to the cage. 

“We have chalk, we’ll just use that,” he explained, opening the chain-link door to the batting cage and letting them in. “Everyone have the day off?” Eddie asked, clicking the door shut behind him as he followed Steve. “No, we just have the hour booked,” Steve explained, dropping the bag with a heavy thud and steeling himself before turning to look at Eddie again. Eddie was a hair taller than him and looked completely lost standing there. It was beyond cute, and Steve noted that he hadn’t been this excited to just practice batting in a long time. It was like he was a teenager again. He needed to get a hold of himself so he could move things along. “You’ll probably have to take these off,” Steve indicated, taking half a step forward and carefully taking Eddie’s sunglasses off. He tried to flash a charming smile, but Eddie just stared at him owlishly as Steve carefully folded the sunglasses and handed them back to him. “R… right,” Eddie replied, pulling in a breath as he accepted the glasses. “Don’t want to get smashed… in the face.” “No, that would be a shame,” Steve said, trying to sound confident and complimentary. Eddie laughed a bit in response, and Steve turned away to chew his lip at how utterly adorable and awkward that was. “You’ll be wearing a helmet, so it should be okay.” “I have to wear a helmet? Won’t, uh, my hair…” Eddie half asked, waffling as Steve busied himself by loading the balls into the pitching machine. “Yeah, actually, turn around. I’ll fix it for you,” Steve offered, clapping his hands against his thighs to get rid of any dirt before turning back to face Eddie. He was staring at him still, and Steve made a little spinning motion with his finger before Eddie turned abruptly, so his back was to him. “We’ll take it real slow,” Steve offered, intent on using this as an opportunity to flirt. “You can watch me a few times if you’d like, just get a feel for it.” “Alright…” Eddie replied quietly as Steve carefully untied his hair and finger-combed it out.   “You can watch a bit, and I’ll slow the machine way down so you can have a go. You ever held a baseball bat before?” Steve asked, carefully gathering Eddie’s hair and tying it into a loose ponytail at the back of his neck. Eddie’s hair was a bit dry, but Steve had to admit that it felt nice to be handling longer hair like this. Maybe he was just fantasizing, but he wouldn’t mind doing Eddie’s hair for him if he asked. “Uh… if I have, it wasn’t to play baseball,” Eddie replied cryptically, and Steve paused as he processed that. “What?” He asked, chuckling a bit as he let go of Eddie’s hair, to smile stupidly at him. It didn’t really matter if he understood or not, because Eddie simply glanced over his shoulder and floored him with a single look. He was grinning, and he looked so cheeky that Steve wasn’t sure how to respond. It was like he had awoken some kind of devil from his slumber, as Eddie’s lips curled and his eyes creased with an impish joy. “I’ll tell you about it another time,” Eddie offered, turning and backing away so he could lean against the cage wall.

“Sure,” Steve replied a little too earnestly, his brain just excited at the prospect of there being ‘another time’.

Steve brushed past that and flicked the machine on before indicating for Eddie to follow him to the outside again. “It can get a little loud,” Steve explained as he picked up his helmet and donned his gloves. “I’m a metal musician, I can handle loud,” Eddie confirmed as he leaned forward against one of the bars outside of the cage while Steve selected his bat. “Right…” he breathed a bit lamely, testing the weight of each bat as if it mattered, the pitching machine thumping and spitting out the balls behind him. “It’s all timed,” Steve continued, trying to brush past his own nervousness. “It'll be slower for you so you can get a handle on it, but it’s just steady intervals, nothing fancy.”

“Are you known for your batting?” Eddie asked as Steve got into the cage and waited to step up to the plate. “Some people say that…” Steve breathed, not even needing to try to sound confident, as Eddie set him up for the perfect line. Steve’s bat cracked loudly as he swung and launched the pitch into the canvas at the far side of the cage. Despite the warning, Steve heard Eddie gasp at the impact, and he couldn’t help the smug smile that spread across his face. “It’s all in the hips,” Steve explained, re-centering as he readied himself for another pitch. “You plant your back leg, twist your hips, and— follow through.” Steve swung again, hitting this ball a little late and sending it into the corner of the cage. It would have been a foul in an actual game, but Steve wasn’t here to actually practice, and somehow he doubted Eddie would know the difference. “I think I flunked every gym class I ever attended,” Eddie lamented, and Steve glanced over at him. He was standing with his elbow propped up and his chin in his hand as he leaned forward like he was a rancher watching his pasture. “I think I’ll… study your swing a bit more,” Eddie mused, sounding calmer than he had a few moments ago. Steve just laughed and held the bat up, preparing himself for another swing. 

“Suit yourself. Won’t judge you for being the scholarly type,” Steve teased, hitting another ball and just letting himself focus on his sport. He batted a few more times, trying his best to exaggerate his form for Eddie’s viewing pleasure, before eventually stepping away from the plate and back toward the door. “You want to give it a try?” He asked, leaning up against the fence and talking to Eddie through the chain-link. “Uh… I’m pretty good with just watching,” Eddie waffled, smiling despite Steve noting that he had started to fidget. “Come on, it’s fun. I’ll reset the machine.” He flashed Eddie a charming smile before scooping up a few balls and walking back over to the pitching machine. He reset it as he indicated, and slowed the pitch down as much as possible before heading back to Eddie. 

“Helmet,” he said, giving Eddie an extra one and watching him hesitate to take it. 

“I’ll go in with you, don’t worry,” Steve teased ever so gently, and waited for Eddie to put the helmet on before opening the door to the cage for him. “I feel like an idiot,” Eddie sighed, wobbling his head and then knocking on the side of the helmet with his fist. “You look fine,” Steve laughed, touching Eddie’s arm and handing him the bat. “You look way—” Eddie started, before yelping as a ball whizzed past him. “Jesus Christ, that scared me!” Steve snorted loudly and covered his mouth, turning away to hide how utterly fucking charmed he was by Eddie’s overall demeanour. “Shut up!” Eddie chastised, but he didn’t sound that upset, more just embarrassed. “I’m not used to this crap, you knucklehead!” Steve chewed his lip, trying his best not to reveal how big he was smiling. This was totally not Eddie’s scene, and his wardrobe, body language, and attitude screamed that. Steve had never considered that he would positively adore a guy who seemed like his polar opposite. 

“Don’t be an ass,” Eddie grouched, jabbing Steve in the thigh with the bat before Steve finally composed himself and turned around. “Sorry, sorry, it was just… quite the reaction,” Steve explained, before approaching Eddie. “Here, I’ll show you how to stand.” Steve was shameless as he approached Eddie and took his hips, turning him so he was facing the right direction. “Push your shoe in,” Steve said softly, stretching down Eddie’s leg and touching his knee so he’d plant the right foot. “Okay, lift your arms up, bend like this.” Steve went through the motions of taking Eddie’s forearms and lifting them, noting that Eddie felt stiff and awkward in his hold. He was being obvious with the flirtation, but Eddie hadn’t complained yet. “Wrists loose, but upper arms stiff,” Steve instructed, talking in Eddie’s ear as he leaned over his shoulder. Steve was looking at the pitching machine, but he could tell that Eddie wasn’t paying attention to anything but him right now. “Just keep your eyes on the prize,” Steve mused, letting go of the bat but not pulling back from Eddie very far. Silence followed the action, and Steve eyed Eddie’s unconventional body language. He was watching Steve, even though he was in something of a batting stance, his eyes hooded. 

Another ball whizzed over the plate, and Eddie yelped a second time, stumbling back and away from the batting box. “You’re supposed to hit it!” Steve said, laughing again as he smiled broadly at the musician. “How the fuck am I supposed to do that?” Eddie yelled, his face moulting with blotchy red patches. “Just swing, just swing,” Steve repeated, taking another step back to give Eddie space. “Get into your stance, and swing.” Eddie huffed and seemed to angrily step up to the plate before lifting the bat. His stance was all wrong, but Steve kept his mouth shut as he watched him, taking the beat to admire Eddie from behind. Eddie swung with a grunt and actually managed to make contact with the ball, but he had no follow-through. The ball struck the bat noisily, sending noticeable shockwaves up Eddie’s arms, before knocking the instrument out of his grasp. 

The bat clattered to the ground loudly, and Eddie yelled before backing away from the plate. “Ow! Fuck!” he shouted, shaking his hands out and backing directly into Steve. “Not too bad,” Steve lied, catching Eddie by the shoulders. “You’ve got to finish the swing, though.” “Is it supposed to hurt?” Eddie asked incredulously, frowning as he looked over his shoulder at Steve. He looked adorable like that, so Steve pulled a bit of a face to tease him. “Let me see,” he joked, but took Eddie’s hands anyway, helping him turn. 

Eddie moved willingly and didn’t increase the space between them at all as Steve lifted his hands and looked at them. He made a point of considering them before looking at Eddie, who seemed transfixed by his actions. “I think you’ll survive,” Steve said easily. He hesitated for a moment as he stared at Eddie, watching his dark eyes and how puppy-dogish he looked gazing back at him. Steve had been thinking about Eddie all week, there was no way around that, and he had been kicking himself at the end of every one of those interactions for not just kissing him. Eddie was the first guy he was certain he was attracted to and actually wanted to pursue, but he couldn’t help how that tied knots in his stomach. It was nerve-wracking to make the first move, but he knew he’d regret it if he let his opportunity slip away again.

