what if thriller michael lets you love his fresh stache in the most proper and considerate way? 18+
“y’really think i look good ma?” your eyes gleaming at the sight of michael’s freshly shaved face, only leaving him with a small stache over his pretty lips. “perfect. just perfect.” his smile growing as he continues to watch you bite the corner of your lip subconsciously, never leaving your eyes off his stache. “c’mere baby show me how perfect it is?”
your legs trembling at the immense feeling you were receiving at the generous laps of michael’s tongue over your hot wet hole. “mmngh lil’ bit— more—mama” michael’s voice shakes from below as his hand grips tighter over your thighs, enjoying every single drop of you.
“m-michael please i nee-need..stop stop stop” your voice huffing out in an exasperated breath at your words ending from a sudden cry. except you didn’t receive a verbal response back from michael. instead, his hands slide from your thighs to your hips soon pushing your lower body even more down and over his mouth. just a bit more to practically cover his face with your delicious pussy.
michael’s fresh new stache slightly prickling in a good way as your clit continues to come in contact with it—soon letting more cries to echo through the room at the pleasurable feeling increasing even more. “jus’ like that mama. good job keep going pretty.” his voice still vibrating on your core as your slickness begins to soak his stache and lips. only driving michael to tongue fuck and eat you out more ferociously than before.
michael continues praising you as your hips now guide its own path with your movements interchanging from circular to swaying patterns.
“atta girl keep on going.”
“you’re doin’ so well for me mama go on.”
“so so perfect baby. so good for me.”
“show me how much you love it pretty. fuck yourself on me.”
“so wet and dirty baby look at your mess mama ahh.”
his hands still clinging on your skin as he’s still eating you like your life depends on it. “whatever you want ma. take it take it—there y’go baby that’s it.” softly as his voice is semi-unrecognizable by the weight of your pussy over his face.
michael was obsessed, to say the least. 3 orgasms and his tongue still overlapping your clit and sucking on the bud, soon sending you once again completely over the edge. your hands flying towards the closest thing you could grab, his hair. “fuck fuck fuck i really c-cant-“ your pleads growing in desperation as michael continues his work—knowing you were losing your mind, while groaning softly at the feeling of your fingers curling into his roots.
if knowing that a simple new stache meant losing yourself over him and being able to see you pleasure yourself by it— then michael only had one more job to keep. and lord knew it wasn’t removing it from his look anytime soon.
contains: just you and jer being freaked out, jaafar and randy jr mentions
notes: sum sweet and short for the girls
“ya’ll” your friend, Noami, and fellow podcast host started “i get to the studio today and this bitch is taking forever to say goodbye to her man, like they was hugged up together”
you giggled and took a sip of your drink “did ya’ll…because you got that good dick glow going on”
“we sure did” you replied tucking a strand of hair behind your ear “that’s why i got this scarf on, my lace isn’t even intact anymore girl” you said patting the scarf on your head
“jermajesty really be doing you like that” naomi questioned “mhmm” you hummed
“for the past three days” “THREE DAYS?!” “yeah” “what yall celebrating” “nothing, whenever either of us have a trip coming up without the other we fuck 24/7 until the other leaves” you sail calmly while naomi looked at you with a look of pure amusement and utter confusion
“why?” “because why not” “so your telling me you and that man have been fucking for three days straight” she asked receiving a smirk from you
“yeah, sometimes in public” “but where in public though” you looked at the camera and then looked at her “i can’t tell you that but what i can tell you is” you took a sip of your drink
“that man possesses a supernatural level of stamina. because the things he does to my back….whew” you let out a breath, naomi resting a hand on her chest in shock
“I woke up yesterday and he gave me that look and girllll” “what” “he had my legs on the headboard and after that we had the bed shaking so much the damn lamp fell off the side table” the two of you burst out into laughter
“listen y’all…if i come out with a pregnancy announcement, do not be shocked” you said with a smile and pointing at the camera
on the TV screen, the podcast clip paused on your smiling face.
in the hotel living room, the silence lasted for exactly one second before exploding. Randy Jr. and Jaafar completely lost it, throwing their heads back and laughing so hard they were practically falling off the couch.
“the headboard?!” Randy Jr. laughed loudly “and then the lamp, Jermajesty?! You out here breaking furniture?!”
“bro, she just told the entire internet and i mean the entire internet that ya’ll be fucking like rabbits” Jaafar wheezed, wiping a literal tear from his eye.
Jermajesty sat trapped between them, the remote glued to his hand, he buried his face in his palms, trying and failing to hide the embarrassed, slightly proud smirk tugging at his lips.
“man, turn it off” Jermajesty muttered into his hands, his voice muffled but totally defeated. “she has absolutely no filter, not even a lick of it”
“oh, we are never letting you live this down” Randy laughed, leaning over to punch his shoulder. “next time I see her, I'm buying her a new lamp!"
Michael had kept his fantasies to himself while growing up, he went from being a hormonal teen to a young adult that couldn’t handle being in a vicinity of a woman due to the nerves.
until he met you.
you were a goddess, all curvy and beautiful with glossy brown skin and a sinfully sweet voice. michael had crushed on you and winded up asking you out in the most weirdest ways possible—while drunk—but enough of the background.
he and you often made out when things got intimate, but he never let you go farther than that, always getting up with a painfully hard cock and rushing to the bathroom to clean the cum stain from the front of his pants.
but now? he couldn’t back out.
he was settled on the bed in just his boxers with you standing in front of him, slowly stripping out of your clothes—his throat bobs when he swallows, eyes trying there hardest not to look down at your stomach, breasts, or the valley down to your pussy.
“cmon, angel, look at me.” you cup his face, forcing his eyes onto you, stepping in between his legs.
his breathing picks up and he feels his cock jump in his boxers as your tits hover just in front of his face. “love i-… i don’t think i-.. Ah!” he cries out when you settle onto his lap, bare cunt right on top of his clothed dick.
you smirk when you feel him throb beneath you. “you’re so hard, is that all for me baby?” you purr, slowly rocking your hips. he gasps and bite into his lip, large hands hovering awkwardly over your hips—you notice and raise them to cup your tits. “Mm.. feel so good, you feel good too daddy?” you say teasingly.
“Yo—you’re killing me, girl.. Oh gosh—“ he feels the incoming orgasm and tries to push you off. “Nuh uh, don’t do that.” you cluck your tongue and get off his lap, despite his swiftness to retreat as usual, he was disappointed at the loss of your weight.
“take off your boxers.” you order, and he obeys, hasn’t he always?
the fabric of his boxers now lay on the floor, thick cock twitching and slapping his stomach occasionally, you hum with delight and push at his chest for him to lay back. He does.
you crawl ontop of him and look down at his wide eyes. “you ready?” you ask, one hand cupping his warm cheek. “y-yes mama, i think so.” he swallows.
you grin and sink down onto his cock, he gasps and slowly sits up. “Jesus.. oh my goodness, i-…” he groans. it was cute, the way he was about to bottom out already.
you bounce erratically ontop of him, ass slapping against his thighs as you moan. “god, mikey! you’re so big, feel so good!” you brace your hands on his chest.
“i think-… i think im gon’ come..” he rasps, curls framing his face beautifully. “oh god.. ah.. ah..” when you glance down, you swear you see tears trickling down his face. “aww baby..” you coo, bouncing faster.
“you wanna come? come with me then, fuck.. come in me baby.” your lips are glossy and michael cant help but whine, his cock throbbing inside you before he shoots his seed, hands gripping the sheets.
your orgasm follows through not long after, sweat coating your skin as you pant, but when you move to get off—michael stops you. “W-wait..” his damp eyes find yours. “can we go again..? please?”
content ! 18+, unprotected p in v, praise, sweet sex, pet names (baby, honey)
"fuck!" you cry, throwing your head back and letting your jaw go slack. michael is pistoning his hips against yours relentlessly, the only sounds in the room being the lewd skin slapping and the heavy panting and moans emitting from both of you.
"i know, honey" he coos, trying his best to be sweet verbally despite how rough he's being with you physically. "m'sorry babygirl" he tries.
the stretch was borderline excruciating. he was just too big. the funny part is he doesn't even know he's that big! or atleast he didn't know it until you started screaming complaining about it.
"s'too big, michael!" you mewl, squirming under him, but you can't help but arch into him. it's almost instinctive.
"just breathe, baby... breathe" maybe he should take his own advice, because he's barely able to take in a full breath with just how tight your gummy walls are squeezing and fluttering around him.
"i- can't-" the pleasure becomes overwhelming when michael reaches in between the both of you to aimlessly rub at your clit, anything to get you to stop whining. he immediately notices your eyes roll back and your breath hitch. "s'that better honey?" he asks, "that feel a little better?" you nod frantically, barely able to compute his sweet words as you feel yourself growing closer and closer to coming undone. the sniveling and the cries coming from you morph into delighted moans as the stretch becomes euphoric, his praises egging you on impossibly.
"there she is" he purrs, a small, knowing smirk playing on his face.
"there's my girl" he litters your face with small kisses in an effort to calm you down as he continues his thrusts, growing closer to the edge himself.
"g-gosh- baby," he groans, his big fingers still working at your clit.
"feels s'good michael!" you moan, right at the edge. "yeah?" he moans right back at you. "that feels good, huh?" he speeds up his thrusts, making you squeal. "feel me so deep, yeah?" he looks down and sees himself poking through your lower belly. he reaches down and presses on the bulge, making you wince at the tightness. the bulge is disappearing and reappearing with every thrust. "shi-shoot, honey" he mutters.
you feel the white hot band in your tummy snap, pleasure shooting through your body as you cry out his name. that alone is enough to push him over the edge as well. he cums deep inside you, fucking into you a few last times. you both lay there, panting. he's heavy on top of you, laying sweaty on top of you (not that you mind). and of course, michael is quick to comfort you.
he pushes some of the hair out of your face, off of your damp, flushed skin. "you did so good, baby... m'sorry i was so rough" he speaks gently, kissing your forehead.
summary: jermajesty suggests making a movie and you agree without a lick of hesitation
contains: heavily 18+, mdni!, oral ( m and f receiving), pinv, freaked out jermajesty, recording
notes: i saw a clip from the 2000s of kim k absolutely serving face and i learned that clip was actually from her tape so…. enjoy !
The red record light blinked and the camera made a click
In the reflection of the large bathroom mirror, Jermajesty stood right behind you. One of his hands was wrapped steadily around the camcorder, while the other cupped around your breast, slightly bouncing it in his hand
“look at my baby…doing her makeup” he zoomed in on your face in the mirror as you did your makeup in a very short yet oversized white button down that belonged to jermajesty
“shes gonna look so pretty when i fuck her” he mumbled earning a little giggle from you
he zoomed out, angling the camcorder down just enough to capture his large bulge rubbing against your butt
the camera clicked again
now, the two of you were pressed tight against each other, cheeks touching as you both looked directly into the lens. your fingers stroked along his jawline, tracing the sharp line of his face. clashing a playful grin, you playfully stuck your tongue out at the camera, and he mimicked you,
with a sudden tilt, the frame whipped toward the wall mirror, revealing that you were now completely straddling his lap.
his hand was resting comfortably on your butt before slapping it and then gripping it “jer!”
the camera clicked again but you were now holding it
Jermajesty had his head buried deep between your thighs. a soft, involuntary moan escaped your lips, your fingers burying themselves into his hair, gently tugging the strands to guide his way .
“just like that baby” you gasped, tilting the screen slightly. Jermajesty looked up from between your legs, catching the lens, and gave the camera a very confident wink.
click
you were sitting on the very edge of the mattress now, and Jermajesty stood over you
“open for me, baby," he ordered softly.
you looked up at him and slid your tongue out. he chuckled and lightly slapped the thick tip of his cock against your tongue. before you could even swallow, he cupped your jaw firmly, tilting your head back, and began to smoothly thrust into your mouth.
the camera recording went on for 10 more minutes capturing the raw and messiness all the way until he finally came on your tongue.
