amil

22 • delulu bout the jackson's • mdni

[amilliongoodfish]

i automatically assume the reader has a silk press or box braids when y'all are describing hair in these stories. LMFAOOOOOO, you will NOT rain on my parade. i'll picture michael x reader being about a black girl every single time

[mustangb3byy]

˖ ⭑ let’s keep it discreet | michael jackson ˖ ⭑

pairing: bad m.jackson x fem!reader.

synopsis: you’re michael’s makeup artist but also his secret girlfriend. before michael goes out on stage, you’re doing his makeup and he couldn’t resist you but also had to keep it discreet.

warnings: smut, fingering, slight hair pulling, slight choking.

a/n: this is based on this request, i hope you like it bby. i also love this idea so so so much.

the dressing room hums with the faint echo of the crowd beyond the door—the muffled roar barely contained, a beast waiting to be unleashed. michael sits in the chair, his leather jacket unzipped as he watches you in the mirror.

you lean in close, brush sweeping across his cheekbone with practiced precisions your fingers steady despite the heat radiating off his skin. the scent of his cologne—something expensive, musky—fills your senses as you work, your reflection hovering just behind his. his dark eyes track your every movement in the mirror, heavy lidded and hungry, watching the way your lips purse in concentration.

he shifts, his thigh pressing against yours under the pretense of adjusting his position. “almost done, beautiful?” his voice is low, a velvet purr that vibrates through your core. his hand slides up your arm, fingers tracing patterns only you can see, his thumb brushing the pulse at your wrist. outside, the stage manager knocks on the door—

you swallow hard, forcing your hand steady as you finish the last touch of highlight. michael’s gaze never leaves yours in the mirror, his thumb still idly caressing your wrist. the knock comes again, more insistent this time. “almost time, mike!” the stage manager shouts through the door. michael’s smile widens, all teeth and promise.

his eyes darken as you move to stand in front of him, your body blocking his view of the mirror. he spreads his legs slightly, pulling you between them without breaking eye contact. his hands find your hips, gripping them firmly as he watches you apply his eyeliner with meticulous care.

his grip on your hips tighten as you lean in closer, his breath ghosting over your lips with each exhale. the room fills with the scent of his cologne mixed with your perfume, creating a heady aroma that’s intoxicating.

his fingers dig into your hip bones, tugging you down onto his lap without waiting for permission. you catch yourself on his chest, your hands pressing against his leather jacket as you settle between his spread thighs. the eyeliner brush clatters to the floor.

“michael—“ you hiss, but the warning in your voice cracks when his lips brush your ear.

“shh,” he breathes against your neck, his teeth grazing your pulse point. his hands slide down to grip your ass, squeezing firmly as he settles you deeper against him. you can feel the hard length of him pressing against your thigh through his pants. “they can wait five minutes,” he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave. “or ten.”

the knock at the door sounds again. “michael, you ready?” his hand slides under the hem of your shirt, fingers digging into the bare skin of your waist. in the mirror beside you, you see his reflection—you see yourself straddling him, his hands on your ass, dark eyes burning with want. “be right there,” he calls back.

once he hears the footsteps retreat from the door, his hand works your shirt upward, exposing your breasts to the cool air. you gasp softly, your eyes widening as you realised what was going to happen.

he grabs your hand, pressing a soft kiss to your palm before guiding it down to his belt. his other hand cups your breast, thumb circling your nipple with practiced precision. you undo the buckle with trembling fingers, the leather hissing as it comes free.

you whisper urgently, “michael, there are people right outside. we can’t—“ his lips silence you with a deep kiss, his hand squeezing your breast firmly to punctuate his refusal to stop. he unzips his leather pants one-handed, “shhh…”

you bite your lip hard to stifle a moan as his freed length pressed against your core through your panties. his hips roll upwards, rubbing against you in slow circles. his mouth trails open mouthed kisses down your neck, sucking a bruise onto your exposed collarbone. “michael…” you whimper quietly nails digging into his shoulders.

his hand slips into your panties, fingers sliding through your wetness. you clench around nothing before he pushes two fingers inside you, thumb pressing against your clit. his other hand covers your mouth to muffle your gasps as he finger fucks you silently in his dressing room. “quiet, beautiful.”

you nod frantically, tears pricking your eyes from the pleasure. the stage manager knocks again, “michael, we’re going on soon!” michael doesn’t slow down. he curls his fingers deeper, hitting that spot that makes you weak.

“yes, okay. i’ll be there soon.” he answers back smoothly, voice steady despite his thumb working your clit.

you throw your head back, silent moan catching in your throat as he hits your sweet spot again. his fingers pump faster, harder, his mouth latching onto your breasts to suck and bite at the marks he’s made previously.

you grip his shoulders, trembling. your legs shake as pleasure builds, coiling tight. his voice is a whisper in your ear, “come for me, baby.” he adds a third finger, stretching you perfectly.

your orgasm crashes through you silently, body convulsing against his chest. you bury your face in his neck to muffle your cries, teeth grazing his skin hard enough to leave marks that you know you’ll need to cover up before he goes on stage.

his fingers pump relentlessly through your climax, milking every drop from you. “that’s it…” he draws out, chest heaving. “so good for me.”

he pulls his fingers out slowly, watching you come undone. his hand moves to his fly, freeing his aching length. he lifts your hips, positioning you over him, guiding you down onto his cock in one smooth motion. you gasp into his shoulder, biting down hard to stay quiet.