Steve kept eye contact as he lifted Eddie’s hands again, kissing both sets of knuckles before lowering them. He wanted to say something clever at the end, but that felt secondary as he watched Eddie’s gaze dart across his expression. They were locked in this quiet, powerful moment, and Steve felt as if he had lost his tongue with the romantic swell in the air. It felt almost magical. Eddie seemed to miss the memo, as Steve felt him pull his hands away before he was instantly ripping off his helmet and tipped Steve’s headwear to the ground, too. It was almost shocking how quickly Eddie moved, and Steve was hardly able to make a noise before Eddie’s fingers were in his hair and his mouth was against Steve’s lips. Steve stumbled backward as Eddie advanced on him, pushing him up against the wall of the batting cage. Demanding and rough, it didn’t take much more for Steve to tangle his fingers into Eddie’s hair and open his mouth for the musician to kiss him fully. Jesus, it was hot, and Steve didn’t care at all that Eddie tasted like cigarettes and chewing gum. He kissed back earnestly and was rewarded with Eddie groaning loudly into his mouth.   “Fucking hell, Steve,” Eddie growled, and Steve felt a shiver roll up his spine. He kissed him again, but this kiss was much softer as Eddie pressed in close. “Take me home… you’re fucking… unreal.” Steve swallowed at that comment, breathing against Eddie’s lips as Eddie finally opened his eyes lazily and they stared at one another. 

“Yeah, I—” Steve tried, catching his breath as he let one of his hands drop to Eddie’s waist, just to touch. “I want to— I want to, I just… I sort of have to… clean up before we go. This is, like, the team’s space and— I have to leave it tidy.” Eddie blinked at him, obviously a bit surprised by that answer, as another ball thwacked into the wall behind him. 

He glanced at the pitching machine and then back at Steve, processing before letting go of him. “Oh, uh, yeah, of course,” he replied, obviously not sure what to say. “No, but like, really,” Steve breathed, laughing awkwardly as he trailed after Eddie a bit. “Like, I really want to. And I will— if— if you’ll let me. If this didn’t totally… kill it for you.” Eddie just sort of stared at him, and Steve pushed forward on impulse to peck Eddie on the lips, not wanting to move away. “This— I’m not finished, I swear. Just give me a minute,” Steve indicated, backing away from him as he started to hastily pick up balls and move toward the door. That appeared to work, and Eddie smiled at him before he covered his mouth with the back of his hand and looked away. It seemed like he was trying to hold back a laugh—a good-natured one at that. 

If Steve’s idiocy was charming to him, he didn’t have anything to complain about. “Promise,” Steve drawled, walking around the outside of the cage and back to the pitching machine. “Yeah, okay,” Eddie chuckled, reaching down to pick up the bat. “I can wait a little longer.” 

Read Chapter 4

[slavicviking]

In the fall of 1983, Nancy Wheeler rejects Steve Harrington, thus sparing him from the terrifying world of the Upside Down. Until Summer of 1985, that is, when what was supposed to be mind-numbingly boring two months of slinging ice cream promptly turns into a task of decoding a secret Russian message with his two closest friends and a strange kid that never shuts up. Or, an alternative universe in which Steve Harrington gets to live his normal life for an additional year and a half, grow as a person, make new friends and fall in love along the way.

Project 212 for @steddiebang ❤️

author: @slavicviking

artist: @hullomoon

betas: @humangerbil, @lemoneight

↓ Read the snippet from the first chapter below ↓

Something strange is happening in the Royal Court of Hawkins High.

It’s in the air, Eddie can smell it walking down the cramped hallways,can feel the tension weighing down on the flakey paint scrubbed down the walls, pulling all the way down into the concrete floor below. Something is off, Eddie detects it in the fervid anticipation setting electric jolts at his fingertips. It tends to bring anything but good news for folks like him. Eddie is still curious.

The jocks seem even more intent on hating themselves and those around them. It’s clear in the way they impressively compensate for what they lack with bull-like posturing, shoulders set straight and rigid, lips molded into a permanent scowl that you can barely see with the way they keep their heads shoved so deep down their own asses. A dense cloud composed solely of varsity jackets sits itself at the usual table in the middle of the cafeteria, something that surprises no one except for the fact that one key element is missing.

Steve Harrington walks into the room a moment later, looking as though he’s seeing it for the first time in his life (maybe, in a way he is, his recent absence there has been noted), and instead of making a beeline towards his loyal subjects, sits himself by the only empty table, just next to Eddie’s DnD club, Hellfire.

Eddie silently raises one eyebrow at the rest of his table. Mutiny? Lover’s quarrel?

Whatever it is, it bounces from Hagan to Harrington and back, though it’s Hagan who seems intent on making his disdain and superiority known more than anyone else. 

Eddie wants to laugh. For the sake of keeping his face arranged the way God intended, he does not.

“Word on the street’s that Harrington got kicked out of the basketball team,” Jeff unsubtly whispers in lieu of an explanation, hand cupped around his mouth loosely.

Huh, is Eddie’s only thought but, the lunch break goes on and as much as he’d deny it till his last dying breath, his eyes are glued to Harrington’s measly form peeking from between Jeff and Grant. A part of him that he would like to bury deep within himself, that betrays the Munson Doctrine’s complete and total disregard to jocks and their inconsequential drama, feels…a bit bad for Steve Harrington. Eddie would like to forget that thought crossed his mind at all but, alas, the pathetic way in which Harrington’s usually perfectly puffy hair falls lifelessly over dark eyebags does something horrible and unexpected to his squishy insides. He does not like it one bit.

So – what? One popular guy doesn’t get what he wants this one time and Eddie should care…why?

Cry me a river.  

Except, Eddie can’t do that. Maybe because he knows how much it sucks to be suddenly so alienated and excluded from people he thought were his friends. Maybe because he can empathize with Harrington losing something he clearly enjoyed doing. Maybe simply because, at that moment, Steve Harrington doesn’t resemble the King Steve who roamed around Hawkins High for three years, head held too high to notice what his newest pair of sneakers trampled on his way to the top. Eddie looks at him, hunched and defensive, and sees something of himself there, too. Not all good but not all bad either.

Steve Harrington is no freak by any means, don’t get him wrong. He doesn’t belong to the Eddie Munsons of this world but, as things stand right now, he doesn’t fit in with Tommy Hagans either. It’s very strange and it seems that, on the following days, the whole school feels slightly off kilter. Harrington stands out like a sore thumb as much as he clearly wishes to be invisible - and isn’t that a thought to mull over in itself. Eddie can’t look away; maybe because, for the first time in his life, Steve Harrington doesn’t seem so terribly dull and lifeless, and Eddie wants to sink his teeth into him, see what flavor it gives now that he seems to have one. 

Tension builds, more and more, like a rubber band ready to snap.

And it does, of course it does. It had to. Eddie just didn’t expect to be in such close vicinity when it happens.

[tavina-writes]

I've watched Word of Honor, Who Rules The World, and Mysterious Lotus Casebook(I'm also not sure if the Untamed is wuxia or xianxia or something inbetween?) I don't think I mind longer shows but over...60 episodes is probably a harder sell. I like recognizing actors from project to project but I also don't know all that many so I'm happy to see fresh faces. I haven't seen any older cdramas so I can't say for sure, though I watch us shows from the 90s sometimes? I've paid for iQiyi in the past though I've let my subscription lapse. Does that help?

HELLOOOO sorry I got so busy and couldn't answer earlier Nonny!

I think based off of this, I would suggest you watch Legend of the Condor Heroes (2017) first. (It has Meng Ziyi in it!) This one can be found on iQIYI with good subtitles -- you'll need an account though sadly :( -- it's 52 episodes long (so on the longer side for a contemporary cdrama but pretty average sized for cdramas overall). And it was made for introducing a new generation to LOCH so it doesn't go at as fast a clip as LOCH 2024 (came out this year, beautifully done, goes really fast and does assume you know the general storyline even if you haven't seen it since you were 8). I do think 2017 assumes you know some genre trends also so having seen other wuxias is a good thing!

@autumnslantern also wrote a great writeup of our journey through the various LOCHes here.

Below find some general thoughts on all of the LOCHes I've seen, copy pasted from a discord ask I got a few days before your ask!

my childhood favorite LOCH is the 1983 TVB Jade version, which is very noncanonical to the book but So Much Fun <-- may not be your cup of tea if you don't enjoy that special 1980s charm :dogkek: It has, however, my absolute hands down favorite version of the Huangs (this IS the writer room where the Huangs were their special little meow meows and Kenneth Tsang personally created at least two generations of Huang Yaoshi apologists so) but yeah I love this version for how well it understands the characters, not how much it follows the plot.