“good girl”
click
you were laying completely flat on your back now, holding the heavy camcorder up in the air, pointing it down at yourself.
completely ignoring the mess of the room, you focused entirely on the flip-out screen. you checked your angles, idly fluffing out your hair, and took your time reapplying a thick layer of lip gloss until your lips looked perfectly glassy in the low light.
you gave the camera a confident smile, thoroughly enjoying your own reflection.
you glanced slightly to the side, looking at Jermajesty who was currently just out of the frame, and then your eyes snapped right back to the lens.
you held the gaze of the camera, leaned in a little closer, and whispered, “I’m about to get fucked” before bursting into a quiet giggle.
click
the camera tilted wildly for a split second, the frame spinning past the ceiling fan before stabilizing as it was propped up on the side table right next to the head of the bed. the angle was low, wide, and caught everything.
you were on your hands and knees now, your back arched deeply as you looked up, checking your reflection in the flip-out screen one more time. the short white button down was bunched up around your waist, leaving you completely exposed.
Jermajesty kneeled right behind you, his hands instantly gripping your hips, his thumbs digging into your skin to anchor you in place. he didn't waste a second. He lined himself up and pushed all the way into you with one deep, heavy stroke.
a sharp gasp caught in your throat, your hands gripping the bedsheets as he started a relentless, demanding pace.
“look at you” Jermajesty growled, his voice thick and rough as he stared down at where your bodies met. “look how pretty you look taking my dick…you like looking at yourself in that screen, huh?”
“yeah" you whined, your head tossing back as he slammed into you, the friction loud in the quiet bedroom. “jer, please” you whined
“please what? tell me exactly what you want” he commanded, slapping his palm against your hip, the sound sharp and echoing through the room, he leaned his upper body down over yours, his chest pressing hard against your back as he kept driving into you from behind. “tell the camera how good it feels.”
“oh my gosh your stretching me out so good” you moaned, looking toward the lens, your eyes heavy-lidded and glassy with pleasure. “t-so big, baby... fuck.”
“that's it, talk to me” he mumbled, his lips brushing against your ear “show me that face you make when I’m deep inside you, look right at the camera for me”
you turned your head toward the screen, serving face even through the haze of pleasure, biting your bottom lip as Jermajesty sped up.
The mattress squeaked rhythmically, the audio capturing every wet, heavy slap of his thighs against yours.
“look at my fucking girl," Jermajesty praised, his grip shifting from your hips to the back of your hair, gently tugging your head back to force you to look up and back at him. “how deep is it baby, can you feel me in your stomach?”
“yes baby!” you gasped out, arching higher against him, completely intoxicated by his words and the view on the screen.
“your doing so good for the camera baby” he groaned, his pace turning frantic, completely losing his composure as he buried himself as deep as he possibly could inside you. “arch your back more for me…take it baby, don’t run”
click
you were flat on your back, your hips elevated off the mattress by a stack of pillows, with your legs draped completely over Jermajesty’s broad shoulders. ye was hovering over you, pinning your upper body down in a heavy, suffocating mating press that left absolutely no space between you.
“look at me” Jermajesty said in a possessive whisper, he then leaned down, burying his face in the crook of your neck, before driving down into you with a slow, agonizingly deep stroke that made your eyes roll back.
“Jer...” you choked out, your hands flying up to grip the wooden headboard just above you to keep from sliding away. “your too deep, oh my god!”
"I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be," he began to grind his hips against yours, using his entire weight to press you down into the sheets, making sure you felt every single inch of him. “look at the camera, baby. let it see how you look when I fill up your pussy”
even pinned beneath him you were completely overwhelmed, you tilted your head toward the side table. you caught the reflection in the tiny flip-out screen,
your hair fanned out across the pillows, your lips parted as you let out a series of needy, broken whines and you held the camera’s gaze
“look at those pretty eyes” Jermajesty muttered, noticing where your attention went. he pulled back just enough to slam back into you, the force of it shaking the mattress and making the camcorder's view shudder slightly. “you love the way I fuck you on camera , don't you?”
“yes!” you cried out loudly, your fingers clawing at his shoulders now, pulling him down for a messy, desperate kiss. “don't stop, please, Jer, just like that!” you whined
“i'm not stopping," he promised against your mouth, his breath coming in heavy, ragged pants. His pace turned frantic, his hips hammering down in a relentless, bruising pace that completely locked you beneath him.
“your taking every fucking drop of me.”
The tape whirred to a sudden and complete stop.
you and jermajesty looked at the small screen and then out of each other completely breathless
Jermajesty let out a low, exhausted chuckle, leaning over to press a lazy kiss to your shoulder. “we really did that," he mumbled, his voice completely shot.
“we did” you breathed out, a proud, satisfied smile tugging at your lips. You tilted the camcorderup to look at yourself one last time, serving one final, sleepy look for the lens. “and honestly? the lighting was perfect.”
Jermajesty groaned, rolling onto his back and pulling a pillow over his face. “let’s keep this to ourselves and not leak it”
context: you discover an early sign of vitiligo on your son.
"You look just like me,"
You whispered into the dark nursery, leaning over the wooden railing to poke his soft thigh. "Don't listen to your father. You have my toes. And my ears. We basically twins, Peanut."
The nursery was quiet at three in the morning, save for the rhythmic, mechanical hum of the baby monitor and the soft, heavy breathing of five-month-old Sean—affectionately dubbed "Peanut" by Paris the very first day he came home from the hospital.
You stood over the crib, your hair wrapped in a silk bonnet, wearing one of Michael’s oversized flannel shirts as a makeshift robe. Peanut was fast asleep on his stomach, his little knees tucked up under his chest, his diapered bottom sticking up in the air. He had a full head of thick, tight, jet-black curls that defied gravity, a tiny button nose, and a pair of chubby, dimpled cheeks that you spend half your days kissing.
"Who are you tryna to convince, applehead?"
A low, raspy whisper came from the doorway. You turned to see Michael leaning against the frame, his frame silhouetted by the dim hallway light. He was wearing black pajama pants and a loose white V-neck, his own hair tied back in a messy, loose bun. He looked exhausted from a long string of meetings with his management team, but the moment his eyes landed on the crib, that soft, incredibly smug fatherly smile broke across his face.
He walked over on quiet tiptoes, the floorboards barely groaning beneath his feet, and slid his arms around your waist from behind. He rested his chin on your shoulder, his skin warm against your neck, smelling of lotion and the lavender soap he used before bed.
"I'm not trying to convince anyone," you sniffed playfully, leaning back into his chest. "I carried this child for nine months, Michael. I endured swollen ankles, heartburn, and a literal midnight delivery. I deserve at least one feature."
Michael let out a breathless, silent laugh against your neck, his chest vibrating against your back. He peered down at the sleeping baby. "Beautiful, you are a vision, and I love you with all my heart, but that boy is a literal carbon copy of me from the Gary days. Look at that lip. Look at those curls. You just provided the penthouse suite for nine months."
"A penthouse suite is crazy." you mumbled, turning in his arms to face him. But you couldn't help the smile that tugged at your lips.
He wasn't lying. When Peanut had been born five months ago, it had been a whirlwind of emotion. The labor had been fast and furious, hitting you like a freight train in the middle of the night. You remembered Michael panicking, trying to grab the prepackaged hospital bag while simultaneously tripping over Blanket’s toys, while Prince and Paris stood at the top of the stairs in their pajamas, cheering you on like you were running a marathon.
When the doctor had finally handed the baby to you, wrapped in a striped hospital blanket, the room had gone completely still. Michael had wept openly, his hands shaking as he cut the cord, falling to his knees by the bedside to kiss your damp forehead over and over again. And when the rest of the Jackson clan had come to visit the ranch a few weeks later, the agreement had been immediate. Katherine had held the baby close to her chest, her eyes crinkling with tears as she whispered,
“Oh, Mike, he looks just like you did when you were a baby. Exactly like you.” Every single one of Michael's brothers had teased him about having a literal clone running around the house.
Life with a newborn had turned Neverland into a beautiful, chaotic playground.
Prince and Paris had adapted to their roles as big siblings with fierce, almost comical devotion. Prince considered himself the "Head of Security" for the nursery, strictly monitoring who entered and making sure anyone who wanted to hold the baby used a generous pump of hand sanitizer first.
Paris treated Peanut like her live-in doll, constantly picking out his little onesies, singing him off-key lullabies, and insisting on holding his bottle during feeding times. Even little Blanket, who was still the baby of the house himself, would toddle into the nursery just to press his favorite blue blanket against the baby’s tiny feet, making sure his little brother was warm.
By the afternoon, the heat of the California sun had mellowed into a golden, lazy warmth that flooded through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the main living room.
The house was filled with the comfortable, domestic sounds of a family at peace. Peanut was down on the rug, happily playing inside his large mesh playpen. He was surrounded by a generous assortment of soft plush animals and a bright plastic teething ring that he was currently gnawing on with pure determination. Prince and Blanket were sitting on the hardwood floor right next to the pen, intensely focused on a massive game of ‘who can build the biggest lego tower’.
They were building an elaborate, multi-tiered fortress completely surrounding the playpen, treating their baby brother like a royal king protected inside an impenetrable castle.
"Don't put that block there, Bigi, it's gonna fall on the perimeter," Prince instructed in his serious, older-brother voice, carefully balancing a wooden piece. Blanket just let out a quiet grunt, happily passing Prince another block, his eyes occasionally darting to Peanut to make sure the baby was still smiling.
A few paces away, the open-concept kitchen was separated from the living room by a wide marble island. You and Michael were working together in tandem, preparing a late lunch for the kids. The radio was playing a soft, soulful Motown track in the background. Michael was humming along, his hips swaying slightly to the rhythm as he expertly sliced up red apples and peeling oranges on a wooden cutting board. You were beside him, assembling ham and cheese sandwiches, spreading mayonnaise over the white bread with practiced ease.
"Think we should take them to the movie theater on the property later?" Michael asked softly, tossing a small piece of apple into his mouth. "Prince said he wanted to see that new cartoon again."
"Only if you promise not to let them eat their weight in snacks before dinner," you replied, nudging his hip with yours. "Last time, Paris had a sugar rush that lasted until midnight."
Michael chuckled, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners. "Hey, I can't help it if the concession stand has the best—"
The heavy, frantic slap-slap-slap of bare feet sprinting down the long hallway shattered the peaceful atmosphere.
The kitchen doors flew open with a loud thud. Paris stood in the frame, her chest heaving underneath her overalls, her eyes wide with a sudden, absolute panic. Her little hands were gripping the edges of her shirt.
"Mama! Daddy! Come quick!" she gasped out, her voice trembling with an innocent but terrifying urgency. "Peanut's skin is coming off! It’s gone!"
Your heart violently dropped into your stomach like a lead weight. The butter knife slipped from your fingers, clattering loudly against the marble counter. A cold, suffocating wave of pure adrenaline rushed through your veins. "What?!" you shrieked, your maternal instinct instantly flaring into overdrive.
Michael didn't even speak. The apple slice he was holding dropped to the floor as his face went completely pale. He vaulted past the kitchen island, his long legs carrying him down the hallway in a blur of motion. You were right on his heels, your heart hammering against your ribs as a million horrific medical scenarios flashed through your mind—burns, a sudden allergic reaction, an infection, ANYTHING.
Michael burst into the living room, practically sliding on the polished wood floor to reach the playpen. Prince and Blanket looked up, startled by the sudden, dramatic entrance of their parents.
You scrambled in right behind Michael, your hands shaking as you reached into the mesh pen and scooped a confused Peanut up into your arms. You frantically turned him over, inspecting his face, his chubby hands, his neck, his ears. Peanut just blinked his wide, dark eyes up at you, completely unfazed, letting out a wet bubble and waving his arms.
"Where, Paris? Where is it?!" you breathed, your voice cracking as you scanned his skin.
Paris rushed over, pointing a trembling finger at the baby's left side, right under his arm. "Right there! I saw it when he rolled over to grab his toys! His skin is rubbing off!"
You didn't hesitate. With trembling fingers, you gently gathered the hem of the baby's soft cotton onesie and unsnapped it, pulling the fabric up to expose his chubby little torso and ribcage. You carefully turned him toward the afternoon sunlight streaming through the window, your eyes scanning the rich, beautiful brown complexion of his skin.
And then, you saw it.
Right near his ribs, just below his tiny armpit, there was a small, irregular patch of skin about the size of a dime. It wasn't bleeding. It wasn't raw, or peeling, or inflamed. It wasn't a rash.
It was simply a patch of skin that was completely devoid of its pigment—a stark, milky-white contrast against the rest of his smooth, dark skin.