he grips your hips, setting the pace as you ride him slowly. each thrust draws a silent moan from your lips, swallowed by his shoulder. his free hand slides between your bodies, rubbing your clit in tight circles. “you feel so good,” he hissed through clenched teeth, jaw tight. “so tight, baby.” his hips snap upwards, meeting yours with hungry desperation.

he switches your position suddenly, bending you over the illuminated vanity. your reflection stares back at you—cheeks flushed, nipples hard against your shirt. he enters you from behind in one deep thrust. “look at yourself,” he orders quietly, gripping your hips.

you watch in the mirror as he pounds into you, your reflection’s head thrown back, mouth slightly parted in a silent scream. his dark eyes meet yours in the glass, watching your face contort with pleasure. his hand reaches around to circle your clot, rubbing hard as he drives into you relentlessly. “look at that face,” he whispers against your ear.

you’re trembling, the reflection of your body shaking violently as he fucks you against the mirror. his thumb presses down hard on your clit, his other hand tangling in your hair to pull your head back. you watch yourself come undone, his reflection looming behind you, intense and focused.

you watch yourself unravel, biting your lip and closing your eyes to hold back loud cries. “michael…michael, fuck.” you whimper softly as he hits that perfect spot deep inside. he smirks in the mirror, knowing exactly what he’s doing to you. he untangles his hand from your hair to grab your chin, forcing you to watch him fuck you. “keep your eyes on the mirror, sweetheart.”

your body convulses, pussy clamping down around his thick length. he groans, biting his lip to stay quiet as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm.

right as your orgasm peaks, there’s another knock at the door. you jerk forward silently, eyes wide in the mirror. michael’s hand flies to cover your mouth completely. muffling your cries. his hips never stop moving, fucking you through your silent climax.

“michael, we’re about to go on!” the door handle jiggles slightly. you freeze, eyes locking with his in the mirror. he kisses your shoulder, a silent reassurance as his hand stays firmly pressed over your mouth. his other hand grips your hip, holding you still while he fucks you slowly, deliberately—the kind of movements that make you want to scream.

his hand pressed harder against your mouth, swallowing your moans as he thrusts deep one final time. you clench around him, trembling violently against the vanity. he holds himself still inside you, breathing heavily against your neck. “yeah, yeah,” he calls out, voice steady despite his racing heart. “just finishing up, i’ll be out in a minute.” his fingers fingers trace lazy circles on your hip.

the footsteps fade away. michael groans softly, forehead dropping to your shoulder as he releases inside you. you feel his hot release filling you, body shuddering with each pulse. he withdraws slowly, groaning quietly against your skin. “fuck…” he breathes, breathless. “that was close.” he reaches for a tissue, cleaning you up with gentle hands.

you straighten up shakily, wobbling on unsteady legs. he helps you fix your clothes and hair. his eyes meet yours in the mirror, dark and satisfied. “you okay, baby?” he whispers, kissing your temple.

you nod silently, still processing the quick, intense fuck against the vanity. he smiles softly, running a hand through your hair before turning to the mirror to fix his own appearance. as he adjusts his jacket, he glances back at you with a wink. “showtime.”

you grab his face gently, kissing him deeply and passionately. he kisses you back intensely for a moment before pulling away slightly. “i love you,” you whisper against his lips. “go kill it out there.” he smiles, pressing one more quick kiss to your mouth.

“i love you more, baby,” he whispers back, thumb brushing your cheek gently. he hesitates for a second, clearly wanting to say more, but the stage managers voice calls again from the hallway. with one last look, he squeezed your hand and leaves the dressing room, the door clicking shut behind him.

you stand in the empty dressing room, catching your breath. your reflection shows flushed cheeks and a satisfied smile. you can still feel him inside you, his claim marked on your skin. you trace the hickey on your neck in the mirror, grinning as you hear wanna be startin’ something blast through the arena speakers.

[ebonymuse]

— 𝐞𝐫𝐚 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞 ; 𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 (michael)

through every era, him. 18+

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

“Michael!”

A blissful, all-too-familiar orgasm ripped through you — one of many that had been brought upon you this evening, as your glistening back, sheen from sweat, arched off the mattress. Your eyes squeezed shut as your sex convulsed around Michael’s cock, clenching him so beautifully it sent shivers down his spine as a deep groan fell from his lips that were smushed into the crook to your neck.

Sex with Michael was a regular occurrence — something that often clad your nights and mornings, and if the shoe fit, sometimes even the afternoons, if you were especially het up.

And every time it was as good as the last, orgasms and sensations so ferocious your throat would burn with each breath from the frantic pleas and screams of pleasure that were torn from deep in your chest.

Michael too had followed in your release, flooding your spasming cunt to the brim — cock pushed to the hilt as he shook above you, low, deep noises muffled into your sticky skin.

He pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, lips delicate and loving against the skin, as you panted, fighting to catch your breath and clear the stars from your vision, before rolling off you with an exaggerated sigh. His hand, still hanging loosely over the curve of your stomach, rubbed figure eights into the plush flesh, a slow, gentle display of affection.

“‘You okay, baby?” He breathed, resting his head on his hand, tilting his head to stare at you as you slid onto your side to face him.

You hummed back — a lazy, dazed smile on your face as fatigue washed over you, eyelashes fluttering each time you blinked slowly.

“You wanna’ shower with me?”

“Mm, that sounds heavenly, babe.” You breathed at the delight of the thought, deepening the smile on Michael’s face, reaching up to brush a stray strand of hair from your forehead.