I was not as fond of LOCH 1995 TVB reboot version (there were some interesting plot issues, but imo the biggest problem is that KangCi is played by 30 year olds and JingRong by 20 somethings, increasing the dynamics that in this universe KangCi are twice divorced 30 somethings trying to make this work again for the 3rd time as though they're stuck in a timeloop, the actors gave it their all and it was very good! just! perchance, suspension of disbelief interesting.) I would rate this one as a pretty solid adaptation overall though, my minor quibbles aside, just not my personal fave

I enjoyed LOCH 03, I think it has the best Mongolia 1 and 2 that I have ever seen adapted to screen, and really does a good job on this front. The Temujin Corruption Arc here has me by the THROAT. and this also has the best ever Tuolei. (Fun Fact! all the Mongolian Characters in this adaptation are played by Mongolian Actors, and it did pretty well on Mongolian traditional clothing also!) Unfortunately, it was also made for the whole 5 LOCH Mongolia Arch enjoyers in the world so the ratings are terrible. this one has interesting CGI choices, some pacing issues towards the end, and tbf in my personal opinion Li Yapeng did a better Linghu Chong than Guo Jing, but the Guo Jing characterization choices felt purposeful? JingRong is delightful together but Li Yapeng Guo Jing is a bit flat when he's by himself. Zhou Xun was Jin Yong's favorite Huang Rong, overall I enjoyed 03 but I can see why almost no one else did

LOCH 08: my personal nemesis, I would delete my memory of LOCH 08 if I could but then I might watch it and reintroduce myself

LOCH 2017: for a LOCH made with couch cushion money this is really a smashing adaptation. Minor quibbles on them making Huang Rong less problematic, kind of character assassinating Huazheng, giving Temujin the world's best skincare products known to man, and somehow taking a blowdryer to Huang Yaoshi for the sake of coolness, but I forgive them. There's lovely fight scenes in this version, and Chen Xingxu acted his socks off as Yang Kang

LOCH 2024: You can tell this one was made by people who idolized LOCH growing up. I love love love the production and color palette of this one, it reminds me of an updated late 90s early 00s Wuxia vibe with all the new tech that makes wuxia so cool in this decade. Hands down, Ci Sha quickly became my favorite Guo Jing of all time, and I think they really get what makes JingRong click. Some very interesting backstory connotations, I really hope they air the prequels so I can see this in the order they wanted it to be shown in. This loch also suffers from pacing issues, and will assume you already know the story esp bc at 30 episodes for the main story, it's the shortest of all the LOCH tv adaptations and that trims a lot of the extra side quests that make LOCH LOCH.

[er1chartmann]

Gerhard Barkhorn timeline

This is Gerhard Barkhorn, the second greatest flying ace in history, timeline:

1919: He was born in Königsberg

1937: He joined the Luftwaffe.

1938: He started his pilot training.

1939: The Second World War began.

1940: He was moved to the 6th squadron of the 2nd group of the 52nd fighter wing (6./II.JG 52) to participate in the Battle of Britain, without achieving any victory and instead being shot down twice.

1941: JG 52 was transferred to the east and participated in Operation Barbarossa.

1941: He scored his first victory

1941: He was promoted to Oberleutnant.

1942: He was appointed Staffelkapitän (squadron leader) of 4./JG 52.

1942:  He received the Ritterkreuz for having shot down a total of 59 aircraft.

1942: He received the Luftwaffe honor cup.

1943: He was awarded Oak Leaves to his Knight's Cross.

1943: He  was appointed Gruppenkommandeur of II./JG 52. 

1943: He reached the 200 mark on 30 November.

1944: He was awarded the Swords to his Knight's Cross.

1944: He attended the wedding of fellow ace Erich Hartmann as best man

1944: He was promoted to major.

1945: He  scored his 301st (and final) victory.

1945: He  was assigned as Geschwaderkommodore to Jagdgeschwader 6 (JG 6), a unit assigned to defend the Reich.

1945: The Second World War ended.

1956: He joined the Bundesluftwaffe, rose to command JaboG 31 Boelcke.

1983: On 6 January , during a winter storm on an autobahn near Cologne, he and his wife Christl were involved in a car accident; his wife died instantly and Barkhorn died in hospital on 8 January . They were buried in Tegernsee, Bavaria.

Sources:

Wikipedia: Gerhard Barkhorn

Military Wiki: Gerhard Barkhorn

❗❗I DON'T SUPPORT NAZISM,FASCISM OR ZIONISM IN ANY WAY, THIS IS AN EDUCATIONAL POST❗❗

[mjsdiana]

𝙸𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝚈𝚘𝚞

1983

New York City

Word Count: 11.7k

Tags: Fem!Reader, Writing, Smut, Wet & Messy, creampie, Michael’s big pp, rough seggs, Nipple licking, nipple play, Dirty talk, Finger Sucking, Vaginal Fingering, p in v, oral seggs, married couple, face slapping

The stillness of the suite wrapped itself around you like a comforting shroud, broken only by the faint flicker of a candle across the room. Its soft flame danced on the polished table, casting a warm glow over the rich, dark tones of the space. You lay stretched out on the velvet sofa, your body adorned in a champagne satin nightgown that clung delicately to your curves, the smooth fabric cool against your skin. The scent of cocoa butter and vanilla lingered in the air, a subtle reminder of your evening ritual. Moonlight spilled through the open balcony doors, bathing the room in a pale, ethereal light as it kissed your skin, making the satin shimmer with every subtle movement.

Your journal rested on your thighs, pencil poised between your fingers as you poured your thoughts onto the page, losing yourself in the fantasy of words. “His gaze flickered with a deeper intensity, something raw and unspoken. He sat up slightly, the heat of his body still pressed against yours, hands traveling to the hem of your shirt. With a fluid, practiced motion, he lifted it over your head, the fabric gliding against your skin before it fluttered to the floor. The room’s cool air touched your bare skin, but it lasted only a moment before his hands replaced the chill, warm and possessive, cupping your breasts with deliberate tenderness.” You wrote, the scene in your mind so vivid, so tantalizingly real that it sent a shiver down your spine.

You often wrote in these quiet moments of solitude, documenting your life and desires through another lens, another version of yourself. Michael had no idea you penned these kinds of stories—journals filled with lustful, uninhibited fantasies that captured the intimacy you craved, yet hadn’t fully explored. The pages brimmed with moments you yearned to experience firsthand. Your mind, always a step ahead of reality, danced with ideas too wild to remain unspoken, so you committed them to paper, where they could live freely.

A sigh escaped your lips as you paused, fingers tracing the edge of the journal. Something about tonight’s writing wasn’t sitting right, the words not flowing the way you had imagined. Frustration tugged at the edges of your thoughts. Closing the journal softly, you leaned forward, the cool satin slipping against the cushions as you stretched to blow out the candle. Darkness reclaimed the room for a brief moment before you padded across the suite, fingertips brushing along the wall as you flicked on the lights. The sudden brightness felt harsh after the warmth of the candlelight.

The clock on the wall read midnight, and still, Michael hadn’t returned. He had left early that morning, spending the day with his family, preparing for the tour announcement. He’d stopped by the suite briefly between meetings, giving you a quick kiss and promising to return late. You didn’t mind his absence; in fact, you relished these moments alone. They allowed you to retreat into your own world, a world of words and fantasy—an escape from the whirlwind of fame and expectations that had swept you up after your marriage to Michael.

But even in this quiet, there was a subtle ache, a longing for him to walk through the door, for the stories you wrote to come to life. You glanced down at your journal once more, the pages filled with desires that you wished to share, yet kept secret.

You walked slowly, deliberately, each step bringing you closer to the bedroom you and Michael shared. The air was different here, charged with his presence. His intoxicating cologne still clung to the air, subtle yet unmistakable. It wrapped around you, a phantom touch, making you pause in the doorway to breathe him in deeply, letting the familiar scent fill your senses. You ached for him, more intensely now that you stood in the space where his absence was most profound. But fatigue began to settle in, exhaustion creeping over you like a heavy fog, dragging at your limbs.

With a soft click, you closed the bedroom door behind you, plunging the room into a peaceful, moonlit glow. The silver light spilled through the curtains, casting soft shadows on the walls and floor, bathing the room in an ethereal stillness. Slowly, you made your way to your side of the bed, setting your journal and pencil down on the nightstand. The thick, white covers felt cool beneath your fingers as you pulled them back, slipping under their weight. The contrast of the crisp linen against the warmth of your skin sent a shiver through you, the sensation drawing you deeper into the arms of sleep. Your eyelids grew heavier, fluttering shut as the last traces of consciousness slipped away.

Even as you drifted into sleep, your mind wandered, drawn back to the stories you had written. You could feel his touch in your dreams, so vivid it sent your pulse racing. His hands ghosted over your skin, the soft press of his lips igniting sparks of heat in your chest. His whispers, low and full of need, echoed in your ears, pulling you deeper into the dream, deeper into the scenes you had created. Each kiss, each caress, felt more real than the last. This was your inspiration, the fuel for those lustful scenes that seemed so distant while awake but came alive in the sanctuary of your mind.

Outside the suite, Michael moved silently down the hotel hallway, his steps muted against the plush carpet. His body was tired, worn from the demands of the day, but his mind was still buzzing, his thoughts on you. He pulled his keycard from his pocket, sliding it into the door with a practiced motion. The door clicked open, and he stepped inside, the quiet of the room greeting him like a familiar embrace. He shut the door gently, locking it behind him with a soft click before calling out into the empty suite.

“Baby?” His voice was low, filled with the weight of the day, but there was a tenderness in it as he looked around, noticing your absence. He kicked off his loafers, sliding them next to your heels, the sight of your shoes sparking a smile. His fingers deftly unbuttoned his sleek Monroe jacket as he crossed the room, heading for the closet. With careful movements, he hung up his jacket, smoothing out the fabric before closing the closet door with a quiet sigh.

“Baby, where are you?” he called again, this time louder, though he already sensed the answer. Silence greeted him, the stillness of the suite confirming what he had suspected—you were asleep.

He flicked off the light in the main room, casting the suite into near darkness, save for the soft light of the moon. As he walked down the hallway toward the bedroom, he unbuttoned his flannel shirt, his fingers moving automatically as he thought of you. Reaching the bedroom door, he paused for a moment, his hand resting on the knob. He twisted it open, stepping inside to find you already asleep, curled under the covers, your breathing soft and even.

“Damn,” he muttered under his breath, guilt prickling at him for staying out so late. He crossed the room quietly, his eyes softening as he watched you sleep, the peaceful rise and fall of your chest a soothing sight after the chaos of the day. He knelt down beside the bed, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his fingers trailing lightly over your cheek. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice low and full of remorse. His touch lingered for a moment before his gaze drifted to the nightstand.