You let out a long, ragged breath, the immediate terror of a physical injury or a chemical burn leaving your body. You ran a gentle, soothing thumb over the spot. It felt perfectly smooth. Exactly like the rest of him. "It's... it's just a light spot, Paris," you whispered, trying to calm your own racing pulse. "Maybe a new birthmark. He's okay."
You turned your head to look at Michael, expecting him to give a sigh of relief.
The words caught completely in your throat.
Michael hadn't moved. He was frozen on his knees beside the playpen, his gaze locked entirely on the nickel-sized white patch on his son's torso. Every single drop of color had drained from his face, leaving him a ghostly, fragile shade of pale. His jaw was slightly slack, his lips parted, and his dark eyes were wide, glassy, and completely unblinking.
He didn't cry. He didn't make a sound. But the sheer, agonizing weight of a silent realization hung over him like a suffocating shroud.
He knew exactly what it was.
It was vitiligo.
It was the very same autoimmune disease that had ravaged his own body, turned his teenage years into a nightmare, and transformed his adulthood into a cruel media circus. It was the disease that had physically altered him, causing him decades of physical pain in the sun and unimaginable emotional scarring from a world that refused to believe he was sick.
And now, it was appearing on his innocent, five-month-old baby boy—years, decades earlier than it had ever appeared on him.
"Baby?" you murmured softly, your voice dropping into a cautious, protective register. The kids were watching, and the sudden, heavy silence in the room was making them uneasy.
Michael didn't look up. He couldn't. His hands, usually so expressive and steady, were visibly trembling as he slowly reached out. His index finger hovered just a millimeter above the white patch on Peanut's skin. He looked like he wanted to touch it, to wish it away, but he was too terrified that his touch would somehow make it real.
Prince looked between you and his father, his brow furrowing with that quiet, intuitive maturity he often showed. "Dad? Is Peanut sick?"
The sound of his oldest son's voice seemed to snap a cord inside Michael. He closed his eyes for a brief second, swallowing hard, forcing the raw panic down into the deepest recesses of his chest. When he opened his eyes, he forced a weak, incredibly gentle smile onto his face, though his eyes remained entirely hollow.
"No, Prince. Peanut isn't sick. He's perfectly healthy," Michael whispered, his voice remarkably controlled, though it carried a fragile, paper-thin edge. He looked at Paris, reaching out to tousle her hair. "You did a good job watching your brother, Paris. Thank you for telling us."
He cleared his throat, standing up with a deliberate, slow movement. "Prince, why don't you take Paris and Blanket back to the kitchen? Go ahead and start on the fruit slices. Mama and I will be right there in just a minute. We're just going to change Peanut's diaper."
Prince searched his father's face for a moment, then nodded solemnly. He took Paris and Blanket by their hands, leading them quietly out of the living room. The wooden doors of the kitchen swung shut behind them, leaving the room entirely silent.
The moment the kids were out of sight, the mask completely fell away.
Michael didn't cry, but he looked entirely, completely drained, as if the physical energy required to hold himself together had aged him ten years in a span of ten seconds. He sank back onto the couch, burying his face in his hands, his breathing shallow and ragged.
You didn't say a word. You carefully tucked Peanut back into his onesie, snapping it shut, and carried him over to the couch. You sat down right next to Michael, placing the baby gently in the space between you. Peanut, completely unaware of the heavy gravity in the room, immediately rolled onto his side and began to happily pull at the fabric of Michael's pajama pants.
You wrapped your arm around Michael’s shoulders, pulling his rigid, trembling frame against your side. "Michael," you murmured, your voice a steady, grounding anchor in the dark. "Honey, talk to me. Look at me, baby."
Slowly, Michael dropped his hands from his face. His eyes were bloodshot, staring blankly ahead at the wall.
"I passed it to him," he whispered, his voice entirely devoid of its usual melodic warmth. It was a flat, broken sound. "I prayed so hard. Every single night since you told me you were pregnant... I begged God to let him have your skin. To let him be safe from this."
He turned his head to look at you, and the sheer, raw vulnerability in his eyes broke your heart.
"Before I met you... my ex-partners, they... they didn't want to have children with me because of it," Michael confessed, his voice dropping into a raw, painful whisper, sharing a piece of trauma he had kept locked away for years. "They were terrified. One of them told me straight to my face that she didn't want to risk having a child who would get the vitiligo, or a child who would be too dark, or a child who would look like... like a freak to the world. They were scared of my genetics. They were scared of me."
Your grip tightened around his shoulder, your fingers digging into his shirt as a fierce, protective anger surged through you on his behalf.
"And I started to believe them," Michael continued, a bitter, hollow smile touching his lips. "I started to think that maybe I shouldn't have any more kids. Because look what I did to him. He's only five months old, and it's already starting. The world is going to tear him apart, Baby. They're going to accuse him of trying to change, they're going to call him names, they're going to look at his skin like it's a mistake. He looks just like me, and now he's going to have to suffer just like me."
"Michael, look at me," you commanded gently, reaching up with your free hand to firmly cup his jaw, forcing his eyes to lock onto yours. Your thumb brushed over his cheekbone. "Listen to me very carefully."
Michael blinked, his breath hitching as he looked into your eyes.
"Those women were blind, and they didn't deserve a single piece of the beautiful man you are," you said, your voice fierce, steady, and filled with an absolute, unwavering certainty. "You did not curse our son. You gave him life. You gave him those big beautiful eyes, that sweet smile, and a soul that is going to be just as kind and brilliant as his father's."
You leaned down, pressing a deep, lingering kiss to his forehead, then to his lips, letting him feel the entire weight of your love.
"And you listen to me," you continued, sliding your hand down to rest over his heart. "The world is different now. He is not going to go through what you went through alone. Do you know why?"
Michael swallowed hard, his dark eyes searching yours. "Why?"
"Because when you were a kid going through this, you didn't have anyone who understood," you whispered, a tear of your own finally slipping down your cheek. "But Peanut has you. He has a father who knows exactly how it feels, who can teach him how to be strong, how to hold his head high, and how to love himself. And he has a mother who will tear this entire industry apart before she lets anyone make her baby feel any less than perfect."
You shifted slightly, picking up Peanut and placing him directly into Michael’s lap. The baby immediately let out a happy coo, his tiny, chubby hands reaching up to blindly grab at the silver buttons on Michael's shirt.
"Look at him, Mikey," you murmured softly. "He doesn't care about a spot on his skin. He just wants his daddy."
Michael looked down at his son. He watched as Peanut's little fingers tangled in his shirt, his big, round eyes full of absolute, unconditional adoration for the man holding him.
Slowly, the heavy, suffocating tension began to melt out of Michael's shoulders. He let out a long, shaky breath—not a sob of defeat, but a release of the agonizing fear he had carried alone for decades. He wrapped his long, slender arms around the baby, pulling Peanut close against his chest, burying his face into the baby’s sweet, lotion-scented curls.
He reached out with his other arm, wrapping it securely around your waist and pulling you into the tight, fiercely protective circle.
"Thank you," Michael whispered against the baby's hair, his voice thick but finally steady, anchored by the strength you had poured into him. "Thank you, Mama. I don't know what I'd do without you."
"You'll never have to find out," you murmured, leaning your head against his shoulder as the three of you sat together in the soft sunlight. "We're a team."
Something like the reader catches micheal attempting to jerk off and embarrassingly forces him to admit to what he was doing while she "punishes" him
craving subby michael? don’t even joke lad.
Need Help ?
contains otw!era michael, smut (minors dni), handjob, edging, teasing, sub!michael, he’s pathetic as fuckkkk, ur mean, semi-proofread
Tonight, like most nights, everyone’s focus was on Michael. A private dinner in the backyard of Hayvenhurst, close loved ones in the rising pop star’s heart celebrating the success of his newest album, Off The Wall. First solo album where he had creative control, and could finally become a proper solo artist without no longer being tied to The Jackson 5.
Friends shook his hand, family giving him a tight hug while whispering a quick ‘I’m so proud of you’ in his ear, but nobody’s support could’ve outshined yours.
Of course you were there. It’s impossible for him to picture a universe where you weren’t in his life, by his side, helping with every hardship he’s faced. You couldn’t imagine yourself holding any other title other than Michael Jackson’s best friend, because of how perfect the role has sat within you over the years.
However, Michael is beginning to disagree. Especially with tonight, losing count how many times his eyes have taken him to your direction.
How oblivious you are to the way his gaze undresses you from where he sits beside, soaking up every gussied feature on you. The way your dress hasn’t missed a curve of yours to hug, breasts being nicely lifted, wanting to see how well they would fit in the palms of his hands instead. The way he’s now realizing how stunning gold jewelry looks against the complexion of your skin, giving him an idea on what to gift you for your next birthday. The way the glossy red on your lips reminds him of freshly picked strawberries in the spring, wondering if it would taste like them too if he closed the distance.
The way he knew he accidentally let his fantasies run a little too long, a tent in his pants starting to form.
“Isn’t that right, Michael?” You bring him back to reality, surroundings no longer quiet. He’s quick to bring a hand to cover his crotch as subtly as he could make it look, forgetting just how many people are here.
“Uhm, sorry, what?”
You gave him a scolding look for not paying attention, nodding your head towards his mother. “I was bringing up when you came over for the first time, and didn’t know I had a dog.”
You and his mother start giggling as you both reminisce, even more so at the color leaving his face, thinking it’s because of the mortifying memory being brought up.
No, it’s actually because he got a whiff of your dreamy vanilla perfume scent, and it went immediately to his dick, pants getting tighter.
“Oh my gosh, the scream you let out when my tiny baby tried jumping on your lap to give you kisses! People down the road thought someone was dying.”
Your guys’ laughter is drown out as he mentally draws a plan to escape, needing to be anywhere but here.
Michael barely was discreet in the way he stood up so suddenly, startling you two, about to bring a concerned hand to his side.
“Michael? Are you alri—“
“Sorry, gotta pee.” Is all he said before speed-walking across the lawn, ignoring any family member trying to stop him for a quick conversation on the way.
In a blink of an eye, Michael found himself in his room upstairs, shutting the door with one hand and fumbling his belt open with the other. He’s painfully hard, no strength he can find within him to ignore it.
The edge of the bed dips as he sits, pants and boxers shoved only halfway to his legs, impatient to wrap his palm around his erection.
The memory of your appearance and smell sharpens as he begins to touch himself, quieting his breathing as best he could.
His strokes are slow, eyes slipping closed, attempting to ignore the first burn of guilt brewing deep in his stomach for having such thoughts about his best friend, while having a bunch of family over.
Having his eyes closed had him fail to see the way he forgot to lock the door in the hurry he was in to be alone, knob turning to reveal you entering.
“Michael? Are you in her—“
You didn’t finish your sentence. The words died on your tongue as soon as you saw him jump from being frightened, hard cock still in hand. You wanted to check up on him, because it’s been a minute since he left for the bathroom. You were worried bringing up that embarrassing moment of his with your dog might’ve been too far on your part, so you searched to comfort him.
Yet, this wasn’t the sight you were expecting yourself to see upon entering his room. You also weren’t expecting yourself to feel your stomach do a weird flip as he begin to struggle to find the right words to explain himself, breath held hostage in his throat.
He stutters out your name, brain lagging, trying to find a version of reality where this isn’t happening. “Wh— I—I’m so sorry, shit—“
Michael doesn’t hear the click of you locking the door, or see you slowly make your way over to him, too busy trying to get his pants back on and avoid your possible disgusted stare.
“I — I was just—“ his voice cracks, sounding like he’s about to cry, too humiliated to even breathe. “Please just forget about this and go back downstairs, this is so embar—“
You cut him off. “Were you thinking of me?”
His eyes now meet yours, because he isn’t sure if he heard you correctly. You don’t blink, holding his stare, a tilt of your head to urge him to answer you.
He flinches in surprise when you take a seat next to him, giving one look down then pinning him again with your gaze. “Did I do that?”
The air between you thickens, heavy with something searing. He sees the way your lips part, breath fanning warm against his cheek, watching how you’re savoring this moment rather than being embarrassed for him, like any other person would.
“What? N-No, I mean—“
You cut him off again. “Don’t lie to me, Mikey. I’ve seen the way you’ve been staring at me all night.”
Oh, so you weren’t oblivious like he thought.
You can see how afraid he was to speak, not too sure if this is truly happening or not.
“I’d be a terrible best friend to not help you out, wouldn’t I? After all, I did cause this.” You gently remove his hand that’s been hiding his cock from you, causing the heat to pulse through him like a wave.