“C’mere first.” He beckoned, expression deepening as his nimble fingers curled around your cheek, pulling you towards him.

Your lips connected sweetly — another small hum leaving your mouth, into his own, as affection sparked. The kiss was tentative, loving, a gentle collision of love and adoration, his lips soft against your own as they moved slowly. Michael’s caring touch, albeit seductively wondering, slid from your cheek down your stark frame — cupping the small of waist to pull you flush against his chest with calculated smoothness.

It was only when a quiet gasp left your strained throat as his hand slithered down to cup the plumpness of your ass did you know exactly what he was doing.

“Again?” You giggled as your lips were freed, his own now patterning sloppy pecks down your neck, hands steadying yourself on his flexed shoulders.

“Just wanna give it to’ya all the time,” Michael whispered, lips suckling right below your earlobe, hand kneading your behind.

“I genuinely don’t think you could live without sex, Mike.” You teased, laughing breathly as he nibbled at the flesh of your jaw, your hands threading through the silkiness of his hair.

Michael chuckled himself, “Makin’ me sound like some sex-crazed creep.”

Your smile deepened, locking eyes as he pulled away from your neck, a playful smile on his face, “Seriously, I genuinely don’t think you could do it.” You laughed.

Michael’s right eyebrow lurched up, a challenged sense of pride flooding his system, “I bet’cha I could.”

“Is that a challenge, Mr.Jackson?” You pressed, a smirk tugging at your swollen lips, eyes glinting with temptation, “I reckon you couldn’t go two days without it.”

“Sure, baby,” He spoke, condescension evident in his tone.

“Oh, you think you could?”

“Of course.”

“Well, let’s put it to the test.”

Michael chuckled, “What?”

“Let’s see if you’re all talk or not.”

Michael breathed out a laugh, shaking his head at your insinuation — hands rubbing gentle circles on the skin of your waist.

“I know I could, but you though?” You continued, laughing, “Absolutely not.”

Michael’s pride took a blunt punch — your teasing words hitting him straight in the chest. His ego suddenly begging to be inflated at the idea he could possibly not be the best at something.

“You sound confident.” He spoke, ignoring the way his chest burned with the desire to succeed.

“I am,” You started, “I could go a week, easy.”

“A week?” Michael blurted, surprise flooding his voice, “What’cha tryna say, baby?”

You cackled, “Oh, stop. You know I love it, Mike.” You leant down to press a gentle peck to his pouting lips, “But I’d absolutely destroy you.”

Michael shook his head with a chuckle, “Don’t count your chickens, love,” He smirked at his next thought, “I reckon I could break you.”

He leant down, nuzzling neck back into the soft flesh of your neck, peppering kisses over the dark love-bites blooming on your skin, humming at the sweet scent of your perfume flooding his nostrils.

“Ah, ah, you think you can go without it — honour it.” You commanded, pushing his face away from your neck gently, before rising to your feet, standing at the edge of the bed, your stark naked frame now on full display to him.

“What? Come on, baby, I thought we were just joking?” Michael sighed, head lolling to the side, “Come back here.”

“Nope,” You replied with a pop, retreating to the bathroom, hips swaying as you walked, “I say two days, prove me wrong.”

An undeniable need to vindicate overpowered Michael’s brain — a desire to prove his worth flooding every ounce of rationale he had left.

He shook his head with a huffed laugh, pushing himself off the bed, following you to the colder room, softening cock lazily hanging between his legs, “You really wanna play this game?”

“Game? Sweetie, this isn’t a game.” You giggled, reaching for your toothbrush, “I’m deadly serious. I know I would win.”

“You’re real cocky for a woman who begged for six rounds after I came back off tour.”

You gasped at his dig, eyebrows knotting into the crease of your forehead — the similar need to prevail blossoming inside you. You knew exactly what memory he was referring to — he had just come back from his HIStory tour, a painfully long World Tour that lasted months, leaving you alone for weeks on end. And when he returned — you never left the bedroom. Every position, every angle, every new trick was tried that night — six intensely pleasureful rounds of much-needed sex occurred, ten brutal orgasms ripping through you. It was the best sex you had ever experienced together — and something Michael would continuously hold against you as a way to tease you.

“Oh, you wanna play dirty?” You scoffed, a smirk pulling onto your face, “Now, I reckon you couldn’t go one day.”

Michael’s lip slipped between his teeth at the challenge — inhaling deeply at the sudden ultimatum. Mind secretly reeling with panic at the realisation he probably couldn’t go without the sweet tightness of your cunt around him — but he had to validate himself.

“Fine, I’ll humour you.” He started, reaching for his toothbrush with a click of his tongue, “What’s my reward for winning?”

“Sex, obviously.”

Michael snorted, “So, the prize for not having sex, is having sex?”

“Exactly.”

Michael laughed, shaking his head, “I think that’s flawed game, baby.”

You huffed, “I told you, Michael, it’s not a game. I’m deadly serious, you will loose.”

He peered down at you, a serious expression flushed over your face, your manicured hands resting on your bare hips. You looked beautiful in this light, even despite your sassed attitude — the warm hue of the sunrise blooming over your naked body, the rays of light catching the daring look in your eyes as you looked up at his through your lashes.

“Alright then,” Michael started, sliding a glob of toothpaste along the plastic bristles, “If you believe I can’t go a day, I’m certain you can’t go two.”

“Fine,” You giggled with a breath, “Just means I’m already winning.”

Michael rolled his eyes, “You’re so competitive.”