There it was—your journal, lying innocently on the nightstand, its soft leather cover worn from your fingers grazing it over and over. Michael’s brow furrowed, curiosity igniting within him like a spark catching fire. You had always been private, guarding your thoughts like hidden treasures, sharing only what you chose, leaving the rest locked away. That journal… it had intrigued him for months. The way you clutched it so tightly, as if its contents were too precious to be seen, only fueled his desire to know what was inside. What secrets did it hold? What dreams, what desires had you poured into its pages?

His fingers hovered just above the smooth leather, the temptation gnawing at him. He knew he shouldn’t. But he couldn’t resist. Slowly, he picked it up, the weight of it feeling heavier in his hands than he anticipated. The quiet crackle of the binding filled the room as he carefully opened it, the faint scent of ink and paper wafting up. Thousands of words greeted him—tiny, intricate letters sprawled across the pages, some flowing gracefully, others rushed and jagged, as though written in a fevered state. His eyes roamed over the pages, catching glimpses of dates scattered here and there, some adorned with delicate little hearts—marking nights he recognized, nights filled with passion.

He couldn’t help but smirk, a rush of pride swelling within him as he read the first few lines. The words were vivid, so descriptive they painted entire scenes in his mind. You had never shared this side of yourself with him—your ability to capture emotion and sensation so deeply, so beautifully. It was as though he were discovering a new part of you, one he had never known existed. The detail in your writing stunned him. Each paragraph held him captive, some recounting moments of tender intimacy, others written with a raw, sensual edge that left his breath shallow.

He flipped through the journal, his eyes darting over the passages, heart racing. There were stories that transported him to the nights you had shared together—moments he remembered vividly. Some were soft and romantic, full of slow kisses and whispered words. Others were rough, intense, wild with the kind of passion that left both of you breathless and trembling. He found one that made him pause, a story of your honeymoon. His heart skipped as he read about the balcony—how he had taken you there under the stars, the way you had described the heat of his hands on your skin, the thrill of being outside, exposed to the night.

He could practically feel the cool breeze, smell the salt of the ocean air, and hear the soft crash of waves as he read, transported back to that night. You had captured every detail so perfectly, so vividly, that it was like living it all over again. His pulse quickened as he reached the final few pages, only to find that the last entry was unfinished. Barely a few lines were written. His brow furrowed again, wondering what had stopped you. Had you lost inspiration? Or had sleep claimed you before you could complete the thought?

Michael closed the journal slowly, his thumb tracing the edge of the cover one last time before setting it back down on the nightstand with a soft thud. He glanced over at you, lying peacefully under the covers, your chest rising and falling with the rhythm of sleep. The sight of you—so serene, so beautiful—pulled him in. Leaning down, he pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek, his lips lingering for a moment, breathing you in.

“I’m back,” he whispered, his voice low and soft, just for you.

You stirred at the sound of his voice, your eyelids fluttering open as you blinked into the dim light of the room. The sight that greeted you was the one you had longed for—the warmth of his presence, the familiar silhouette of his frame leaning over you, and those deep brown eyes that always seemed to draw you in, no matter how tired you were.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he murmured, his voice tender, a slow smile spreading across his face.

A soft smile tugged at your lips as you whispered back, “Hi,” your voice barely above a breath, still heavy with sleep. You shifted slightly under the covers, feeling the warmth of his closeness. “When did you get back?” you asked, blinking the drowsiness from your eyes.

“Not too long ago,” Michael said, his gaze soft, watching you closely. He straightened up slightly, undoing the last few buttons of his flannel shirt, revealing the toned lines of his bare chest beneath. You glanced down, your eyes tracing the familiar curves and muscles of his body, the way the soft light played over his skin. But before your gaze could linger too long, you quickly lifted your eyes back to his, heat creeping up your cheeks.

Michael’s smile grew wider, his eyes twinkling with a familiar mischief that always seemed to surface when he caught you off guard. He had seen the way your gaze had drifted over his chest, and even though you quickly looked away, the effect it had on him was instant. There was something intoxicating about the way you responded to him, even in your sleepy state. That subtle flicker of desire in your eyes, though fleeting, stirred something deep within him. The warmth that surged through his veins was undeniable, and his voice, though soft, was laced with something deeper when he spoke again.

“I missed you,” he murmured, his words carrying the weight of the long day apart, but also a deeper, more primal need. His hand moved almost instinctively, reaching down to gently brush a loose strand of hair from your face. His fingers, rough yet tender, grazed your skin, and the contact sent an involuntary shiver down your spine, the sensation rippling through you like a spark.

Your eyes fluttered closed briefly at his touch, the exhaustion of the day momentarily forgotten. “I missed you more,” you whispered, your voice soft, barely audible in the quiet intimacy of the room. But it was enough. The way your words reached him, full of longing, made Michael’s heart swell with something warm, something electric.

He licked his lips, his gaze flickering briefly from your face to the journal still resting on the nightstand. There was a glimmer of something in his eyes—curiosity, playfulness, and something else you couldn’t quite place. “Need some help?” he asked, his tone teasing yet somehow serious, his voice dipping into that low, husky register that always made you weak.

You furrowed your brow, confused. “What do you mean?” you asked, your voice soft but wary. The way he looked at you, his gaze dipping briefly to the journal, set off a ripple of unease in your chest. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but something about his tone had shifted.

“Do you need help?” he repeated, his eyes locked onto yours, his voice steady, though there was an edge of amusement beneath the surface.

The confusion deepened in your expression, your brow knitting together as you sat up a little, pulling the covers away from your body. “Michael, what are you talking about?” you asked, your voice firmer now, laced with frustration. You shifted, sitting up completely, the cool air of the room brushing against your skin as you moved.

Michael’s eyes flicked back to the journal, and then back to you. His gaze lingered there for a moment too long, and that’s when it hit you. Your breath caught in your throat, panic flashing in your eyes as you followed his gaze, realization dawning on you. “Did you go through it?” you asked, your voice rising in disbelief, your heart pounding in your chest.

Michael shrugged, a casual, almost guilty smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You know I can’t help myself, doll,” he said, his voice laced with a hint of mischief. “Besides, you’ve got, what? Twenty journals? Maybe more? And I’ve never seen a single word from any of them. So, I gotta ask again… do you need help?” His voice lowered slightly, the question carrying a weight that made your pulse quicken.

You let out a deep sigh, frustration mixed with something else—something you didn’t quite want to admit. Reaching over, you grabbed the journal from the nightstand, your fingers brushing over its familiar leather cover as you flipped through the pages. “I do,” you admitted reluctantly, glancing up at him through your lashes. “I’m stuck on this one part, and I—Michael!”

Before you could finish your sentence, he reached out, snatching the journal from your hands with a quickness that took you by surprise. The leather-bound book slipped from your fingers, and Michael closed it with a soft thud, placing it back on the nightstand. His movements were fluid, confident, almost too confident, as though he knew exactly what he was doing.

“You’ve already got the writing part down,” he said, his voice low and teasing as he leaned closer to you, the weight of his presence filling the room. “Do you need my help with the rest?”

Your brow shot up in surprise, confusion flickering across your features once more. “I don’t get what you’re saying, Michael,” you murmured, your voice tinged with curiosity and something else—something that sent a strange thrill down your spine. “I’m confused.”

Michael’s smile deepened, that playful glint in his eyes turning darker, more intense. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, “You’re writing about us, aren’t you?” His lips barely grazed the shell of your ear, sending a shiver coursing down your spine. His hand slid gently up your arm, his fingers trailing along your skin, igniting every nerve they touched. “Every scene, every detail…” His voice was a low, seductive rumble now, and you could feel the heat radiating off him, pulling you in.

Your heart raced, your breath catching in your throat as his words sank in. Of course, he knew. How could he not? You had written those stories for him, even if you had never planned to show him. Every intimate moment, every fantasy, every desire—crafted with him in mind. The way he looked at you now, with that mix of hunger and understanding, made your stomach twist in knots.

Michael’s gaze was piercing, darkened with a hunger that sent a tremor through you. His voice, a low whisper that seemed to wrap itself around your senses, was barely audible, but the intent behind it was unmistakable. “Let me help you finish it,” he murmured, his breath ghosting over your lips as his fingers gently tilted your chin upward. The subtle pressure of his touch made your pulse quicken, his thumb brushing against your skin in the lightest of caresses. “Let me show you exactly what you’ve been writing about…” His words hung in the air, thick with promise.

Your eyes searched his for a moment, feeling the pull of his presence as the world around you seemed to blur and fade. Everything was him—the heat radiating off his body, the intensity of his gaze, the magnetic force that drew you closer, inch by inch. Your eyes flickered down to his lips as they hovered near yours, and you felt the irresistible pull of him moving in, slowly, deliberately. His other hand found your waist, the warmth of his palm seeping through the thin fabric of your nightgown, and the contact sent a spark of anticipation racing down your spine.

“Let me inspire you,” he whispered, his voice low and intimate, the words curling around your thoughts like a seductive whisper in the dark. His hand gently lifted your chin a fraction more, and before you could respond, his lips brushed against yours in the faintest, most tantalizing touch.

Then he kissed you—slowly at first, but with a growing intensity that left no room for doubt. His lips, warm and smooth, moved against yours, soft yet commanding, drawing you deeper into the moment with every passing second. The taste of him was intoxicating, the warmth of his breath mingling with yours as the kiss deepened. Your body responded instinctively, your lips moving in sync with his, matching his rhythm, as the kiss grew hotter, more urgent.