Michael’s mind is in a battle of being convinced if he’s dreaming or not. He hates the way his legs instinctively open up for you, heart pounding like it’s trying to burst out of his ribs. Shame still clings onto his skin like sweat, but he doesn’t dwell on it any further as soon as your fingers curl around his thick length.
You give him a slow stroke, watching the way his jaw tightens. You revel in how he doesn’t know whether to stop you or take lead, resorting to just bunching the sheets beneath where you two sit.
“Do you know how many people downstairs are wondering where you are?” Your thumb circles the head and you let your hand linger there, not quite giving what he needs, not quite letting him have anything at all.
“Not knowing you’re hiding, touching yourself to the thought of me.” You finally hear him make a sound, the smallest of a mewl. You graze your mouth over his cheek, then to the corner of his mouth, careful not to give him the satisfaction of a real kiss. “How disrespectful, during a party thrown for you.”
He shakes his head, wishing he couldn’t hear how pathetic his tone is right now. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please, just..!”
You blink through your lashes innocently, ignoring how his cock glistens in your fist. “Please just what? Please just keep moving my hand like this?” You tease as you drag your palm a little faster, just enough to make his hips jerk.
He nods, lips pressed tight, not wanting to hear the whine in his voice again. Yet you wouldn’t let that cross, strokes going back to slow, squeezing tight at the base. “It looks like you want something. You want to come, huh? Tell me. Tell me or I’ll stop.”
He swallows any drop of dignity left in him, brain completely turned to mush. He nods, pathetic as ever, a whimper evident through his words. “Yes, yes, I want to come.”
You smile, bottom lip caught between your teeth. You didn’t think how easy this would be, turning him into a babbling dumb mess under your touch. How long has he been yearning for this? As long as you have?
You continue working your hand but begin to hum in thought. “Hmm, I don’t know.” You tease the sensitive spot just under the head with your thumb until his hips jerk up again and swear under his breath. “Maybe if you tell me you’re sorry again for sneaking away to jerk off.”
He doesn’t even hesitate, the pleasure becoming too loud. “I’m sorry! Very, very sorry, I’m— oh!”
You flick your tongue to taste his lower lip, making him chase your mouth as you pull away, grinning. “I’m sorry to who?”
“Y-You…!” He shudders, heart pounding at the sound of your voice as you hold him right there. Your hand on his cock, mouth teasing him, the look in your eyes as you make him wait, make him admit how humiliating he made this situation become for himself.
You feign confusion, but your hand never slows. “Im sorry for what?”
God, you’re killing him.
“For t-touching myself!” He responds with a moan breaking out of his chest, hips bucking up into your hand without any sense of control anymore. You have your eyes meet his again, to have him see how much you love having him desperate beneath you.
“Say please again.”
His voice cracks, the knot of desire tightening in him until he can barely see straight. “Please— God, please let me come.”
And then you stopped. You pull your hand away, ignoring the way his cock twitches for its familiar warmth back. His gasp is filled with frustration punched deep in his chest, near orgasm snatched from him so quick it left him dazed and at a loss for words.
You go to stand, fixing your dress that rid up a little.
“I’ll let you do it yourself. Next time, don’t ever hide away from me.”
— SUMMARY: Michael is always so shy whenever you two are intimate, so you work him up so you can hear him pleasure himself while you “sleep.”
— WARNINGS: sub!mike, masturbation (m), whining, voyeurism, getting caught, humiliation kink, somnophilia, use of daddy to tease, use of mama, smut with not much plot (who cheered), not proofread (yet!)
— WC: 2.2k
— A/N: Loosely ib this tweet. Took me forever to get around to this because i wanted it to be perfect, but i got wine drunk and wrote this in one sitting lol..
“C’mere ‘n kiss me, pretty boy.”
You knew that was gonna get him going, and that’s exactly why you said it.
Michael practically flew to the bed after shutting off your shared bedroom’s light and almost throwing his reading glasses on his nightstand. A small part of you wanted to roll your eyes at the subconscious action; he never wanted the lights on, and all you wanted to do was see his pretty face contorted in pleasure while he fucked you into the sheets. The only light coming through the room was from the TV on your dresser, silently humming in the background.
“Mmm, you smell so good,” he whispered to you shyly in between pecks.
You knew. You took extra time with your skincare and shower tonight, purposefully applying lotions and body oils that you noticed made him crazy.
Making a conscious decision not to give him any sort of relief, you changed your position from being on your side to straddling his thighs, careful not to to grind the prominent bulge growing underneath his endearing money-print pajamas. He wasn’t wearing underwear, perfect.
He pulled away, eyeing you with heavy lids. He was so easy for you and you took advantage of that fact any time you could.
“This lil’ number…You look perfect. Like a doll.” He bit his lip and adjusted your strap as his gaze traveled down the length of the red slip dress you were wearing. His favorite color.
Cupping the back of your neck with his hand, he pulled you in for another kiss, this one hungrier than the last.
His tongue immediately darted into your mouth the moment your lips parted, wasting no time for a buildup. He was starving.
You pulled away as far as you could with his strong grip on your neck.
“Someone’s a little eager. You hungry, daddy?” you teased, drawing out ‘daddy’ the way you did when you wanted to push his buttons. It worked. He made a little tortured sound at the back of his throat and cleared it to hide it.
Irritated with his bashfulness, you started slowly grinding against his thighs, stopping just short of his surely leaking sex.
“‘Cause I am,” you added.
He fluttered his eyes, not leaving them closed nor open, torn between shutting them in anticipated pleasure or watching the dreamlike scene in front of him.
“Stop hidin’. I wanna see those pretty eyes. Please, baby?” you asked him sweetly. The two of you loved this little game you had; you pretended he was daddy, and you asked him please, and you told him thank you, but you were always in control. Something about the act of asking for ‘permission’ and taking the ‘control’ from Michael added to the fun.
His eyeballs flew open immediately, almost comically bulging. Leaning down teasingly slow, you connected your lips once again, and his large hand, still at the nape of your neck, held you impossibly close. With your tongues swirling and your core still grinding painfully close to his, he was swimming in need. It only worsened when you started moaning into his mouth like a cat in heat. He wanted to whine out so badly, but the idea of you hearing how pathetic he was getting stopped him.
His free hand snaked its way to your waist and attempted to pull you closer, to break that infinitesimal gap between you. Not wanting to give in, you slapped it away harshly and placed your hand on his neck, daring to squeeze.
“Oh, god. You’re gonna drive me insane, baby. Please,” he almost whined. He attempted to dive back in for another kiss to conceal how flustered he was. You pressed your other hand to his chest and pushed him into the pillows.
“Whatcha pleadin’ for?” you questioned seductively, tightening the grip around his neck ever so slightly.
“C’mon, you gonna make me say it?” He looked at you, offended.
“Use your words, love. I’m not a mind reader y’know.” You felt on top of the world.
Michael was soaking through his pajama pants now; you could feel a wet spot on its fabric. With this in mind, you faked a yawn, setting your plan into action.
He still said nothing.
“Mmm, well I’m tired. Gonna go to sleep, ‘kay?” You adjusted your hands and position on top of him so fast, it seemed almost impossible that you were close to making him cum untouched.
“W-wait, we didn’t even get to do…I want…” he trailed off.
“Hm?” You pretended to be confused, feeling him adjust himself beneath you.
“I…ah-” Your body pressed against his hard on, as you pretended to innocently give him a hug, “N-nothing. G’night, angel. I love you.”
You pressed a kiss to his chin, shifting your hips against his again, and whispered, “I love you, Mikey. Gonna dream of you.”
He slightly titled his body over to let you roll off of him, and tucked you under the blankets tenderly, trying his hardest to ignore the unattended lust growing inside of him.
Michael decided to try and pay attention to the old black & white comedy on television, but every few minutes, he’d take a look at you and his dick would throb hungrily. You were wearing nothing under your slip dress, and your bare ass and sticky folds were peeking through the edge of the blanket on top of you.
After about 10 minutes, you made a show of taking loud, even breaths in an attempt to prove that you’d fallen asleep. You started softly sighing and whimpering ever so slightly- the way you knew you always did in your sleep- only this time more suggestively.
Around minute 14, you’d almost given up on the whole act, realizing Michael was probably too shy to even think about touching himself next to you, even if you were asleep. You were wrong.
He couldn’t take it. He tried. Really, truly tried, but he was hurting, and it’s not like he’d have to tell you.
Hesitantly, after lifting the blanket off of your backside to reveal your naked body to him some more, he quietly drooled into his hand and dipped it into his pants. His fingers lingered on his pelvis, trailing teasing paths around the area just like you would. The thought of your hand there made him lose himself too quickly, and his wet and sticky hand found his sore dick and tugged graciously from base to tip.
The absolute…pervertedness of his actions only somehow turned him on more. The fact that you could wake up to take a sip of water, or you could turn over to him wanting to cuddle…It all added to the desire.
A secret part of him wanted to be caught. To be humiliated by you seeing the worked up state you coaxed him into.
The waistband of his pajama pants became a barrier, a nuisance of an obstacle stopping him from experiencing the extent of pleasure that he wanted to. If he was gonna do this, he might as well go all the way, right?
So, he slid them off with his legs, not enough care in his mind to see if the movement made you stir in your sleep.
He jerked himself with an easier motion now: up and twist, and down and tug, and up and twist. Over and over and over. The exact way you did with both of your pretty hands.
“Mmph,” he whimpered. Silently, but it was still louder than he’d usually let you hear.
Your heart pounded brutally. He was really doing it.
Being greedy, you stirred a bit in your ‘sleep,’ positioning yourself in between being on your back and on your side, in his direction. You let out a theatrical sleep moan, and Michael froze.
He looked you over for a bit, focusing on your face to make sure you weren’t looking. Then, his horny gaze flitted to what was in between your thighs, wide open and fully on display for him. He continued.
She’s still so wet for me, he thought to himself.
The truth was, you were unfortunately getting wetter and wetter just by hearing him while you were turned around.
Facing him without watching was proving to be a challenge though, because he started making noise, and lots of it.
“God- yes. Please…please…” he begged. He was still looking at you through lidded eyes and tugging his dick at a relentlessly slow pace, imagining you teasing him and making him beg for it.
You squeezed your thighs together a little too harshly, feeling the pressure on your clit at the action.
He looked at you more intensely then, still pumping himself, but taken by surprise at the loud slap of your legs closing.
“No…” he whispered to himself. He wanted you to stay spread.
He reached his free hand over and separated your legs again, taking in just how close you’d gotten to him while you tossed and turned. The scent of your body oil hit the back of his throat at the same time he twisted his wrist at his tip, and he moaned. A full, throaty moan of erotic pleasure and need, and he didn’t even care.
Still having half a mind not to wake you, he ghosted his fingers over one of your inner thighs. He needed to touch you. To ground himself. That only made it worse, though, because he felt your arousal half dried on your thigh.
“O-oh. Angel, please...L-love it when…” He was speaking nonsense now, just saying any thought that came into his head. He’s never been this loud masturbating even completely alone.
His pumping grew faster, and you could hear the lewd sounds of his precum and spit squelching around his patterned dick. You wanted to look so badly.
“P…lease, I-i’ll be good. Please, please…” he babbled.
What’s he thinkin’ about? you wondered to yourself.
He was trying to edge himself. Just like you did. He was gripping his base harder and speeding up his jerking just the way you would whenever you were working him to an orgasm, only to snatch it away from him.
His hand snaked closer to your pussy, and he collected the arousal. He was craving this. He stuffed his fingers into his mouth, and his eyes fluttered shut at the taste.
“Ngh, so good, b-baby,” he moaned around his fingers, complimenting his mind’s imagination of you. He was being unabashedly loud now, the desire to be caught fucking his own fist like a needy loser ever growing.
The feeling of your body heat next to him while he did this was only adding fuel to the fire rising to his abdomen. He was so close. Droplets of his precum were landing on his pelvis in bursts.
“So close- ngh- ahh- I need-” He yanked his hand away immediately — he almost orgasmed.
“Dammit…” he protested to nobody. Removing his fingers from his drooling mouth, he looked at you and started pumping his crying sex slowly again.
“S-so pretty…” He scooted closer to you, his shoulder grazing yours, and placed his hand right back on top of your sticky pussy.