“‘Am not,” You protested, a slight sharpness in your tone at the way your ego bruised, “Fine, we’ll tweak the rules,” You paused, thinking deeply, “Let’s both see who makes it furthest. And whoever hasn’t broken by Saturday, wins.”

Today was Sunday, leaving six days left until Michael would let his ego inflate to the maximum at his success, and finally get to slide into you once again.

“You’re on, baby.”

And that’s how it started.

A firm handshake and a determined twinkle in both of your eyes — and the contest had begun.

Michael assumed you were just going to go on about your normal, day-to-day routine as usual for the next six days — wake up in one another’s arms, have lazy mornings with gentle kisses, alas no sex, and then spend your day as you so chose.

But, no.

Michael had no idea how truly possessive you would get about winning — something that instilled a secretive panic in him at the idea that you may actually crack his resolve.

You started tame on day zero — brushing past him slowly, deliberately gliding the swell of your ass against his crotch, as you moved through the kitchen, acting none-the-wiser to his despair as you peered into the fridge, attempting to suppress the smirk that crept into your face.

Or, you’d appear that evening in the bedroom from your walk-in closet next door — heels clicking against the wooden floors as your frame hit his vision.

He’d been laying in bed, engrossed in the cartoon imagery that played across the screen, laughing softly at a particularly humourous scene, before his attention was completely focused on you.

“Goin’ now, baby.” You’d say, a slight hint of sensuality in your low drawl of words that Michael picked up on as you leant against the doorframe.

Michael swallowed thickly at the sight of you — clad in a dress so tight that every curve of your body was visible, an evil temptation in the form of a thigh-length, black, low cut, backless, body-con dress. You couldn’t hide the smirk that adorned your dolled-up face at the sight of Michael’s eyes practically popping out of his head.

“Jesus.” He breathed, the noise of the television suddenly going on deaf ears as he ogled at you, “God, you look beautiful, baby.”

You did a twirl — just to rub it in his face, the sight of your bare back and the curve of your ass beneath the tight material suddenly on full display to his eager eyes, ones that had now been without the sight of your naked frame for sixteen hours.

“Come here, lemme get a better look at’ya” He commanded, sitting up from his relaxed position, and seating himself at the edge of the mattress.

You moved slowly, teasingly slow — so slow it had Michael growing increasingly antsy by the time you reached him, slotting yourself between his opened legs, hands sliding to his shoulders as his own rose to your sides, stroking the curve of your hip-dips.

“Incredible.” He whispered, eyes trailing all over your frame, “Shouldn’t be seen out in public lookin’ this good.”

You laughed, jerking your neck softly to sway a loose strand of hair from your face, “Can’t pass up on girls night.” You started, “Besides I’m meeting your sisters.”

“Even more reason for you to stay home with me.”

“Don’t be mean.” You swatted his arm playfully, “I’ll be home before y’know it.”

“I doubt it,” He breathed, running a languid hand along your exposed thigh, “Countin’ down the seconds ‘till your home is gonna be like watching paint dry.”

“You’re so dramatic.” You giggled, shaking your head at his theatrical reaction.

“How can I not be when I have a lady who looks like this?—God help me.” Michael sighed, lip coming between his teeth.

A seductive smile trickled onto his bitten lips as his hand wondered recklessly — gliding up your inner thigh to delicately swipe a long, slender finger over your clothes folds, a gasp ripping from your throat as the pad of his middle finger nudged your twitching clit, forcing you to step backwards to separate the pair of you.

You laughed, deep from your chest, “I knew you wouldn’t last.”

“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.” He teased, smirking as he rested back on his hands, glistening eyes meeting your own.

“I should count that as loosing, y’know.” You revealed, crossing your arms over your chest, missing the way Michael licked his lips at the sight of your exposed chest being pushed further up, the round of your breasts becoming more visible to him.

“Unless one finger counts as sex baby, I think I’m still winning.”

“Haven’t won yet, Michael.” You reminded, sliding your crocodile-skin patterned handbag over your shoulder, “See you later. Be good.”

“Think you’re forgettin’ something, honey.”

You rolled your eyes playfully with a laugh, retreating back towards him, eyeing up his teasing smile. You leant down, capturing his lips in a smooth kiss, his chin caught between two of your slim digits. It was only when Michael cascaded a harsh, sudden slap to your ass over the flimsy material of your dress did you move backwards again with a half-gasp, half-laugh.

“You’re only tormentin’ yourself, baby.” You admitted, sending him a knowing look before walking straight out the door.

As Michael watched your gorgeous frame saunter away, the only sound remaining was the clicking of your heeled shoes down the stairs and the faint hum of the TV, it hit him that you were right. He genuinely couldn’t help himself when it came to you, especially when you got dressed up — something that always drove him crazy.

And the torment wasn’t self-inflicted by him like you insinuated — oh, no, it was all administered by you.

Even though his ego had been stroked at the undeniable fact that he’d managed to actually not have sex with you for a now twenty-four hours — his pride was still aching at the horrible realisation you were causing him greater anguish than he was to you.

You had upped your game — deciding that even though he had passed level one, he hadn’t won’t this yet. And you certainly weren’t done pushing his buttons.

You were blind to assume he didn’t know how to do the same.

You were stood in the living room, humming softly to the music that blared from the TV as you stood up from your strained position. You were partaking in your usual Tuesday afternoon yoga session — a habit you’d picked up in recent times after Michael bought and downloaded a whole 3-month course series on the television for you to watch and practice. You were sweating — stray hairs from your tight ponytail tickling your slick neck, cheeks flushed and legs throbbing in heat from the tightness of the yoga pants that clad them.