His hand slid from your waist, traveling slowly up the curve of your body, tracing the familiar lines with a possessive touch that made your skin tingle. The strength in his grip was unmistakable—large, powerful hands that knew every inch of you, knew exactly where to touch to make you arch beneath him. His fingers squeezed you in all the right places, eliciting a soft gasp from your lips as he lowered you back onto the bed, your body sinking into the softness of the sheets. The sensation of his touch was electric, his hands firm yet gentle, each caress deliberate, teasing, as if he was savoring the feel of you beneath his fingertips.

The kiss deepened further, the heat between you intensifying as his tongue slid against yours, teasing, exploring. The wet sound of your lips moving together filled the room, mingling with the soft rustling of the sheets as you shifted beneath him. Every brush of his lips, every stroke of his tongue, sent a surge of heat pooling low in your belly, making your breath hitch as the moment stretched on.

Michael’s hands moved lower, trailing down to your thighs, gripping them firmly as he positioned himself between your legs. His touch was possessive, his fingers tightening around your skin as he slowly pushed your nightgown higher, the fabric bunching up around your hips, revealing the soft curve of your bare skin beneath. The cool air hit your exposed flesh, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from his body, and you felt your pulse quicken, anticipation coiling tight in your chest.

His lips broke away from yours, only to trail down to your jaw, placing slow, deliberate kisses along your skin. The sensation was almost torturous—the softness of his lips, the heat of his breath, the way his tongue flicked out to taste you, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. He kissed his way down your neck, his lips moving with a languid, teasing rhythm, lingering in all the right places. When his mouth found the sensitive spot at the base of your throat, he sucked lightly, his teeth grazing your skin, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure through your body.

“Michael…” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper as you tilted your head to the side, giving him full access. The sound of your voice, soft and filled with need, seemed to spur him on. His lips moved lower, placing wet, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, his tongue flicking out to trace the delicate line of your bone, each touch sending shivers racing down your spine.

His hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed as he pressed himself against you, his body a solid weight that anchored you in place. The rough denim of his jeans brushed against your sensitive skin, the pressure of his growing arousal evident as he pressed harder, the heat of him seeping through the fabric. The friction sent a jolt of pleasure straight through you, making you gasp as your body instinctively arched toward him, craving more.

Michael’s lips hovered near your ear, his warm breath grazing your skin, each word laced with thick desire. “I want to feel all of you,” he whispered, his voice low and rough, igniting something deep inside you. His hands roamed your body with a slow, deliberate pace, every touch sending sparks of heat rippling through your skin, lighting every nerve aflame. You could feel the weight of his presence pressing against you, a heavy, intoxicating heat that had you teetering on the edge of something that felt both inevitable and all-consuming.

Unable to resist, you ground your hips against him, the friction delicious as you pressed more firmly into his body. Michael’s hands trailed down to your waist, his grip firm and possessive as he reached for the hem of your nightgown. With one smooth motion, he pulled the fabric up and over your head, the cool air rushing over your now-bare skin as his gaze drank you in. His eyes darkened with admiration, his voice barely a whisper as he murmured, “So beautiful…”

His lips descended on the middle of your chest, pressing warm, tender kisses along your skin. His hands followed the curve of your body, gliding up your stomach until they reached your breasts, cupping them in both hands. His thumbs moved in slow circles, teasing your nipples, coaxing soft gasps from your lips. You watched him, mesmerized by the way his hands seemed to worship every inch of your body. His kisses continued, traveling lower down your stomach, his tongue flicking out to leave a wet, heated trail that made your skin tingle with anticipation.

When his mouth finally found your breast, you sucked in a breath, your body arching slightly as his warm tongue replaced his thumb. He circled your nipple with slow, deliberate licks, his tongue teasing the sensitive bud before taking it into his mouth. The warmth of his mouth, coupled with the gentle tug of his lips, sent a shudder of pleasure through you. He sucked lightly, then harder, his tongue flicking back and forth in a steady rhythm that made your head spin.

You watched him through half-lidded eyes, unable to look away from the way his lips moved against you. His tongue swirled around your nipple, then flicked it back and forth, the sensation so intense you could feel every wet stroke of his tongue. His teeth grazed the sensitive flesh, nibbling just enough to send jolts of pleasure shooting through your core.

“Oh, God, Michael,” you moaned softly, your voice shaky with need.

He hummed in response, the vibration against your skin adding another layer of sensation. His hand squeezed your breast more firmly as he continued to flick his tongue slowly, sensually, drawing out your pleasure until you felt like you might burst from the tension building inside you. You met his gaze, watching the way his lips wrapped around your nipple, the way his tongue teased and tasted, each flick and nibble driving you further into a haze of desire.

He moved to your other breast, giving it the same attention, his lips warm and wet as he sucked the nipple into his mouth. His tongue flicked over the sensitive bud, each stroke steady and deliberate, his saliva coating your skin as he lavished it with the same slow, torturous care. The pleasure was almost overwhelming, his touch both teasing and satisfying, his pace slow enough to make you ache for more.

Your pulse quickened, each beat of your heart in sync with the heat building between your thighs. Every movement of Michael’s hands and mouth sent waves of desire coursing through you, his kisses lingering on your skin, his touch deliberate, as though he knew exactly how to keep you teetering on the edge of pleasure. His lips, warm and wet, left a trail of heated bliss across your chest, your stomach, down your body. Each flick of his tongue, every gentle nibble and graze, was a deliberate tease, designed to make you crave more. And it was working.

Your breath was coming in shallow, uneven gasps, your chest rising and falling rapidly with the anticipation, the tension building to a fever pitch inside you. It was as though your entire body was attuned to him, each nerve alight and buzzing with the promise of release. Michael’s mouth trailed lower, the heat of his breath skimming over your skin until he reached your core. His eyes darkened at the sight of how wet you were, his gaze locked on your arousal, as if savoring the evidence of your need.

He grabbed your legs and gently pinned them back, folding you into yourself as he positioned your knees against your chest. His voice was low, intimate as he murmured, “Think you can hold them?”

You nodded, your hands sliding to the back of your knees, gripping them tightly, your pulse thrumming in your ears.

Michael ran his fingers down the slick heat of your slit, his touch feather-light, but enough to make you shudder. “So wet…” he whispered, his voice filled with awe as he spread your folds, his thumb finding your clit with precise ease. His thumb circled it slowly, teasingly, drawing out the tension building inside you as he watched your reaction with dark, hungry eyes. Your brows furrowed as pleasure coursed through you, your hips twitching in response to his touch.

He raised his hand to his mouth, his eyes never leaving yours as he licked each finger clean, tasting you with a slow, deliberate flick of his tongue. The sight of him savoring you sent a fresh wave of arousal surging through you, your body trembling in anticipation.

Michael coated his fingers with saliva before sliding them back between your folds, his movements teasingly slow. He eased his middle and ring finger into your entrance, the sudden stretch making you gasp, your walls immediately clenching around him. His free hand pressed down on your thigh, holding you in place as his fingers began to move inside you with a slow, deliberate rhythm, each stroke designed to drive you wild.

Your arousal slicked his fingers, dripping down into the palm of his hand as he pumped them in and out of you. He watched your face intently, his gaze unwavering as your lips parted in breathless whispers of his name. The sight of you coming undone beneath him, your body writhing in pleasure, only fueled his desire.

His fingers curled just right, finding that sweet spot deep inside you that made your vision blur, your breath catch. Your head fell back against the pillow, a moan slipping from your lips as he hit that perfect angle over and over again. “You like that, baby?” he asked, his voice rough with desire.

“Yes,” you gasped, your legs shaking as you struggled to hold them steady.

Michael’s lips curved into a wicked smile as he lowered his head, his mouth finding your folds. His tongue flicked out, teasing your clit with quick, light strokes, the sensation sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. You moaned, louder this time, unable to contain the surge of heat that shot through you.

His tongue danced over your clit, his fingers still working you relentlessly, each thrust perfectly timed with the flick of his tongue. He hummed against you, the vibration adding to the intense pleasure already building in your core. He sucked on your folds, pulling your lips into his mouth, the wet sound echoing in the quiet room, so obscene and delicious.

Michael pulled back for a moment, his eyes roaming over your swollen, red folds before he spread them open again, exposing your clit. Without hesitation, he sucked it into his mouth, his lips wrapping around the sensitive nub as he flicked his tongue over it at a maddening pace. His fingers continued their relentless rhythm, the wet sounds of your arousal only spurring him on.

You could feel that familiar, tight burn building in your belly, the tension coiling tighter and tighter as Michael pushed you closer to the edge. Your walls clenched around his fingers, slick with arousal, so tight that you felt like you could snap at any moment. His tongue worked faster, his fingers curling deeper, hitting that spot again and again until your body trembled uncontrollably.

You bit down on your bottom lip, your breath coming in ragged gasps as your release teetered on the brink. Michael looked up at you, his dark, seductive eyes locking with yours, his gaze pulling you in, drowning you in the intensity of the moment. “Michael, I’m going to—” you started, your voice faltering as the pleasure became too much.

Before you could finish, the orgasm crashed over you, your moans filling the room as your body convulsed beneath him. Your release flooded his hand, a milky sheen coating his fingers as you called out his name, your back arching off the bed. The pleasure was overwhelming, every nerve in your body alight, your senses overloaded by the intensity of it all.

Michael didn’t stop. His tongue continued its relentless assault on your sensitive clit, flicking over it in maddening circles. Each stroke sent another surge of pleasure through your already trembling body, your legs feeling as if they might give out from the intensity. Every nerve was alive, every part of you burning with the overwhelming sensation he was drawing out from deep within. You gasped his name, the sound raw and breathless, as you surrendered completely to the bliss.