“‘M sorry, mama. Th-this is so dirty..” he apologized as if you could hear him. It was more to spare his own guilt, though. Your eyes fluttered slightly, and he traced one long finger across your clit, making you mewl silently. At the sight and sound of you getting worked up in your ‘sleep,’ he grew even more desperate than before. The pace he had set for himself quickened, and he flattened his hand against your folds. He wasn’t moving it, he just wanted to feel you.
Up, twist, down, yank, up, twist, down, tug.
His pace was almost unforgiving, his hand was moving so fast he couldn’t even believe he was doing it himself. The atmosphere felt electric. His precum was settling between the webs of his fingers, he was fully twitching against your side, and his eyes never left the sight of his huge hand blanketing your core.
“F-fu…I’m…AGH-” His body jolted upwards and his scream caught in the back of his throat. The pressure of Michael’s release felt like a water balloon hitting asphalt; a violent shatter. His toes curled in a way that would surely make them cramp later, he gripped your inner thigh, and his hips stuttered and spasmed as he milked himself dry. He moaned and whimpered and cried and thanked your relaxed figure.
Your heart was hammering, and you squinted just so you could see him in this state. He was beautiful. His hair was stuck to his forehead and flat against the back of his head. Cum was splattered against his abdomen, thighs, and pelvis. His mouth was shaped in an ‘O’, and his eyebrows were knotted so tight, it looked like it should hurt. You were awestruck.
He finally fell limp after what felt like the longest orgasm known to mankind, and he slid his hand off of you and scooted away a bit. His mind was unfogging just enough to care about your personal space and beauty sleep now.
Breathing finally even, he stretched his hands up and took a deep breath, feeling unbelievably satisfied and guilty.
Your eyes were fully open now, staring the side of his head down, and he hadn’t noticed. Reaching over silently, you swiped a droplet of cum off of his stomach and sucked your finger, moaning around it loudly. His heart nearly fell to his toes when he looked at you, guilt written all over his face.
“Thanks for the show, daddy. You sing beautifully.”
⋆𓏲ּ𝄢 1995 || HIStory era || husband!michael.j x wife!reader ⋆𓏲ּ𝄢
this has been in my drafts for a while im not a big fan of it but ✌️
ִֶָ۶ৎ˖ִ ˚ synopsis: you and michael get asked that same question once again and michael cant help but reminisce to the steamy night before
۶ৎ˖ִ ˚ wc: 2.1k
ִֶָ۶ৎ˖ִ ˚ cw: invasive media questions, sub!michael, dry humping, nip play, unprotected p in v sex, cowgirl!pos, creampie, kissing, rubbing/touching, teasing/flirting, mdni !! not exactly proofread
“Are you two intimate?”
You internally roll your eyes. Live audience questions were always asking about you and Michael’s sex life. No matter how many times Michael dodged the question, it always came back to the same invasive curiosity, dressed up as harmless interest.
You look over to him, catching the same awkward smile he always gave every time the topic was brought up. He can't even look at you, staring somewhere by his shoes, he hesitates. “Why do you guys always ask this?-“ he tries to laugh it off. You can't help the faint grin quirking up at the corner of your lip knowing everything he's not saying.
Because he cant.
Its never that simple.
Michael couldn’t tell the journalist and the thousands of fans watching live how, just the night before, he’d been lounging on his bed, half-watching whatever was on TV. More focused on waiting for you to come out of the bathroom, listening for the water to shut off, for your wet footsteps on the floor because he simply couldn't resist you.
Michael turned his head towards the sound of the doorknob, brown eyes locking onto you instantly. Enjoying the way that the towel was draped loosely, a single fold hiding nothing. The dip of your cleavage, the damp curve of your shoulders decorated with small beads of water. his gaze flicking up to betray him, taking slow, heated sweeps down and back up.
“Miss me?” you ask, breaking the quiet.
Of course he did, it was only yesterday when he was holding a show, which was “Great.” in his words as usually you’d be sitting there front row cheering him on from the second he took stage. Except this time, you’d had other plans.
Plans that involved missing the show altogether.
Michael understood you had other things to do outside of being the love of his life. And he knew you couldn’t always just drop everything for him 24/7.
He knew that. Really, he did.
But that didn’t change the fact your absence yesterday still bothered him.
“Always, my angel," he murmured as you padded over now dressed in nothing but a loose camisole and panties, slipping between his spread legs where he sat on the edge of the bed. His large hands slid to your hips, slightly tugging you some inches closer.
“Are you still upset about the show?” Your fingers absently traced his jaw; the other sliding down the column of his neck as you tried to read his expression.
“What? No.” he was always such a terrible liar.
“Right,” you answered not buying it at all. “Michael, baby, you do understand that i was busy right?”
‘Busy’ the word alone making Michael’s fingers tighten briefly. “Yes, I know that.” his eyes glinting with something suspiciously close to mischief. “But you’re not busy now..”
‘Nice try’ you thought.
“Irresponsible,” you snipped at the obvious flirt. "You’ve got that interview at eight." the reminder’ a weak attempt at scolding the man, when you were really tempting him to choose wrongly. And he always did.
You saw him wince at the mention of his schedule, “Yeah..”
"Besides," you teased, letting your hands slip from his face, "you’ll be too wrecked by the morning." A smirk tugged at your lips. "And you can’t skip another one. It’s a bad habit, Mikey."
Michael caught your wrists before you could pull away, guiding them to his shoulders, only for his grip to slide right back to your hips. With a gentle tug, he settled you into his lap, his fingers digging in with just enough pressure to make you stay, “I know, I know-” his eyes swept across the floor, restless. “I just can't help it when-” he trailed off, but a kiss stole his words, smothering whatever excuse he was going to feed you.
In all honesty you understood his complaints, with all the am radio rounds and back to back interviews, you and michael barely stole five minutes alone without either of you passing out the moment you hit the bedroom. So if he was a little needy tonight? You wouldn’t blame him. Because, hell.
You were too.
Michael melted into the kiss, and you followed suit; lips parted on a breath as his warm tongue slide against yours, slow and searching. The taste of him was intoxicating, the way he always kissed like you were going to disappear the second he pulled away.
Your palm smoothed over his nightshirt to rest just above his quickening heartbeat, that throbbed in sync with his now growing print pressing against you eagerly. Michael noticed his bodys reaction and broke from the kiss, you could feel the heat of his embarrassment radiating off of him. Too shamed to open his eyes to your smug expression he knew all too well. It was almost cute how, even after all these years together, some things just never changed.
“Already, michael?” God he loved the way you’d say his name like that. so tormenting. It was cruel. You adjusted your hips discreetly angling against his hard on flush against your clit.
A breathy moan escaped Michaels lips, gripping your hips trying to ground himself. Your focus drifted to his bambi eyes, catching the glint of desire he always so desperately tried to hide. “Can i?” he asked already reaching for your cami. Pathetic.
Your hum of consent is all the permission he needs—his hands already dragging the fabric up, peeling it over your head with deliberate slowness. The air hits your skin, cool against the heat of his gaze as it drops to your tits, perky and flushed, your nipples already peaking for him.
“God, you’re gorgeous.” he whispered more so to himself, the tip of his tongue darting out to wet his lips. You cant help but enjoy the praise simpering slightly.
Michael drew near, trailing slow, feather-light kisses down the valley between your tits, his thumb reaching up to roll around your pert nipple.
This weakness made you crack, a low whine slipping past your lips as your fingers slid into his hair, guiding his mouth to your now swollen breasts and with him this close you could smell his cologne, the warm spice of his scent lingered in the air between you, and your hand instinctively curled a little tighter. youd only complimented it once, and from that day on it had become his signature.
Michaels tongue swirled around your aching peak, teasing before pulling it between his lips. The wet heat made you shudder as he released with a soft pop, leaving your peak glistening and sensitive. Not only that but you were practically dripping through your thin panties, you would only imagine the dark puddle you were leaving on his expensive, pants.
You rocked your hips along the hard ridge of his cock through his pants once more, his eyes squeezing shut again at the familiar feeling, completely and utterly weak for you just as he always was. “You’re getting my pants all wet.” he murmured, voice dripping with practiced charm—even if strained.
“‘S pretty.” Michael's large palms slid up your un seemingly trembling thighs, slow and reverent. One of his thumbs then brush against the delicate lace at the edge of your panties.
You suck in a shallow breath.
His eyes looked up to your face briefly, before his right thumb hooked under the fabric just below your core... and gently pulling it aside, the wet string between the cotton and flesh a lewd sight of just how desperate you were for him. Your eyes narrowed at his burning stare, “Pervert.”
Michael’s grin was all performance—that practiced, polite smile he wore for cameras and strangers.
“What? Never. I’m a gentleman.” the lie rolled off his tongue effortlessly as his slender fingers trailed through your slickness, warm, sticky from earlier arousal. His middle finger paused at your entrance, pressing just the lightest circle there, a teasing graze.
You bite your tongue not wanting to give him the pleasure of your reaction letting him continue his ministrations as you started to work on his waistband, because two could play that game. Your fingers grope for the zipper to his pants taking it down and pulling his boxers down with it, freeing his twitching shaft.
His leg tenses at the sudden exposure, a faint laugh escaping him as he pleads, “Baby, wait.”
“You want me to wait?” your hand was already wrapping around his manhood, giving him a stroke.
Michaels jaw clenched as he watched your thumb smear his pre, his hips jerked slightly into your palm. Pathetic. You’d only been holding his cock and he was already wrecked. A whimper escaped him, helpless against your slow paced ministrations.
“You ready, pretty?” you patronised sweetly, fully aware he was already struggling to keep it together.
“Don’t-” Michael’s protest died in his throat the second your thumb circled again, “Yes, god yes I’m ready.”
In one smooth motion you take his thick cock all the way inside your gummy walls to the hilt. Perfect. Fucking. Fit. You dont even feel like moving yet— just wanting to savour the feeling of having your cunt stuffed after weeks of nothing but constant press and overcrowded itineraries. Though after all they do say ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’.
“Feels good, angel” michael croaked revelling in the feeling of your snug walls.
You bit your lip as you began to move your hips, inch by inch, feeling him stretch you open until you could barely breathe. Your nails dug into his arms forming small crescent grooves, desperate for something to hold onto. Michael hissed at the sting, his hands gliding down to your ass, groping greedily at the fat, needing you just as much as you did him. “You like that, mikey?” you ground your hips down against his.
You can feel Michaels dick twitching inside your tight heat needy and oh so close. A thin sheen of sweat beaded along his forehead, his head lolling back now, nothing but broken little sounds and strained whines slipping past his lips.
“Just like that,doll” he managed, trying poorly to jerk his hips up in weak little thrusts to match the dangerous pace you’d set.
Your eyes dipped to the sticky mess of precum and arousal that glistened between you making wet obscene plaps as your skin connected each time. His face was so pretty like this; flushed, damp with sweat, mouth parted, all soft and spent beneath you. It pulled something greedy out of you.
You crashed your lips to his in a wet, sloppy kiss, swallowing the sweet little moan he let out for you. The sound went straight between your legs, and you clenched around him hard enough to make his whole body tremble beneath you.
Your chest pressed flush to his, your nipples dragging against the thin fabric of his night shirt every time your bodies met. The soft, damp cotton only made it worse the friction enough to make your breath hitch into his mouth as you kissed him, slow and sloppy, grinding down on him while he trembled beneath you.
“Angel, I-” Michael stuttered, voice ragged as his head tipped back again.
He wanted to cum so bad, you could feel it in the way his cock flexed inside you and how his brows stitched together tightly, but he was holding back for you. He always tried so hard not to ‘ruin it’ for you because it almost always got to his head whenever he came first makinh him feeling all guilty. It wasn’t easy, but he always tried his best to be good for his wife—even when you made it stupidly hard. Literally.
You answered with a soft hum and a roll of your hips. The beat between your legs got harder to ignore and Michael must have felt it near the base of him because one hand left the swell of your ass and slipped between you to find your needy little pearl. His thumb flicked over it fast and hard enough to make your breath catch as you started riding his cock with abandon, seeing stars you mewl, “Michael!”
your pussy spasmed around him, your stomach twisting in knots. You felt the warm liquid drooling from your insides and dripping down his base and balls making michael shiver, as you rode him with reckless abandon.