“And beeeend over, ladies! Stretch those calves!” The encouraging voice from the instructor over the music filled your ears, obeying the command instantly.

Your legs burnt from the tense position you were strained into, swallowing thickly as you concentrated, heat still pulsated through your body.

In your state of focus, you missed the way Michael appeared behind you, the music masking his footsteps as he approached you, standing directly behind your bent over frame. If he wasn’t about to wind you up, he would’ve let himself go at the sight of you face down, ass up for him.

You jumped, squealing loudly with a pleasured ‘Aah!’, falling forwards, catching yourself on your hands as Michael’s mouth latched around your clothed cunt through your pants — teeth grazing over your aching clit.

“Mike!” You screeched, “Y’scared me. What are you doing?” You panted, the increased bodily temperature from the workout nothing compared to the intense arousing heat scorching through you as he pulled away from you.

You peered down, staring at his crouched frame behind you through your spread legs, that infamous shit-eating grin plastered across his face as he studied your reaction.

“Hey, baby.”

“What the hell are you doing?”

Michael shrugged, “Nothin’.”

You rolled your eyes, sinking to the floor to dissolve the strain on your body, crossing your legs as you panted. Suddenly, his surprise oral attack felt all too calculated for your liking.

“Nah, I know what you’re doin’.” You blamed, pouting your lips in an accusatory manner.

Michael’s smirk deepened as he too sank to his knees, reaching forward to take a hold of your tense calves, pushing your legs upwards and open, pushing you slowly onto your back. He shuffled towards you, slotting himself between your legs, hovering his body weight over you, sleek hair dangling into your face.

No words were spoken as Michael leant down, pushing your lips together in a fierce kiss — all teeth and tongue as he lapped at your bottom lip, awaiting permission to enter your warm mouth. And when he did, you moaned out loud, the glass house of your pride having stones hurled at it by yours truly from the inside — your ego screaming to be released from the pleasured prison you’d locked it in as his tongue slid against your own. It was only when his crotch met your own, the throbbing statement of his arousal pressing deliciously into the ridge of your clothed cunt, material now sleek with Michael’s spit from where he suckled you, did you spread your legs further, letting him in.

“Michael.” You breathed, disconnecting your lips in a gasp at the sensation, your resolve threatening to transpire as he pressed himself harder into you, hardened cock moving to the side ever so slightly, nudging your clit — sending shockwaves throughout you.

A pathetic whimper left you as he finally rocked against you — his stiff erection now gliding over your cunt, now drooling from the inescapable need that dripped out of you — body betraying you as it begged for him desperately.

“I’ve got you, baby.” He whispered, lips brushing against the shell of your ear, tongue darting out to lick a feather-light stripe over the lobe, smirking as you shuddered.

His hips never stopped — rolling despairingly slow against you, each thrust knocking against your clit relentlessly, the twitching nub that had been screaming for attention for the past thirty hours now throbbing against his hard-on. Your body was exploding — blind lust coursing throughout you at the intensifying desire of the pent up hunger for him.

One thrust rocked against your clit particularly hard, a high-pitched whine falling into the air as your back arched off the ground, heaving chest pressed into his own, a lazy smirk tugging on Michael’s spit-covered lips.

“Thaaat’s it, baby,” He coaxed, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, hand trailing down to toy with the waistband of your pants, “Give in to me.”

Give in to me — the arousing connotation did nothing to hide the real undertone of his words.

You gasped, your hands coming to connect with his shoulders in a harsh shove, crawling out from underneath him as he stumbled backwards — his back slamming against the edge of the large couch that splayed behind you both, laughing loudly.

“You fucker.” You seethed, through gritted teeth, chest rising and falling quickly.

“Nearly got’cha there.” He breathed, chuckling as he too caught his breath.

“You playin’ real dirty, Mike.”

“And you were playin’ with fire with that dress last night, but I let you have your fun.” He shot back, smiling widely, “One all.”

His reference to a sports term, meaning both teams had scored a goal each, had you rolling your eyes — trying to ignore the way your body had a visceral reaction at his attempt to break you.

And how scarily close you got to shattering.

Michael rose to his feet, leaning over to press a kiss to your head, palming a hand through your sleek ponytail, before retreating up the stairs once more with a laugh that had you huffing in irritation.

You ground your teeth — this definitely wasn’t over yet.

Michael, sincerely pleased with himself at his success of teasing you breathless, settled in his office — placing down and picking up the phone every few minutes to contact his producers, personal assistant, media executive, anyone and everyone who demanded his attention.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, that one did pretty well.” He mumbled into the phone that was pressed to his ear, swaying gently back and forth in his swivelled chair, “Mhm, okay, tell me about that one again.”

He was focused — knee-deep in important business, having conversations that couldn’t wait or be interrupted. You always respected his working time — anytime he’d click the door of his office shut, you’d busy yourself. Either going shopping, working out or going to visit a friend — you let Michael’s professional life remain separate to your romantic relationship.

But, he lost that respectful distance the second he agreed to this dangerous dance of denying one another pleasure through reckless and teasing means.

“Mhm, so the 23rd and 27th?” He muttered, pen between his lips as he stared down at the notepad full of potential dates for a charity event at a nearby Children’s Hospital.

When, out of the blue, the door to his office opened painfully slow, the low groan of the hinges forced into action filling his ears, the noise of his manager’s voice in his ear drowning into blabber the second the perpetrator behind the interruption met his eyes.