Slowly, his fingers slipped from inside you, leaving behind an aching emptiness that only heightened the throbbing between your thighs. But he didn’t stop, his mouth still working you with an almost torturous precision, sucking and flicking at your swollen clit, his lips glistening with the evidence of your arousal. As he moved, his hand, drenched in your juices, slid up your body, fingers brushing against your lips. Without hesitation, you opened your mouth, taking them in, tasting yourself on him. The salty sweetness of your arousal mixed with the faint taste of him, sending a fresh wave of desire through you.

God, he was so filthy, so unashamedly nasty in the way he claimed every part of you. And you loved it.

His mouth released your clit with a final, slow suck, the soft pop of his lips leaving a trail of wetness dripping down his chin, his eyes locked on yours with a dark, hungry satisfaction. You moaned softly, still coming down from the high, your body feeling like liquid, every muscle relaxed in the aftermath of the orgasm he had so expertly drawn out of you.

With a gentle tug, he removed your hands from the back of your knees, lowering your legs from their pinned position. They hung loosely over the edge of the bed, trembling slightly as you caught your breath. Michael watched you with a quiet intensity, letting you have that moment to come down, to feel the lingering pleasure still humming through your veins.

Once your breathing steadied, Michael extended a hand, pulling you effortlessly to your feet. His grip was firm yet gentle as he led you, step by step, backward until he sat down in the leather armchair across the room. The smooth leather creaked under his weight, and you stood there for a moment, gazing down at him, the room filled with the heavy scent of sex.

His arousal was undeniable, straining beneath the fabric of his jeans, the heat of it palpable even before you touched him. With a slow, deliberate movement, you sank down onto your knees, the soft rug cushioning your legs as you knelt before him. Your hands slid up the length of his thighs, feeling the hard muscle beneath the denim, your fingers brushing over the bulge that begged for release. He twitched under your touch, his breath hitching as you moved your hands to his belt.

The sound of the buckle being undone echoed in the room, metallic and sharp in contrast to the otherwise silent atmosphere filled only with your shared heavy breathing. You pulled the belt free, tossing it aside without care, your focus entirely on the task ahead. Slowly, you unbuttoned his jeans, each pop of the buttons adding to the growing tension between you. His fingers slid through your hair, brushing against your scalp as he watched you, his dark eyes half-lidded, burning with desire.

The sound of the zipper coming undone was loud in the otherwise quiet room, and your fingers trembled with anticipation as you pulled his jeans down over his hips, revealing the hard, toned lines of his legs. You tugged them down further, finally freeing him from the confines of the fabric, tossing them aside where they landed in a crumpled heap.

Your eyes were drawn back to the straining bulge in his briefs, the white linen barely containing his hardened length. With a teasing smile, you hooked your fingers into the waistband and slowly pulled them down, watching as his thick, dark shaft began to emerge, the skin taut and smooth, the tip glistening with anticipation. His cock sprang free, resting heavily against his stomach, the weight of it making your mouth water with desire.

You pulled the briefs all the way off, adding them to the pile of discarded clothes scattered across the room. Michael spread his legs wider, inviting you to settle between them. Your eyes roamed over his shaft, thick and veiny, the dark skin stretched tight over the hardness beneath, the tip flushed a deep, tempting pink. His shaft was perfect, heavy, and uncut, the curve of it something you adored, something that always made you shiver with anticipation.

Michael watched you, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as you admired him. He knew the effect he had on you, knew how much you loved the sight of him like this—so ready, so hard for you. He held out his hand, palm open, and without a word, you leaned forward, spitting into his hand, watching as he wrapped his fingers around his length, stroking himself slowly. The slick sound of his hand moving over his shaft was intoxicating, his veins pulsing beneath his grip as he exposed the swollen head, the tip peeking out, a bead of pre-cum glistening in the dim light.

“You want it?” he asked, his voice low and teasing, as he waved his length back and forth, the thick shaft brushing against your lips. Your eyes followed the motion, unable to tear your gaze away, your breath catching in your throat.

“Yes, Michael,” you whimpered, your voice barely more than a plea.

He moved closer to the edge of the chair, his length inches from your face, the heat of it radiating toward you. “Take what you need, baby,” he murmured, his tone soft but commanding. “Inspire yourself.”

With a soft smile tugging at your lips, you bit down gently, your teeth grazing the tender flesh as your hand reached up to wrap around the base of his thick length. Your fingers stretched, barely managing to encircle him, the girth of him too much for your small hands. But that only fueled your desire, the ache of wanting to take all of him coursing through you as your gaze locked on his. Slowly, you leaned forward, parting your lips to press a soft, teasing kiss against the tip of his swollen shaft. The salty sweetness of his pre-cum tingled on your tongue, igniting your senses, making your body tremble with anticipation as you prepared to take him deeper.

“Go ahead, baby,” Michael whispered, his voice low and husky. His hand moved through his hair, pushing the dark curls away from his face, his eyes never leaving yours. The heat of his gaze made your skin burn, and you stroked him slowly, your hand sliding over the slick, hot skin, exposing the swollen tip even more.

You flicked your tongue out, rolling it lightly against his sensitive tip, and a heavy gasp fell from his lips, his chest rising and falling as he watched you intently. His reaction spurred you on, each swirl of your tongue drawing a deeper moan from him. You teased him with slow, deliberate licks, circling the tip, savoring the musky taste of him mixed with the salty precum that lingered on your tongue.

Slowly, you took more of him into your mouth, inch by inch, the stretch of your lips around his thickness almost too much to handle. His length filled you completely, and as you descended, your lips slid over every ridge, every pulsing vein, particularly that thick vein running along the underside of his shaft, pressing firmly against your tongue.

Michael’s eyes darkened with lust as he watched you go deeper, his breaths coming faster, his chest rising and falling with each one. The small, delicate gags that escaped your throat were music to his ears as you reached the base of him, your lips stretched impossibly wide to accommodate his size. You paused there for a moment, savoring the fullness, the way he felt in your mouth before pulling back up, your lips trailing up his length as you sucked softly, just halfway. You bobbed your head in slow, steady motions, letting your tongue slide against his shaft with every descent.

Your eyes never left his, not for a second. His gaze was locked on you, burning with raw desire as he watched the way you worked him. He looked so damn fine like this, sitting back in the chair, his jaw clenched, his brow furrowed from the pleasure you were giving him. He was helpless under your touch, completely at your mercy, and you loved every second of it.

As you continued to suck him, letting your saliva coat every inch of his shaft, you could feel the wetness dripping down to your hand, pooling at the base of his cock and slipping down to the leather chair beneath him. Your hand moved with your mouth, stroking his base, the slickness of your saliva making the glide effortless.

Michael never tore his eyes away from you, his brow furrowed even deeper as his pleasure built, the sensations overwhelming him. His breathing grew heavier, his lips parting with soft groans, his thick length twitching in your mouth as the veins beneath his skin pulsed rhythmically against your lips.

You took him all the way back down to the base again, the pressure against your throat making you gag lightly, but you held him there, savoring the fullness, the weight of him pressing against your tongue. His hand rested gently on your head, fingers brushing through your hair, but he didn’t push. He didn’t force you to move, didn’t thrust himself deeper. He wanted you to take your time, to inspire yourself, to work him in your own way.

“God…” Michael breathed, his voice ragged, filled with need. His eyes stayed on you, even though his body trembled, every muscle tense with restraint. You could feel how badly he wanted to take control, but he was giving you the reins, letting you lead him to the edge.

You moved back up to his tip, letting your saliva build up even more, coating his shaft in a glistening layer that dripped down onto the leather seat beneath him. With your other hand, you wrapped around his base, still unable to fully hold him in both hands, but the pressure of your grip and the slickness of your spit made the slide easier. You bobbed your head in a steady rhythm, sucking him deeply, your moans vibrating against his length, each sound sending shivers through his body.

Michael started to thrust gently into your mouth, just enough to match your rhythm, but not enough to overwhelm you. His hips rolled in a slow, measured motion, and his voice dropped to a low growl. “Just like that, baby… God, you look so pretty with me in your mouth.” His voice was thick with pleasure, each word dripping with lust. “Those pretty lips, stretching around me… mhm, look at that.”

A hiss slipped from his lips as you squeezed him a little tighter, your hand twisting slightly as you stroked him, and the veins along his shaft pulsed harder against your touch. “Fuck…” he breathed, throwing his head back, his hair falling in loose curls over his forehead as he surrendered to the pleasure.

You smiled against him, knowing just how responsive his body was, how easily he could fall apart under your touch. His muscles tensed, and his thighs quivered slightly as you kept working him, your hands and mouth moving in perfect harmony. You knew exactly how to drive him to the brink, to tease him with just enough restraint before letting him spill over into release.

God, he was so close. You could feel it in every twitch of his body, every ragged breath that escaped his lips. He was so responsive, every nerve in his body attuned to your touch. Watching him like this—completely undone beneath you, his control slipping with every stroke—sent a rush of power through you. He was yours, utterly and entirely, just waiting for that final push to send him over the edge.

Your hand continued its steady, deliberate rhythm along his slick, throbbing length. Each stroke was met with a soft gasp, his hips jerking slightly, unable to keep still. Your lips wrapped around his sensitive tip, sucking gently, knowing just how vulnerable he was there, how that spot could unravel him in an instant. You could taste how close he was—the salty essence of him leaking onto your tongue, a promise of what was about to spill out. You could feel his desperation, the way he strained beneath you, his body teetering on the edge of release.