Orgasm hits as his palm slammed against your clit, the vice grip of your warm walls squeezing every last drop of hot cum out of him as he shoots deep inside your hungry cunt, his eyelashes damp with bliss. At least this time you came first right?
“Mr. Jackson?”
He blinks snapping upright, the bright studio lights rushing back into focus. “Are you okay?” the interviewer asks confusion written all over her face.
Michael clears his throat smiling sheepishly, heat blooming across his cheeks as he quickly straightened in his seat and smoothed a hand over his pants.
┊ ♡ ﹒ summary : michael wants to be mister big man for the night and thinks he can handle giving you back shots for the first time.. tell me why he can’t, girl. he has to pack it up. and swiftly.
┊ ♡ ﹒ byi : smut, mdni! michael being a fake ass dom! 😭, reader is very curvy/thick (lots of body descriptions, fattest pussy ever award winner), implied experienced reader, oral (female receiving), unprotected sex, premature ejaculation, accidental creampie, playing around with power dynamics, use of the word “daddy” but in a “those you get it, get it” way. branding if you squint. girl idk!
Michael had decided the rarest thing in the world was a quiet house, but not a house where everyone was asleep or a house where everyone had gone out for an hour. A genuinely empty house where no television was running somewhere in the distance, no siblings were wandering in and out of rooms, no doors were opening and closing, and nobody was shouting for somebody else from across the property.
Just the two of you.
“I think this is the longest we’ve ever been alone in this house.” You giggled, swinging one leg idly from your spot on the kitchen counter.
Michael glanced over his shoulder from the sink with a little hum of a smile. “I wish it was like this all the time..” The admission comes easily, absentmindedly even.
He stood at the sink with his sleeves rolled up, dutifully washing dishes because you’d cooked a nice little dinner for him. The steady sound of running water and the occasional clink of dishes made you smile to yourself—he looks so cute.
You hop down from the counter and Michael barely has time to register the movement before your arms are sliding around his waist from behind.
“Hey,” He laughs softly.
You press your cheek against the back of his shoulder before rising onto your tiptoes, reaching just high enough to press a kiss against his cheek.
“Thank you for doing the dishes, angel baby.”
A shy smile tugs at his mouth as he ducks his head a little toward the sink, suddenly finding the plate in his hands very interesting.
“..Well, you cooked for me..” He says softly.
“Mhmm~ ♪ ” You nod, peeking over to smile at his profile.
“So.. I’m doing the dishes for you.” Another kiss is pressed against his cheek at his words.
“You’re sweet.” His ears are hot now, he never really got used to your affection. Every time feels like the first time. “Aren’t you? Aren’t you my sweet angel?” You tickle under his arms and the laugh that leaves him is bright and completely involuntary, shoulders jumping toward his ears as he clamps his arms tightly against his sides.
“Stop it!” The words come out between laughs, Michael twisting away just enough to escape your hands before inevitably ending up right back where he started, wrapped up in you.
You settle against his back again with a satisfied little hum, arms around his waist. After a second, you lean forward and bite his shoulder through the sweater
“Hey.” The protest is immediate, though there’s no real conviction behind it.
You smile against the fabric. “Hmm?” You tighten your arms around his waist, your cheek brushing his shoulder as he reaches for another plate.
“..Besides, I like doin’ things for my lady.”
“Oh, yeah? Your lady?” You repeat with a grin.
Michael hums and one of your hands slips beneath the hem of his sweater, acrylics finding warm skin as you scratch lightly across his stomach, feeling him suck in a small breath. Your hands were always cold when you were here.
You smile against his shoulder and a shy grin pulls at the corner of his mouth despite himself.
“Mm.. I like that, baby.” You say, hand still running along his soft skin.
“Well, you are..” He’s drying a cup with a rag
“I’m what?”
Michael shrugs one shoulder. “My lady.”
He’s halfway through drying his hands when you hook two fingers into the collar of his sweater and tug him towards you as you lean back against the kitchen island, still smiling at him.
He stumbles a half step closer, blinking down at you.
“I like when you claim me like that, daddy.” You chew on your bottom lip, running a hand down the side of his face before caressing his chin.
Michael’s entire face changes: his eyes squeeze shut and a noise somewhere between a groan and a laugh escapes him.
“Don’t.. call me that dirty stuff..” The words come out awkward, almost scandalized.
“What’s the matter?” You tilt your head, running your hands down his chest. “Big man..”
Here’s the thing about Michael.
Michael.. likes taking care of you, loves it even. That itself isn’t particularly groundbreaking—anyone who spends five minutes around him could figure that out. He likes carrying things when your hands are full. He likes opening doors. He likes hearing you call for him from another room because you need help with something. He likes being useful to you in a way that feels embarrassingly earnest. Somewhere along the way, usefulness and affection became tangled together until he stopped being able to tell where one ended and the other began.
And it isn’t as though the idea appeared out of nowhere. Michael grew up around men born in a certain generation, and men always seemed to have very strong opinions about how other men were supposed to act. Most of it came from his father and brothers. The latter didn’t have malicious intent. It was just the endless background noise of older brothers who found his softness endearing, but amusing. Michael was too nice. Too polite. Too easy. Michael let girls get away with murder. Michael needed to be tougher. More assertive. Less shy. The comments were usually followed by laughter and a head lock, but that didn’t stop them from sticking somewhere in the back of his mind.
So as he got older, the idea lingered. Not as some conscious mission to reinvent himself, but as a quiet curiosity about what adulthood was supposed to look like. What being a boyfriend was supposed to look like. Sometimes he found himself reaching for a version of masculinity that seemed to come naturally to other men. More decisive, confident and more certain of itself. And lately, with you, he’d been.. experimenting with it in harmless little ways. A hand at your back guiding you through a crowd. Taking charge of small decisions. Calling you my lady when the affection got ahead of his self consciousness.
The thing was, all of that felt very manageable when it lived inside his own head. But then.. you looked up at him, smiling, and said something, something “I like when you claim me like that, daddy.” And suddenly the entire arrangement collapsed.
Because of what it meant.
Because in one sentence you’d revealed that you had noticed. You’d noticed him trying. Noticed the possessive little note hidden inside my lady. Noticed the confidence he’d been attempting to grow into. Worse, you seemed to genuinely like it.
That was the part he wasn’t prepared for.
Michael could imagine himself being more assertive. He could imagine himself being the sort of man who knew exactly what he was doing. Those fantasies were safe because they belonged entirely to him. They required nothing. Risked nothing. But now you were looking at him like you believed it a little. Like you had taken that tentative confidence at face value and decided to encourage it.
And for one dizzying second, Michael finds himself trapped between two versions of himself. The first is the man he’s been trying to become: calm, confident, capable of handling the way you’re looking at him without blinking. The second is the boy currently standing in his kitchen with burning ears and a racing heart because the second you treated him like that man, he realized he might be in over his head.
The worst part is that he likes it. He likes the approval in your voice, likes being seen as someone strong enough to take care of you..
So now he’s forced into the humiliating position of trying to act like Mister Big Shot over here while every instinct in his body is screaming. Trying to keep his shoulders squared and his expression composed while his pulse is hammering in his throat. Trying to look like he belongs in the role you’ve handed him when, in reality, he is discovering that being treated like a confident man is significantly more intimidating than pretending to be one.
Which is why he couldn’t possibly say no to you when you were whispering so sweetly in his ear that you want something he’s never done before.
Because now this was an opportunity to admit he had no idea what he was doing, and another opportunity to pretend he did.
Michael’s penis, unfortunately, found the second option extremely tempting.
So he nods a little too quickly. “..Okay.” The answer leaves his mouth before his courage has a chance to catch up with it.
You take his hand, fingers sliding into his as you look up at him with heart eyes. Your bottom lip is tucked between your pearly teeth, “C’mon..” You say softly.
“I—” He starts, then stops immediately because he doesn’t actually know what he was going to argue against.
You’re already walking and the kitchen light falls away behind you as you guide him out, past the quiet hallway.
By the time you reach the stairs, he asks a stupid question. “Where are we going?” He asks.
You look back at him over your shoulder and smile. “Upstairs, silly..”
You guide him up the stairs, each step making your thick thighs flex under those clingy little shorts. The fabric over your ass is this close to splitting—seams straining as your supple flesh jiggles with every ascent, cheeks spilling from under the bottom.
Thar soft layer of padding of your tummy peeks out where your baby doll tee rides up just an inch or two. Every curve is exaggerated now, tits heavy and full beneath the flimsy top that clings for dear life. From here he can see the little “ℳ ” you got tatted right below the dimples on your lower back.
It wasn’t planned, but seeing it right there on you.so casually displayed while you climb those stairs..? It ignites something in him and pride swells hot under his ribs. That little letter isn’t just ink, it’s ownership stamped delicately into soft skin and the best part is.. she doesn’t hide it. She’s proud of it.
His confidence flickers to life like a match struck, so sudden and bright. Maybe.. maybe he really can do this?
This is his lady.
His.
Aaand for all the confidence he had, it’s gone when he has you up in his room. The air thickens as he takes in the sight of you sprawled across the bed—bare, save for the cotton fabric clinging to your hips.
You’re propped up on your elbows, eyes locking onto his with intent—dark and fathomless, pupils blown wide enough to swallow him whole. He feels like you’re not just looking at him but you’re devouring him, leaving no space for him to doubt or retreat between where you lie and where he stands frozen at edge of mattress. Every curve is exposed now, full breasts rising slowly with your breaths, thighs pressed together but already parting slightly—an invitation without words needed.
And then he sees it.
The wedgie on full display, panties in losing the battle.
Your fat folds devour the fabric, sucking it inward like a hungry mouth. The delicate material stretches taut across your plushness, struggling to contain what’s beneath: a soft pussy spilling over and around. Heavy inner thighs press tight together without thinking, sandwiching the wet spot into an even more pronounced bulge against thin cotton as you try to silence the heartbeat of your clit.
It looks obscene—how much your body is consuming the thin garment. The crotch seam rides deep between you; not just damp but soaked through with evidence of how badly you want this moment to unfold.
The air reeks of musk now, a raw, feminine hunger so potent it makes his throat dry. Your eyes never leave him though, not even when your hips lift slightly off the bed like an offering when his slender fingers hook into the waistband and pulls them down your thighs.
“Can I—” He stops himself. “‘M gonna eat it..” His voice is barely above a whisper. You tilt your head at him and give him a knowing smile that makes his hands shake with adrenaline. For the first time ever, he’s told you what he’s going to do versus asking you.
And u don’t even need to speak, the slow roll of your hips in answer says everything. A silent hurry.
Michael is so fucking hard that he doesn’t know if stalling with hurt or help him at this point. His entire body is thrumming, cock straining painfully against his boxer briefs, the fabric digging in just enough to border on torture. He doesn’t want to cum too fast.. he’s had issues with that in the past but tonight is different.
Tonight he’s fucking you from behind and he’s so nervous.
He remembers your hands guiding his head between your thighs months ago, teaching him exactly where and how to press his tongue against your pussy before sinking his fingers into you properly. The lesson flashes behind his eyes as he licks upward in one long stripe, tasting salt sweet arousal smeared across your lips.
Michael moans against you when you part those folds just enough for him at first, warm breath ghosting over slick skin while fingertips dig into soft flesh.
Oh, fuck.. he looks up at you with those wide, Bambi eyes—long lashes fluttering every time he drags his tongue through your folds. The contrast is maddening, that sweet faced devotion on a man who’s currently feasting on you like it's his last meal.
His cheeks are flushed hot; spit and arousal smearing across his chin as he licks deeper. Every little noise he makes, whimpers or muffled groans, vibrates against your clit in the most delicious way.
You love this: how helplessly hard he is while worshipping at your altar with nothing but kittenish stares and clumsy devotion. It makes something primal curl in your stomach when those lash fringed eyes lock onto yours just to see if you’re watching him because your approval still means everything to him.
“Oh, my gosh, baby..” You whine, reaching down to cup his chin as you roll your hips onto his face. “Makin’ me feel so good..”
The sudden shift hits him suddenly because one second he’s buried between your thighs, the next you’re gently guiding him up by his chin. Your lips crash into hus, still wet and swollen from eating you—tasting of sweetness as you kiss him deep. The moment breaks when your words register:
“But I wanna cum on that cock.”
A shudder wracks through him. That cock? The one currently aching so badly it’s embarrassing? The one straining against fabric like a prisoner begging for release? Oh. That cock.