Michael’s jaw fell slack, eyes widening in shock for the thousandth time this week already at the sight before him — you, pretty frame clad in his favourite lingerie set he’d bought you on one of the many shopping sprees he’d taken you on, the delicate lace hugging every ridge and curve of your body perfectly.

It was pastel, babydoll-pink and sheer — the perfect shade of your nipples shining subtly through the material, poking out just enough to meet his darkened gaze, the underwire pushing your tits up to maximum fullness, albeit slightly uncomfortable, but any pain was softened at the reaction he gave you. And the panties didn’t solve his shock — an intoxicating G-string that allowed the curve of your waist, dip of your hips and swell of your ass to be on full display.

You leant against the doorframe seductively — a smirk full of vengeance evident on your face at his stunned expression. You let out a quiet giggle as his chest heaved, grasp on the phone tightening as he watched your every move, not daring to look away.

Michael, performing his infamous lip-bite, sucked in a harsh breath as you turned around, presenting your exposed behind to him — the curve of your ass moving with each movement, a slight recoil with each step.

“Michael?” The confused, barely audible voice of his manager rang through the silent room, questioning his sudden silence.

If you hadn’t turned to look at him over your shoulder, running a curious finger down your side, gooseflesh blooming on your skin at the tentative self-inflicted touch, and slipped around the corner with a laugh, leaving the doorway suddenly empty — Michael would’ve hung up the phone right then and there.

“S-Sorry, lost connection.” He cleared this throat, adjusting his painfully hard cock beneath his slacks, “Carry on.”

On day two, Michael was antsier than ever — cock hard from the moment he woke up, throbbing for attention. He never usually masturbated, as he would rather save his pleasure for when he was inside you, that and because you always there to provide him said arousal every day. His cock was twitching violently every time you approached him, even doing something simple as making breakfast — his dick confused at the sudden change in routine, missing its usual usage.

Thankfully, you had spared him today — not providing any tantalising treatment, just acting as the ultimatum hadn’t even been agreed on to begin with.

Some would think that would bring some much needed relief, but alas not. It was worryingly quiet, scarily calm — something dangerous and hidden underneath your normality that had him tense. He couldn’t figure out what you were planning, but it had him squirming and screaming inside in anticipation — tense and fighting off a forty-eight hour boner wasn’t a good cocktail for Michael.

Michael, who had been working again today, sluggishly pulled himself up the stairs, loosening his tie that he had been forced to wear for an in-person meeting. Fatigue washed over him quickly just as the clock ticked nearer to midnight as he trudged to your shared bedroom — tiredness at the forefront of his brain as the thought of your silly challenge left his busy mind.

“Hey, angel, sorry I’m so late—“

This vision was by far the worst so far — rated so high on the scale of your lustful mockery that it had him choking on air, hands freezing at his sides.

“Mmh, w-welcome home, baby.” You panted, voice cracking as you forced the words out due to your busied hand.

And welcome he was — your obvious sexual invitation sent a cold shiver down his spine, eyes locked on your frame.

You were on your back, slightly arched off the crumpled sheets that splayed beneath you, one hand cupping your bare tit, toying with your erect nipples, as the other worked a buzzing bullet vibrator around your swollen clit. You writhed and whined as he watched you, utterly gobsmacked at the sight of you pleasuring yourself, calling his name like a chant as you nudged a particularly sensitive part of your nub, a trickle of your arousal seeping from your hole that clenched around nothing, begging to be used after being empty for so long.

“Holy shit.” He mumbled, the only words eligible to leave his head as he stepped into the room, not bothering to even shut the door behind him as he rushed before you.

You arched your back further as he neared you, the strong scent of his cologne flooding your heightened senses, a louder, needier whine falling past your lips. Michael swore his dick was seising the way it was twitching uncontrollably beneath his slacks, begging to be freed from the tight constraints of his clothing.

“God, you’re perfect.” Michael breathed, hands coming down to take your raised ankle into his grasp, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to the skin.

You whimpered, hand speeding your movements, circles swift against your clit, slick with your arousal — his touch sending shockwaves through you.

Your free foot leant down, as his mouth worked its way over your other foot, hand rubbing slow, loving strokes along your bare leg, and flexed along the obvious bulge in his trousers. Michael gasped against your ankle, lips stuttering against your skin at the feeling of the sudden contact with his stiff manhood.

“Touch yourself too, Michael.” You breathed, voice a sultry order, toe trailing along the ridge of his dick, revelling in the way he panted, hand tightening around your foot, “Wanna see you.”

Michael, hands frantic and panicked, flew to his belt, tugging it off his hips swiftly, throwing it to the floor, before pushing his slacks and boxers to his ankles, kicking them off. His cock slapped against his abdomen wildly, a loud hiss ripping from his throat at the sudden rush of air around his throbbing cock as he knelt on the edge of the bed. Obeying your command, he spit into the palm of his hand before enclosing it around himself.

“Oh fuck.” He drawled, eyes fluttering shut at the sensation of his warm spit and tight fist enveloping his manhood as he began stroking himself slowly.

“That’s it, baby,” You coaxed, voice hoarse from your own desperate noises, “Look at me.”

His eyes shot open, instantly locking onto your fucked-out expression, eyebrows knitted together as pleasure washed over your face, the sight of you rubbing the loud sex-toy over your sex filling his vision as he trailed his eyes over your writhing frame.