“Shit, baby, I’m close,” Michael ground out through clenched teeth, his jaw tight, the muscles in his neck straining as he fought to hold on.

You picked up the pace, your strokes becoming faster, more insistent. Your tongue still moved slowly around his tip, teasing him, feeling it throb against your lips as his length twitched in your hand. His grip on your hair tightened, his fingers tangling in the strands as he struggled to keep control. But it was slipping, and you knew it. He was right there, right on the brink.

“Fuck, I’m about to—” His words cut off in a strangled groan as his body tensed all at once.

With a deep, guttural moan, Michael’s body convulsed, his thick, warm seed spurting into your mouth in hot, powerful waves. It hit the back of your throat, filling your mouth instantly, the sheer force of it making you gag lightly. He groaned loudly, his hand pushing your head down, forcing you to take more, to swallow him whole as he came undone. His cum filled your mouth so completely that it began to spill out, dripping from the corners of your lips and sliding down his shaft, thick and warm.

Even as you pulled away, you kept stroking him, your hands slick with his release, your fingers gliding easily over his still-hard length. His seed coated your hands, dripping down in thick, sticky ropes. You giggled softly at the sight, your lips curving into a teasing smile as you bit down on your bottom lip, unable to resist the playful urge. “Look at that,” you murmured, your voice soft, almost a purr.

One last drop leaked from his tip, landing squarely on your cheek, warm and wet. Michael sat back in the chair, completely spent, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. His body was spent, muscles trembling, but the hunger in his eyes said otherwise. Both of you knew this wasn’t over. Not yet.

You licked your hands, tasting his warm seed on your tongue, savoring the salty sweetness. Your tongue slid along his shaft, licking up the remnants of his release, not wanting to waste a single drop. Even now, his cock remained hard, twitching lightly with each flick of your tongue.

His body jerked slightly as you licked up every last drop, the overstimulation sending shivers through him. His abs tensed beneath your touch as you ran your hand up his stomach, feeling the hard ridges of muscle beneath your fingers. His breathing was still heavy and ragged, each breath coming out in short bursts.

“Want to give me more?” you asked teasingly, your lips brushing against his skin as you spoke, your voice dripping with playful seduction.

Michael chuckled softly, though his voice was still thick with desire. “You know I can go all night, don’t start,” he warned, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

You stood up, a teasing smirk on your face as you turned to walk away, but before you could take more than a step, Michael’s hand shot out, grabbing you by the waist. In one swift motion, he pulled you onto his lap, his arm wrapping around your waist to hold you in place. His still-hard shaft pressed against you, hot and insistent beneath the thin fabric between you.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he growled, his voice low and possessive. “We’re not finished here… you still have a couple more paragraphs to finish.”

His hand slid up your body, fingers tracing the curve of your waist before coming to rest around your neck, his grip firm but gentle as he pulled you closer. His lips hovered just inches from yours, his breath warm against your skin, making you shiver with anticipation.

You looked back at him, your eyes locking onto his, the tension between you crackling in the air like static. Your gaze flickered down to his lips, so close, so tempting. His hand tightened slightly around your neck, pulling you closer still until your lips brushed against his in the softest, most tantalizing of kisses.

You leaned in, closing the distance between you, your lips meeting his in a deep, hungry kiss. The moment your lips touched, the world fell away, leaving only the heat between you. The kiss was slow at first, but it quickly turned desperate, both of you lost in the sensation, moaning softly into each other’s mouths. You could taste him—his release still lingering on your tongue, mixed with the heat of the kiss. Michael didn’t mind. He never did.

The kiss deepened, turning sloppier with every passing second, your lips swollen and slick from the shared hunger between you. His tongue slid against yours, tangling in a way that sent jolts of pleasure sparking through your body. The heat radiating off both of you was unbearable, suffocating in the best way as your bodies pressed closer. His grip on your neck tightened slightly, the pressure not painful but enough to make your heart race wildly. You could feel the pulse pounding beneath your skin, an intoxicating sensation as you surrendered completely to him, lost in the moment, craving more.

The ache between you both was growing, a desperate need building with every second that passed. Michael pulled away from the kiss, your lips parting with a wet, breathless sound, a thin string of saliva still connecting your mouths. His dark eyes flickered with lust as he glanced down at you, the corner of his mouth curling into a smirk. Without a word, he raised his hand and brought it lightly across your face, the sting so slight but enough to make your body shudder. Your eyes fluttered closed for a brief second, the rush of submission filling your veins as a slutty smile appeared on your lips.

“You want to sit on it, baby?” Michael’s voice was a low, rough growl, the words dripping with desire.

Your teeth sank into your bottom lip as you nodded eagerly, a soft moan escaping you. You could barely wait, the throbbing between your thighs growing unbearable. Michael’s hands left your neck, moving down to grip your hips with a firm hold as he effortlessly lifted you. His touch was possessive, commanding, making you feel completely at his mercy. You turned your head back, your eyes lingering on him as you reached between your bodies, your fingers wrapping around his thick, pulsing shaft.

You brushed the swollen head of his length against your slick folds, teasing him by dragging it back and forth along your entrance. The sensation made your breath hitch, the pressure of him against your clit sending a wave of pleasure shooting through your core. “Fuck…” you murmured under your breath, your voice a soft moan as you continued the slow, torturous teasing.

Michael groaned in response, his hand running up and down your back, the muscles in his arms tense with restraint. “Go ahead, baby,” he whispered, his voice husky as his breath ghosted over your skin. “Take it.”

Your body trembled with anticipation as you positioned him at your entrance, the thick head of his shaft pressing against your opening. Slowly, you began to ease down, each inch stretching you more, filling you so completely it felt like you could barely handle it. Your breath came out in a shaky gasp as your tight walls gripped him, the sensation overwhelming.

“Oh God…” you moaned, your voice quivering as you felt him sink deeper into you, inch by inch. The stretch was intense, your body struggling to adjust to his size, but the pleasure was unlike anything else. Each movement sent sparks of electricity up your spine, making your toes curl.

Michael leaned forward, bending you slightly as his eyes locked onto the sight of you taking him in. His hands gripped your hips tighter, his fingers digging into your skin as he watched intently. “Go deeper, baby,” he urged, his voice low and rough with desire. “I know you can take it.”

You whimpered in response, your brow furrowing as the fullness made your body quiver. “It’s so thick…” you whispered breathlessly, your voice barely more than a soft whine as you tried to adjust to the overwhelming sensation.

Michael chuckled softly, a deep, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “I know, baby,” he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction as he watched you. “You can take it… take it all if you want to.”

With a strained moan, you finally sank all the way down, feeling his entire length buried deep inside of you. It was almost too much, the way he filled you so completely, but it was perfect in its intensity. Every nerve in your body was alight with pleasure, your breath coming out in shallow pants as you struggled to hold onto the sensation.

Michael’s grip on your hips tightened even more as he slowly began to guide your movements, lifting you up and then pulling you back down onto him. The slow, steady rhythm was torturous in its intensity, every inch of him dragging against your walls as your slick heat enveloped him. Your hands reached back, gripping onto his thighs for support as your body trembled from the pleasure.

“Mhm, Michael,” you moaned, your voice strained as your brows knitted together. He was so big, so thick, and every thrust felt like it was driving you closer to the edge, your body unable to take much more.

“Put your feet in the seat, baby,” Michael instructed, his voice low and commanding as he adjusted you.

Carefully, you shifted, placing your feet on the seat beneath you, your body hovering just above him as you adjusted to the new angle. He was still buried deep inside of you, the change in position causing you to let out a sharp gasp as the sensation intensified. Your hands moved to the armrests of the chair, your body now positioned so close to his chest, yet you held yourself up, trembling with every subtle movement.

Michael pressed his head against your shoulder, his breath hot against your neck as he whispered in your ear. “Look at that…” he murmured, his voice thick with admiration as he watched himself slide in and out of you, his shaft glistening with your arousal.

The slow, deliberate thrusts were agonizingly perfect, each one sending a fresh wave of pleasure through your body as his length coated itself in your slick heat. “You take me so good, baby,” he breathed, his voice a low, approving whisper that made your heart race. “Such a good girl…”

His grip tightened, firm and commanding, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips as he took full control of your movements. His possessiveness radiated through every touch, each motion deliberate as he guided you to ride him exactly how he wanted. Your bodies met with perfect rhythm, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through your core, tightening the coil of pressure that built with every second. The slick, wet sounds of your connection filled the room, amplifying the heat and intensity between you as your arousal dripped down his length, pooling beneath you in a messy sheen.

“It feels so good, Michael,” you whimpered softly, your voice barely audible between the desperate moans escaping your lips. Your eyebrows knitted together in a mix of pleasure and strain as you struggled to keep yourself grounded while he unraveled you completely.

Michael leaned in, his lips brushing against your cheek, soft but heated. “I know, baby,” he murmured against your skin, his breath hot in your ear. “What else do you want to put in those naughty stories of yours?” His voice was a low, teasing growl, the words wrapped in wicked intent.

A shiver ran down your spine, and all you could manage was a helpless moan in response, your mind too fogged with bliss to form a coherent answer. But both of you knew — this moment, this raw passion, would be written into your journal later, like every other fantasy that you and Michael had brought to life. It was just another story in the collection you could never keep secret, not with him.

With a swift movement, Michael’s strong arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you up against his chest in one smooth motion. His length stayed buried deep inside of you, the connection unbroken as he stood to his feet, lifting you effortlessly. Your back pressed against the hard planes of his chest, his heartbeat pounding through your skin as he turned both of you around. His lips brushed against your neck, but there was no pause in his motions — he set you down on the chair on all fours, your body arched perfectly, just the way he liked it.