The moment fractures whatever composure he was trying to keep.
He thought that there would be time. A period of anticipation, where he could mentally prepare himself. But you move with lethal grace, flipping onto your hands and knees in one fluid motion dismissing all pretense.
Your spine curves into a perfect arc; an offering carved from flesh. The sheer weight of what you present to him is overwhelming—the swell of the hip leading to the fat of your ass. Your hand slides beneath yourself, fingers parting the swollen folds and opening a sacred text meant only for him alone.
A sharp inhale betrays him and his body reacts before reason can intervene, already leaking against fabric. Your cheek presses into the mattress—squished, almost childlike in how you’re smiling. Lips caught between your teeth, a single dimple popping on one side as you watches him over your shoulder with half lidded amusement.
Michael thinks you could be posing for some sinful Renaissance painting right now.. all plump lips bitten to hold back laughter, eyes dark with mischief while presenting yourself like an unholy altar just for him.
His fingers tremble as they hook into the waistband of his underwear, peeling them down with a shyness that’s almost endearing. He’s exposed now, dick standing up on its own as every nervous breath id visible in the way his chest rises.
Goodness, you’re just.. there’s so.. much—all warm flesh and soft curves where he can barely see past.
For a second, he just stares—overwhelmed by you, eyes drinking in the swell of your ass beneath him, those parted lips glistening, it short circuits coherent thought. He cups one cheek with his palm before lining himself up with your slit, tentative pressure as he nudges forward.
A gasp escapes you both when heat finally meets heat and suddenly there’s no turning back now.
The first inch sinks in and his entire body jerks..
His cock pulses violently inside you, twitching with every shallow breath, every micro movement of your walls clenching around him. It’s not smooth, it’s frantic like his dick has a mind of its own and is begging to thrust deeper even as the rest of him trembles from sensory overload.
A broken sound escapes his throat, somewhere between a whimper and a groan as he bottoms out slowly, each new millimeter met with another involuntary spasm from that overstimulated length.
He isn’t thinking about anything else right now, just the white hot intensity: how tight, how warm, how perfectly you take him.
This position..
Standing behind you, hands gripping your hips—he feels it, He feels power of this angle. The way his cock disappears into you with every shallow thrust, how your body yields beneath him like clay under a sculptor’s palm.
It makes him feel filthy, a man using what he wants. It coils hot in his gut—the part of him that likes knowing he could pin you down harder if either of them wanted it rougher. It’s dirty.
Every thrust punches a wet sound through the room—no hiding how deeply he bottoms out, how thoroughly he’s using you for this moment.
It makes him feel like a caveman, sweat dripping down his temple, teeth bared in focus so he doesn’t cum so soon. The slap of skin on skin drowns out rational thought; all that's left is the slick heat squeezing around him and her ass jiggling obscenely with every snap of his pelvis.
You start fucking him back, the shit leaving your mouth is lethal. The shift is instant—rolling your hips back to impale yourself deeper on him. There’s gentleness now just raw, grinding friction as you ride his cock like it’s yours. Each backward thrust drives him impossibly further into that sweet spot inside you, the one that makes your toes curl and eyes roll back. The slap of skin echoes louder this way, more obscene.
“Fuck, daddy..” You grit through your teeth.
...You know what you’re doing.
The second that word leaves your lips again, his world stops.
His eyes slam shut, body going rigid as every muscle locks: biceps trembling where they grip your hips, thighs burning with tension. The sheer power of that word unravels him in ways he’s never.. anticipated.
Because this? This isn’t some kink for him—it’s a fucking revelation. A man who’s spent his life being called weak, too soft, a boy, too nice.. but now.. now you’re branding him something else entirely with just one filthy syllable.
He can feel it: that thick cock pulsing inside you like a live wire when you ride back onto it, your pussy taking what belongs to him. His breath comes in ragged bursts; jaw clenched so tight it aches. A broken groan rips from his throat as pleasure coils violently low in his stomach, too fast to stop now.
His hands grip to your waist not guiding anymore, just clinging because he cannot physically pretend to have this under control. “Oh—don’t stop! (Name), baby.. please, don’t stop! Don’t, don’t stop!”
“Michael.. You feel ’s good stuffing me full of that fuckin’ dick..” The words slither down his spine, his gaze falls to the “ℳ ” on your lower back.
Unfortunately, that’s a trigger he didn’t know he had until now.
“Oh—no, no, no.. no, no..” His balls tighten instantly; a coil snapping without warning, just pure reflex taking over as pleasure crests violently. A choked gasp escapes him before he can stop it; hips jerking erratically as the first hot pulse surges inside you.. and then another, and another.
The realization hits him a second too late. His hips jerk backward hard as the last few hot stripes of cum paint your lower back where they drip down toward the curve of your ass.
A ragged whine tears from his throat as he watches it happen—helpless to stop himself. The sight is obscene: pearly ropes sliding between the swell of you while his own spend starts leaking out from where he was buried moments ago.
It’s mortifying and exactly what he didn’t want to happen.
You giggle, looking back at him. “What happened, my love?”
“I.. I didn’t mean to.” Oh, he’s embarrassed.
So embarrassed that he couldn’t look you in the eye until the next morning.
ೄ ◞♡ imagine pervy bsf!michael teaching you how to suck his cock , because you thought suggesting to play never have I ever would create silly memories and kill time before sleep catches the both of you. You didn’t know that it would lead to you exposing your innocence, cheeks flushing after a hard admit.
Lucky for you though, you have a best friend who’s nice enough to have you practice on him so you won’t go embarrassing yourself to a man you’ll want to impress.
His cock sits heavy on your tongue, feeling the full weight of him, silken skin over thick, aching heat. You listen to every advice he gives you: “Use your tongue.” You drag it along the vein, tasting his arousal. “Use less teeth.” You adjust instantly, eager to correct, lips softening. “Take it in deeper.” And you do, carefully breathing through your nose as you sink him further down.
You feel the stroke of his thumb against your cheek, letting out a slow exhale. “Good girl, just like that.”
The praise hits you right into your core, unraveling you from the inside out. You get eager for more of it, hollowing your cheeks as your tongue goes to flick over the head, precum slick and warm on the wet muscle.
“Are you sure you’ve never done this?” He questions, watching you push yourself past hesitation, the head of his cock nudging against the entrance of your throat dizzying him.
“Since you’re getting so brave..”
His hand finds its way to your hair, steadying you to give a first, gentle buck of his hips, testing how well you take it. A strangled, desperate sound escapes you, yet you do not pull back. Your throat tightens in preparation for more, thighs rubbing together for your own shameful pleasure.
You look a little too perfect with his cock in your mouth, a sight he doesn’t want to see only once. Maybe he’ll keep you all to himself, not wanting any other guy but him to see you down on your knees.
💕 - bsf!jermajesty who takes advantage of your vulnerability after you came crying to him about a lame who stood you up on a date that you had been looking forward to. jer let you cry into his arms until you calmed down, your shaking form now finding solace in his arms.
“you deserve better ma, you really do”, he uttered while cradling the back of your head as you laid on his chest. jermajesty had waited for a moment like this, to finally make a move on the woman he had an unspoken claim on.
he knew he was gonna cross a line he couldn’t come back from and it was a risk he was willing to take. he went with the flow of things to make sure you would be more open to his affections when the time came. from picking you up to letting you inside his place which became a second home to you, he watched you become more pliant and soft underneath his gaze.
“you know what you deserve?”
“mm what?” you looked back at him, your eyes holding a softness and underlying sadness.
“you deserve a nigga who gon treat you like every day might be the last he’ll ever see you. you deserve to know how beautiful you are, how kind you are, and how your light shines everywhere you go. you don’t see how perfect you are ma, but imma make you see tonight.”
jer’s gaze shifted into an unreadable expression, his eyes darkening into want and pure unadulterated lust as he laid you flat on the couch with his muscular arms wrapped around you.
“j-jer, what are you doing?” your eyes widened in confusion while your body started to heat up from the fact that you were literally under your best friend- the same man you had known for so long. who made you watched naruto for hours, laughed at your silly pop culture references, and had been there through thick and thin.
sure, you always thought that he was extremely handsome and charming. now you wasn’t so sure about anything when you were caged in between his thighs and he looked at you like a predator ready to sink its teeth into its prey.
“giving you what you deserve.”
and that how you ended up in this predicament. crying out your best friend’s name as you leaned into him. jer’s lips were suckling your neck while his hands were splayed over your back to ground you. you knew it was wrong to be intimate with your best friend, but it was hard to think morally the way he was setting sparks across your body.
“mm look at you already being responsive, baby. you want me, you want what i can give to you?” he pulled away to seek confirmation, a smug smirk tugging his lips as he watched you grab ahold of his black tank. your expression pretty much gave him the answer he needed, you looked at him as if he was the apple in the garden that tempted eve.
“yeah you do huh?” you nodded wordlessly, too shocked and embarrassed to say anything.
jer wanted you for so long. he hated having to share you with other friends or when you were away from him. you were his and you didn’t even know it. after tonight, he was gonna make sure you didn’t even think of wanting anyone else but him.
“m’gonna show you how a real nigga should treat you.” jer went on to ravish you, making it clear that he’s gonna be the only one you come running back to from now on.
here you have it folks, had to write about jer since he’s been clogging my mind for the last couple of days 😭 also obsessed with the concept of him being your best friend who wants to turn you every which way but lose 🤗 hope you guys enjoy!
for @multixtingzz @siiighrns @hcwait @strawberrykittymp3 @plan3tch1ld @tlcfrmmike @prettyangeliczz @cndybliss <333 and anyone else who’s down bad for jaafar’s younger brother!
Contains: explicit content, strong language, black reader, going in raw(safe sex is great sex), squirting, choking.
Summary: Things are getting heated until you realize….theres no condom. Welp only one other option(perhaps the wrong one)
Now playing: Exchange - Bryson Tiller
The sounds of kissing filled the room, as your hands trailed all over each other's body. "C'mon we need to hurry before my brother get back." Jermajesty mumbled.
He laid you flat on the bed and began to kiss your neck. You bit your lip letting out small moans as the small wet kisses he left made you soaked.
You felt his hands reach for your waistband tugging them down, lips not stopping its frantic press against your neck. Your leggings and panties came down, landing on the carpet.
His lips met yours, moans letting out in each other's mouths, lustful desires reaching an all time high. You didn’t even notice he took his dick out from its tight confines, he stroked it a few times ready to put it in before he stopped.
Your eyes opened once he pulled away, feeling him stiffen above you. "What's wrong?" You asked, concern etched into your face. "I don't got a condom, ma." He groaned tossing his head back.
In all honesty, you weren't trying to hear all that.
Only thing on your mind was getting him inside you, any means necessary. "Just pull out." You told him and he looked at you as if you said you killed someone.
"You know you don't have birth control right?" His eyebrow raised. You rolled your eyes, "Just do it please." You wanted to give him a bit more encouragement so you spread your legs for him. You proceeded to hold them farther back giving him a clear view of your wet pussy.
He licked his lips, still feeling a bit hesitant but absolutely seduced right now. “Fine.” He sighed swallowing nervously, even when he’s used a condom it feels like heaven. He can’t even imagine how it would be raw.
As soon as his tip met your folds he wanted to moan. He leaned over and you held onto his biceps as he eased in making you gasp. “Oh my god.” He whispered, eyes closing.
The way your warm walls enclosed him could’ve made him cry in that moment. Your back arched as he stretched you out, without a condom you could feel how warm and thick he actually was.
“Fuck.” You muttered as he began to drag in and out of your pussy. The bliss you guys shared felt untouchable, feeling as if you were in your own world. “Shit ma, you feel too fuckin’ good.” He moaned.
He replaced your hands and held your legs back himself as his hips picked up speed. His hips slapped against your ass, your moans becoming high pitched.
The feeling of him going in raw made your mind fuzzy. The pressure from his dick hitting deep made your legs naturally try to close. He didn’t hesitate to tighten his grip “keep ‘em open ma, you doing good baby.”
He bent down, connecting your lips as he pumped every inch into you. The squelching noises were loud, heightening your senses. He reached between your moving bodies, his thumb finding your clit.
He rubbed tight circles against it, and he groaned feeling you clench around him. “Fuck ma, don’t do that shit, ‘bout to make me nut.” He didn’t stop his movements, on the chase to make you cum around him.