You soon switched positions, not once leaving his eyeline, slipping a leg over the other, now on your side — before tentatively sliding the buzzing toy down your slit, teasing yourself. You whined deeply from your chest that heaved, lip coming between your teeth as you slowly pushed the short, slim vibrator inside you. It vibrated violently inside you as you slid it in and out quickly, the tip of it grazing your G-spot ever so slightly, but never fully abusing it.

Your head lurched back at the lack of full pleasure, whining desperately. You needed him, fucking badly — pussy drooling as you watched him panting and jerking himself languidly before you, eyes raking over you hungrily, but you weren’t about to loose.

You were still deep in the game after all.

But, your resolve fell on its last legs as he hunched over you, pushing you gently onto your back once more, slotting himself beneath you like he did the day prior — instantly sliding his hard cock between your slit.

The noise that ripped from you sent shockwaves of arousal through Michael’s body as he slid his erect cock over your slick pussy, gathering all of your essence on him. His tip, drooling wildly with pre-cum, nudged at your clit, now abandoned by the vibrator which shook at your side.

“Still determined to win, baby?” Michael breathed, peering down at you, baby hairs that had fallen loose from his low ponytail, sticking to the thin layer of sweat that coated his forehead, his mouth agape as he panted, muscles flexing beside your head.

Words failed you — wanting nothing more than to sass him back, but only pathetic pleas fell from your lips, eyes threatening to roll back with each rock of his hips against your clit.

“Oh my god!”

You cried out loudly, legs lurching to wrap about Michael’s waist as he slid his cock downwards once more, his hand grabbing the buzzing toy from next to you to press against your clit and pushed just the tip inside you.

You shuddered harshly, eyes now rolled brutally to the back of your head as your entrance struggled to stretch around the fat of his cockend, clenching ferociously as he toyed with your clit with the vibrator that was set to the highest setting.

“Say I win.” He panted, fitting every urge inside him to bury himself to the hilt and fuck you senseless, but deciding the childish rules of the game you agreed on was more fulfilling in the moment. And definitely something he could hold against you, “Say I win and I’ll give it to you, baby. Just say the word.”

You heaved, jaw clenching as the words regurgitated up your throat, a mere few inches from being released to his ears — but you swallowed them down.

“In your dreams, Michael.”

Michael shook his head, laughing breathily as he moved his hips backwards, retracting both his hands and his cock from your begging cunt — your eyes shot open.

“No, no! No, please.” You cried, tears filling up in your waterline as a needy, utterly desperate sob threatened to escape your mouth at the loss of contact, cunt twitching angrily at the emptiness. Michael watched you writhe in aching agony as he slipped his shirt off his torso — enamoured at the desperate show you were putting on for him.

“Y’know what to do, baby.” Michael teased, pushing forward to slide slowly between your slick pussy lips, careful to avoid your clit and clenching hole, where he knew you needed him most, a calculated move that had you squirming.

“Okay, okay!” You exclaimed, despair dripping from your tone as you accepted defeat, “You win!”

Michael pushed forward, sheathing himself inside you to the brim with one harsh thrust — bottoming out to the hilt, tip kissing your cervix lovingly.

The sound of both of your relief flooded the room — a loud, fierce scream ripping from your throat at the sudden fullness, legs tightening round his waist as your fingers dug into the tense of his bicep as he groaned lowly into the crook of your shoulder, pressing his body weight against you.

“Fuck, you’re so tight f’me, baby, my God.” Michael exhaled, shuddering at the sensation of your cunt convulsing by itself around him, struggling to accommodate the stretch.

“Michael, please.” You whined, eyes flickering up to his own wrecked ones, “Please—need you. Need you so fucking bad.”

Michael didn’t wait for you to change your mind, change the rules or spout some stupid hidden agenda about the game he hadn’t realised — actually he couldn’t care less about that stupid challenge anymore with the way you were wrapped him like a glove, your slick coating him him from tip to base. His hips moved instantly — snapping up into you with insane speed, moving completely out and back in to the brim, cursing under his breath as your sharp nails dragged down his bare back.

His name chanted from your lips like a prayer as his mauve tip repeatedly slammed against the spot inside you were you clawing to reach earlier — now being abused over and over again as he ploughed into you with intensifying stamina only a man of his talented league would have.

Your pussy squelched loudly, mixing in the air in a swirl of lewdness with your pathetic cries, tears now falling from your eyes at the overwhelming pleasure that coursed through you — something the both of you had been yearning for for only a few mere days, equivalent to about three years, only worsening at your incessant teasing.

Your orgasm crept up faster than you expected — the familiar feeling crawling up your spine and flooding your abdomen like it had done three days ago before you began your mutual torment on one another. Michael sensed it.

“Fuck, you gonna cum, baby?” He breathed, his breath hot against the shell of your ear as your cunt clenching rabidly around him.

“Yes, fuck, Mikey, yes!” The agreement fell from your lips, barely coherent as you blabbered, eyes squeezed shut as the pleasure consumed you aggressively.

“‘M there too, angel.” Michael admitted, his hand slipping between your tangled bodies to where you connected beautifully, the pad of his middle digit rubbing tight circles on your pulsating clit, “Look at me when you cum f’me, I’m right there with you, baby.”

The orgasm that ripped through you, tearing any ounce of self-restraint and playful teasing that you had in you to shreds, hit you like a bulldozer to a glass skyscraper — shattering you into nothingness as your legs shook violently around his waist. Your nails dug hard into him, breaking the skin, as the overwhelming arousal took over every inch of your soul as you kept your intense gaze on him — body writhing and voice singing in electric lust as he fucked you through your release.