The angle opened you up to him completely, making you gasp as you felt the fullness of his length slide back into you with agonizing precision. You whined, your body trembling beneath him, each thrust sending shocks of pleasure straight through you. Michael’s pace was steady but relentless, his hips snapping forward as your body smacked back against him. The sharp recoil of your skin meeting his echoed in the room, adding to the erotic symphony of wet, desperate sounds.

Michael’s eyes locked onto where your bodies met, watching the way your arousal coated him, the slickness of it making each thrust glide smoother. He needed more. Despite how wet you were, his greed for more of you drove him further. His mouth parted, and with a low groan, he let a drop of his saliva fall down onto his shaft, watching it drip and mix with your wetness, working into you with each thrust, making it even more intense.

“Michael, don’t stop,” you moaned, your voice shaky and breathless, your body trembling as the pleasure overwhelmed you.

He growled low in his throat, his hand reaching up to grab a fistful of your hair, wrapping the strands tightly around his fingers. He yanked your head back, the pull making your body arch even more, forcing you to open up further for him. “I won’t stop,” he whispered darkly into your ear, his breath ragged. “Not until you get a full story, baby.”

A loud, helpless moan ripped from your throat as his words sent another wave of desire crashing through you. You tried to push back against him, to match his pace, but Michael wasn’t having it. His grip tightened, and his pace changed, faster, more intense. The sound of your skin slapping together filled the room, his hips snapping against your ass with such force that it made your entire body shudder.

The thrusts came harder, deeper, each one knocking the breath from your lungs. You pressed your face into the seat, muffling your moans as you tried to hold on, but it was impossible. Michael’s pace was relentless, the sensation of him driving into you was too much, and you could feel yourself unraveling with every thrust.

“Fuck,” Michael gritted through his teeth, his voice thick with strain, every syllable drenched in the raw intensity of the moment. His eyes locked onto the sight before him, mesmerized by how your body responded to him, your arousal gleaming on his length with every deep thrust. The creamy sheen coated him entirely, heightening each movement as he drove into you. You were so tight, so wet—every inch of you pulling him deeper, making it impossible for him to slow down, not that he wanted to. He couldn’t get enough.

Your hand reached back in a desperate attempt to steady yourself, but Michael wasn’t having it. Without a word, he released your hair, his grip shifting to your arm, grabbing it firmly and twisting it behind your back. In one swift motion, he pinned it against the small of your spine, arching you deeper into the seat. The new angle made your stomach press flat against the chair, your chin sinking into the cushion as his thrusts grew harder. He slammed into you with a rhythm that was relentless, each movement sending heavy groans from his lips and loud, breathless moans from yours.

The pressure in your belly was building, that familiar burn growing tighter and tighter with every thrust. The ache in your core was so close to release, yet still so maddeningly far. Michael knew it too. He could feel your body tightening, your walls clenching around him, pulsing with need as you teetered on the edge. With every stroke, he was bringing you closer, pushing you toward that inevitable climax that had been creeping up on you from the start.

“Michael, I’m so close,” you moaned, your voice hoarse and desperate, barely able to hold back the sob of pleasure rising in your throat. Your body trembled beneath him, and your toes curled so tightly you thought they might cramp.

“Me too, baby,” he groaned, his voice strained as he pushed harder into you, sweat dripping down his forehead, falling in rivulets across his face. His grip on your waist tightened, fingers digging into your skin as he worked his body faster, more determined, his cock brushing that spot deep inside you with precision, the one spot that drove you absolutely insane. Each time he hit it, your body convulsed, and you could feel yourself unraveling at his mercy.

You bit down on your lip, trying to muffle the scream threatening to escape, but it was no use. The tension in your belly coiled tighter until it snapped, and with a final thrust, Michael sent you over the edge. Your body convulsed, trembling violently as wave after wave of your release crashed through you. Your walls clenched and spasmed around him, squeezing his cock as your arousal gushed over him, coating him in slick warmth. You could feel everything—the way your body held him inside, the way your orgasm pulsed through every inch of your skin.

Michael wasn’t far behind. The sensation of your release gripping him so tightly, combined with the sounds of your pleasure, pushed him past his breaking point. His grip on your arm and waist tightened, his fingers pressing into you with bruising force as his hips bucked uncontrollably.

With a deep, guttural groan, he buried himself inside you one final time, releasing deep into your core. His body twitched as his cum spilled out in thick, hot spurts, filling you completely. His moans were desperate, your name falling from his lips in a low, ragged whisper as his cock throbbed within you, his seed seeping out and dripping onto the leather chair beneath with a wet thud.

Michael collapsed on top of you, his body spent and heavy, his breath hot against your neck as he tried to catch it. Your limbs trembled beneath him, the aftershocks of your orgasm still making you shudder as you both lay there, tangled and exhausted. His arms wrapped loosely around your waist, holding you close even as his weight pressed into you.

Both of you were too drained to move, limbs heavy with the weight of exhaustion, but the quiet that settled over the room felt intimate, almost sacred. The aftermath of your shared pleasure clung to the air, thick and heady, and you lay there, basking in it. It was clear as day—a new story had just been written, etched into your mind with every kiss, every breathless moan, every sensation that still lingered. You knew it wouldn’t be the last, and neither did Michael.

As the silence wrapped around you both, Michael finally sat up, his broad chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. His skin glistened with sweat, tiny droplets rolling down his neck, his breathing heavy and labored, but his eyes remained on you. Slowly, he eased himself out of you, the soft, wet sound of his withdrawal making you whimper. His gaze darkened, a mixture of pride and desire swirling in his eyes as he watched your shared release seep out, coating your thighs and dripping onto the leather seat.

“Fuck… look at you,” Michael murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction as he cupped your cheek gently, leaning down to press a soft kiss against your lips. “You’re so perfect. Every damn time.”

You whimpered at the emptiness, your body trembling slightly as the cool air hit your overheated skin. Michael’s lips brushed against your jaw, his breath warm and ragged. “I’ll be right back, baby,” he whispered softly, the kiss lingering a moment longer before he stood.

His length was still semi-hard, glistening with the evidence of your union as he crossed the room, every step deliberate, his muscles taut beneath his skin. He disappeared into the bathroom, the faint sound of running water filling the air, grounding you in the silence that had settled between you.

When he returned, the washcloth was warm and damp in his hand. He knelt down beside you, his touch gentle and deliberate as he began to clean you. The soft fabric glided between your sensitive folds, wiping away the thick remnants of his release. His fingers lingered for just a second longer than necessary, tracing your skin with reverence.

“You always make such a mess, baby,” he teased softly, his voice low, filled with tenderness. “But I love it. I love seeing you like this.”

You let out a small breathless laugh, your body too spent to respond fully. He lifted you gently, propping you up just enough to make sure you were comfortable. “You’re not falling asleep in that chair,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear, the heat of his breath sending shivers down your spine.

Your legs trembled as you attempted to stand, the strength drained from them. Michael’s eyes softened, and without hesitation, he scooped you up effortlessly, cradling you against his chest. His lips found your temple, pressing a soft kiss there as he carried you to the bed. He laid you down gently, your body sinking into the softness of the sheets, your head lolling to the side.

Just as your eyes fluttered shut, you reached out, your hand brushing against his still-hard length. A playful smirk curled your lips as you stroked him lightly, teasing him with lazy, languid movements.

Michael let out a deep growl, his eyes narrowing in playful warning. “Keep playing, and we’ll be up all night,” he said, his voice rough with desire, though a grin tugged at the corner of his lips.

You smiled sleepily, pulling the covers over yourself as you settled in, the warmth enveloping you. Michael turned and walked back into the bathroom, rinsing out the cloth and tossing it in the trash before returning to the bedroom.

When he came back, he paused in the doorway, his eyes locking onto the sight of you with your journal open on your lap, pencil in hand, scribbling furiously despite the exhaustion pulling at your body. He chuckled softly, shaking his head.

“You couldn’t wait, could you?” he asked, his voice filled with amusement as he stepped closer to the bed, his eyes gleaming with affection.

You shook your head, looking up at him with tired but determined eyes, a mischievous glint still dancing in them. “You inspired me,” you whispered, your voice soft, filled with warmth.

Michael slid into the bed beside you, his body still radiating heat as he nestled against your side. He rested his head on your shoulder, watching you write. “So, what are you putting in this time?” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear as he spoke. His voice was low, a seductive rumble that made your heart race.

You glanced at him, your fingers pausing for a moment on the page. “Everything,” you whispered back, your lips curving into a playful smile. “Every touch, every sound… every inch of you.”

Michael let out a low, approving hum, his hand slipping beneath the covers to rest on your thigh, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your skin. “Every inch, huh?” he teased, his voice dripping with seduction. “You better not leave anything out, baby. I want all of it.”

You shivered under his touch, your body still sensitive, but you couldn’t help but smile as you continued writing. “Oh, I won’t. I’ll make sure it’s just as… vivid as tonight was.”

His lips pressed against your shoulder, soft yet possessive. “Good,” he murmured against your skin, his breath warm and tantalizing. “I want to relive this every time I read it.”

Both of you stayed up for the next hour, wrapped in each other’s presence, going over every detail that played out tonight. Michael’s voice was soft in your ear, offering playful commentary, whispering bits of inspiration that made your heart race. Every now and then, he would press a kiss to your shoulder, his hand sliding up and down your thigh in slow, sensual movements, reminding you of exactly what you were writing about.

And when you finally closed the journal, both of you spent and satisfied, you knew that this wouldn’t be the last story you’d write together.