His other hand went up to grip your neck, making your eyes roll back. “I-I’m close.” You whimpered, as soon as those words dropped from your lips he pulled out.
“Maj what the f-” you were cut off by him flipping you over and picking your hips up. He swiftly entered you again, your arousal allowing no struggle.
“Oh my goddd, shit!” You cried out, hands bunching the sheets beneath you. You were absolutely on cloud 9. Jermajesty watched your ass ripple against him feeling his balls slap against your clit.
“Take that shit.” He said with a slap on your ass. His natural dirty talk only spurred you farther into an incoming orgasm. “You close ma?” He asked and you nodded, not being able to respond.
“Lemme see you cream on it baby.” He set his foot on the bed and repeatedly pulled you all the way back to the base of his dick. He felt so much more deeper causing the little bit of control you had to disperse.
You began to gush around him, body shaking as you couldnt hold your strong orgasm. Your moans increased in volume, feeling a bit light-headed. He groaned, grip tightening around your waist watching your cream spread around his dick.
“Give me one more ma.” He reached down to rub at your clit quickly sending you into another intense orgasm. Instead of creaming again, you let out a stream of squirt, wetting up his dick and abdomen.
The sight turned him on like no other, hearing your whines and seeing your legs shake from sensitivity.
“I’m bout to nut.” He warned, speeding up his thrust. Even though you just came you couldn’t help but want more. You pushed your ass back against him quickly, matching his thrusts.
“Oh shit!” He quickly pulled out stroking his length as spurts of cum landed on your ass.
“See this why I can’t fool with you. Almost made us parents.”
summary: it was supposed to be a peaceful family cookout until old insecurities resurface and jealousy finally pushes the first baby mama past her breaking point, turning a simple gathering into a bunch of baby momma drama
contains: usage of ‘y/n’, jealousy!,pettiness hella arguing, glasses will be thrown, jermajesty is just trying his best, small fight towards the end
notes: jermajesty and Alyssa’s son = josiah ( 4 ), y/n and jermajesty’s daughter = jayda ( 2 )
“awww look at the you two” latoya awed at her young neice and nephew in their matching outfits “now you know that boys moma ain’t gonna like that” she said and looked at you with her hands planted on her hips.
you rolled your eyes “so? she should’ve brought him clothes when she dropped him of five days” you replied making Latoya’s eyes nearly pop out of her head.
“five days ago?!”“Mhm.” You shrugged. “And not a single outfit either.” “go play babies, you know she coming later” janet added, The kids took off toward the backyard, giggling as they ran past.
“who..?” You slowly turned your head toward Janet, she pursued her lips together and you knew exactly what that meant “my brother invited her too”
you scoffed “you can’t be serious” latoya made a face that could only be described as yikes, she nodded “Yeah… he told me earlier. I thought you knew.”
A little while later, you were sitting beside Jermajesty, talking with his aunts and uncles, when the conversation around the table suddenly died down.
The attention of the entire backyard shifted toward the entrance.
Alyssa.
“Hey everybodyyy!” She walked in like she was making an entrance on purpose as usual, a tight bandage dress hugged every curve, wedges clicking against the pavement as she strutted across the yard. A few relatives exchanged looks while others quickly glanced away, pretending not to stare.
Alyssa stopped in front of the table and placed a hand on her chest. “Well damn. I don’t get a hello, Jermajesty? Or are you still wrapped around your little girlfriend’s finger?”
without missing a beat you held your hand in the air, showing off your 6 carat diamond engagement ring on your finger, Alyssa’s eyes immediately landed on it and you watched the realization hit. she gasped dramatically and put a hand on your shoulder “oh my mistake, fiancée”
You smiled sweetly. “That’s better.”
jermajesty sighed and took a sip of his beer “hey Alyssa” he gave her a half smile and a simple nod “Anyways…” She glanced around. “Where’s my son?”
you and jermajesty both gestured toward the swing set where Josiah and Jayda were chasing each other around., Alyssa looked at the two kids before snapping her head at the two of you and her eyes narrowed “nobody asked me before putting my son in matching clothes.”
“They’re just outfits.” you replied twisting your lips at her “So?” Alyssa turned fully toward you.
“It’s always ‘just’ something with you.” she said crossing her arms “and it’s always ‘something’ with you, you sent Josiah to our house with no clothes. Not one shirt. Not one pair of socks. Nothing.”
A few relatives suddenly became very interested in their drinks.
Alyssa crossed her arms. “He told me he already had clothes over there.” “He does.” “Then what’s the problem?”
“The problem is you’re standing here complaining about an outfit when you didn’t even pack a bag.”
Alyssa took a step closer…you stood up immediately…the backyard went quiet.
“You always think you’re his mama.” Alyssa’s voice lowered. “And you act like being his mama means you don’t have to do your part.”
Alyssa scoffed. “There you go.” “There I go what?” “Trying to play house with my son.”
Your jaw tightened. “Watch yourself.” “Or what?”before either of you could say another word, Jermajesty shot up from his chair.
“Alright. Enough.” He stepped between the both of you “Not today.”
“Come on,” he said firmly. “Can we be cordial for one family cookout? Just one?”
You looked at Alyssa…Alyssa looked at you, then, slowly, you sat back down.
Alyssa did the same, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she dropped into her seat.
“Whatever.” “Yeah,” you muttered. “Whatever.”
But judging by the look she sent you from across the table, the issue was far from over.
An hour later, the backyard had settled into that familiar cookout rhythm, music playing, kids running around, family talking over one another.
You were helping set the outdoor dining table, lining up plates and silverware and unfortunately, Alyssa had decided to help too. The two of you worked side by side in complete silence.
No conversation, no eye contact.
Then a loud cry shattered the quiet.
Both of your heads snapped up Josiah came running across the yard with tears streaming down his cheeks, his little face scrunched up in pain.
“Mommy!” The nickname slipped out before he could think, and he ran straight toward you with his arms outstretched.
right past Alyssa
You immediately crouched down and opened your arms. “Come here, baby. You’re okay. Josiah crashed into your embrace, burying his face in your shoulder as his tiny body shook with sobs.
“Oh, Jojo,” you cooed softly. “Let me see.” You gently pulled him back enough to look him over, his knees were scraped up, small streaks of blood running down both legs.
“Aww, poor thing.” You brushed some curls out of his face. “What happened?”
“I-I fell,” he cried. “You fell?” he nodded.
“Well, that’s okay. We can fix that.” You wiped away a tear with your thumb. “Let’s go inside and get you cleaned up-” “I got him.”
The sharpness in Alyssa’s voice made you look up. Before Josiah could respond, she grabbed his hand.
You stood up slowly. “He came to me.” Alyssa’s jaw tightened. “Yeah. Because you always gotta play mommy.”
The comment immediately rubbed you the wrong way, you glanced down at Josiah, then back at her. “He ran right past you because you weren’t even paying attention.”
Alyssa scoffed and in one swift motion, she picked Josiah up and settled him on her hip. “Regardless, he’s my son.” The way she emphasized my son made your eye twitch.
“Whatever, Alyssa.” You folded your arms. “Do you even know where the first-aid kit is?”
For the first time since the conversation started, Alyssa actually shut the fuck up- i mean hesitated.
The silence answered the question for her, you couldn’t help the small look of disbelief that crossed your face.
Alyssa immediately looked away and without another word, she turned and headed toward the house with Josiah still crying against her shoulder.
You watched her disappear through the back door before looking over at Jermajesty.
Jermajesty sighed heavily and pushed himself out of his chair.
A few relatives nearby suddenly became very interested in their food. He walked over and pressed a quick kiss to your forehead. “I’ll be back, baby.”
You nodded. “Mm-hm.”
Jermajesty shot one last look toward you before following after Alyssa, already knowing he was about to get stuck in the middle of another argument.
The sun had started to set, most of the food was gone, and conversations had turned lazy and comfortable as everyone settled around the tables.
Across the backyard, Josiah and Jayda darted through the grass with mason jars in hand, giggling as they chased fireflies.
“Aww,” Genevieve smiled. “Look at them.” Several people turned toward the kids.
“They look like real siblings.” Latoya added “I’m serious,” she continued. “y/n treats that baby like he’s her own. That’s rare these days.”
The table murmured in agreement, you immediately noticed Alyssa’s smile disappear.
“Oh?” The single word made everyone quiet down.
Latoya, completely oblivious, continued. “I’m just saying Josiah’s blessed. Some women would’ve treated him different.”
Alyssa laughed, not a happy laugh, yhe kind that made people start looking around awkwardly. “Right.”
Jermajesty sat up straighter. “Alyssa-” “No, let her finish.”
The backyard suddenly felt a lot smaller.
Alyssa crossed her arms. “Go ahead. Tell everybody how amazing she is and how I’m a bad mother.”
“Alyssa, nobody said that,” genevieve tried.
“But that’s what everybody keeps implying, every family function I come to, y’all act like she’s Mother Teresa.” then her eyes landed on you.
“Every single chance y’all get.” You sighed “Can we not do this right now?” “No. Let’s do it.”
“Girl, let it go.” Alyssa’s head snapped toward you.
“See? That’s your problem.” “My problem?”
“Everything’s always ‘girl let it go’ when somebody’s disrespecting me.” You laughed. “Nobody’s disrespecting you. You’re just insecure.” Alyssa sat up straighter. “Insecure about what exactly?” You looked her up and down before shrugging. “If you gotta ask, I can’t help you.”
Jermajesty whispered “Baby…” but it was too late.
Alyssa stood up. “No, say it with your chest.”
You stood too causing several relatives exchanged nervous glances.
“You wanna play mommy so fucking bad.” she said narrowing her eyes at you “And you wanna be a victim so damn bad.” you shot back
The entire table went silent.
“What’d you say?” “You heard me bitch.”
Jermajesty immediately got to his feet. “Both of y’all sit down.” Neither of you moved. Alyssa took a step forward.
“I am so sick of you.” “And I’m sick of your attitude.”
Another step.
“Everything’s a competition with you.” You laughed. “That’s funny coming from the woman who spent all day trying to compete with me.” “Ain’t nobody competing with you.” “Could’ve fooled the fuck outta me.”
The next few seconds happened fast.
Alyssa shoved your shoulder, not enough to hurt but enough to disrespect.
The entire table erupted.
“Alyssa!” “What the hell?!”
You stumbled back before immediately shoving her harder. “Oh, bitch!”
The plastic cup in your hand flew before you even thought about it, water splashed across Alyssa’s face.
For half a second everyone froze.
Then she lunged.
The two of you crashed into the grass.
her hands found there way into your hair as one of yours did the same while the other slapped her repeatedly, leaving a few marks on her face…reality tv style
Randy jr and jermajesty jumped up from their chairs as the two of you fell to the ground and started to actually fight.
“Break it up!” Jermaine shouted over the commotion
“Y’all stop!” Janet said clutching her chest in disbelief
Jermajesty got between you first, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you back while Randy jr and Jaafar grabbed Alyssa.
“Alyssa!” “LET ME GO!” “You need to leave!”
“You need to tell HER to stop acting like she’s his mother!” The backyard exploded into chaos.
Jayda started crying and Josiah looked terrified.
That immediately snapped you out of your anger.
You looked toward the kids and Jermajesty followed your gaze.
His face hardened.
For the first time all day, he wasn’t trying to keep the peace. “Alyssa take a breath and go home.”
The entire backyard went quiet.
Because everyone knew he wasn’t asking and Alyssa knew it too.
She wiped blood from the corner of her mouth and laughed bitterly “Fine.” she pointed around the backyard. “All of y’all can kiss my ass. And don’t invite me to shit else.”
she stood in front of Jermajesty “i’m picking up my son on thursday” he nodded head in the air, avoiding eye contact
she stomped away leaving the backyard in silence
jermajesty looked at his father and pointed a finger at him “i don’t know why the FUCK you would invite her here in the first place, you wanted everybody to play nice and look what happened”
jaafar stepped forward. “jer-” “jaafar get the fuck out of the way” he cut him off
“you owe my fiancé and my kids a apology and i don’t mean that half ass bull shit either”
you picked up your daughter and bent down to give Josiah a kiss on the forehead “i’m sorry you had to see that my babies, it won’t happen again”
A few minutes later, you, Jermajesty, Jayda, and Josiah walked toward the car in complete silence.
The cookout was definitely over.
And somehow, everybody knew this wasn’t over either.