And he never let up — feverishly chasing his own high, eyes finally fluttering shut as the sensation consumed him. He buried himself to your very end, cervix flooded with his milky white seed as it spurted inside you — overstimulation forcing the neediest whimpers from his lips, muffled by your hair, as the orgasm he’d been dying for imprisoned him for the best blissful twenty seconds of his life.

For the first time since Sunday — you both lay still. Unmoving, just feeling. No teasing or tournaments — just listening to each other’s racing heartbeats against your chests that were pushed together, heaving breaths hot in your ears, and the pulsating of both your sexes around one another.

You remained like that for a few minutes — silence, for the first time since Michael had stepped into the room, engulfed itself around you.

Michael moved first, twisting his head to the side, cheek warm against the bare of your shoulder — pressing a caste kiss to your jaw, lips sloppy and lazy, yet loving, as he displayed his affection proudly to you. You turned your face to meet his — capturing his lips in a soft, delicate kiss that spoke a thousand words — sending a silent congratulations for winning your childish contest. He understood the language of your lips — his tender kisses giving thanks back, though, the feeling of egotistical validation cascading through his brain, but he kept that to himself.

You pulled away first, pressing your foreheads, sheen with sweat, together, sighing softly. You just stared at one another — the warm, fuzzy aftershock of your release flowing through both of your bodies as you stayed connected below the waist, irrefutable relief the only emotion feasible in the moment.

Yet, due to your mutual elementary, playful nature, Michael couldn’t help himself — leaning back with a smirk tugging onto his face, a knowing grin that had you rolling your eyes with a similar smile before he even spoke his next words,

“Told ya I’d win, baby.”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

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[ebonymuse]

— 𝐞𝐫𝐚 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫 ; 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐒 (michael)

through every era, him. 18+ (thanks to my baby @slugstarzz for the idea, ily angel <3)

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Michael was supposed to be on stage five minutes ago.

Five whole minutes of an ecstatic crowd, buzzing with undeniable excitement, awaiting the King of Pop to perform for his Dangerous tour — their throats burning from screaming for said man to take the stage and give them a night they won’t forget.

Michael was never late — his whole forte being punctuality, something instilled in him since he started performing. He wanted to excel for his fans, never keep them waiting or let them down.

But, alas, there he was — late.

Five minutes in show business was equivalent to three hours — Michael’s musical team bustling into panic every second longer that he remained missing.

Michael knew he was going to be in trouble for this — but he knew they wouldn’t understand the reasonings for his tardiness.

For there was only one reason — he needed something. Badly.

A good luck charm.

For most, it’s a kiss from their partner, or a hug from their parent, or for some, it’s a smoke break to calm their nerves, or a tradition they swore to never break before every important moment in their life.

For Michael Jackson, though? It’s sliding his cock into his girlfriend’s wet pussy thanks to her little surprise.

And that was exactly the rationale behind his delay.

If he came down to it, jokingly, he would blame it on you — you had caused the lagging to his concert.

You and your perfect secret.

Michael had entered his dressing room, a perfect fifteen minutes ahead of schedule, wanting to spend a few uninterrupted moments with his girl before he danced and sang the night away for his supportive fans.

What he didn’t expect to walk into was a quickie that would leave his team in a frenzy.

“Hey, doll,” He breathed as he walked in, eyes instantly softening as he met your pretty frame stood by the makeup counter, “I’m on in fifteen, wanted to say g’bye.”

Michael strode towards you, anxiety uplifting from his tense shoulders as the smell of your sweet perfume and sight of your gorgeous face hit his senses, hands instantly sliding around the curve of your waist, pulling you flush against him.

“Before you do,” You started, hands pressed against his chest, eyes twinkling with something he wasn’t familiar with as you peered up at him, “I have a surprise.”

Michael huffed out a breathy laugh, “Scarin’ me, baby, what is it?”

“Don’t be scared. You’re gonna love it. I got it just f’you, Mikey.”

An eyebrow perked up Michael’s face in confusion as he listens to your words, anticipation flooding his emotions as he awaited your next move.

And any chance of Michael being on time disengaged itself the second you turned on your heel and bent over, lifting up your mini-skirt and revealing yourself to him.

A gasp ripped from Michael’s throat, mouth falling open in disbelieving shock as his eyes locked on the new addition the adorned the top swell of your left ass-cheek.

‘M’ — a tattoo, in dainty, fresh black ink now cladding your skin, a familiar symbol that not only also hung from the Cartier necklace around your neck, but also the custom-made panties that Michael had made for you.

But, this? This by far took the cake.

His initial, his, now marking your skin for all entirety. A cursive scripture of the first letter of his name — permanently attached to the curve of your behind for anyone and everyone to see.

Everyone to see that you belonged to him.

A thought so obscene in his mind that he couldn’t not do something about it.

Couldn’t not repay you for your devotion.

And that’s exactly why he was late.

He had kissed you with such passion it had your knees buckling underneath you as his hands cupped your face — whining at the sound of his own lustful groans into your mouth.

He wasted no time — ripping the clothes of your body like you were on fire, cascading them to the floor and pulling you against him swiftly, tugging you both down onto the couch that tucked itself neatly into the corner of the room.

First, worked you open with his tongue and fingers — whining at the sweet taste of your juices on his tongue as his long, slender fingers curled inside of you, earning seductive whimpers and gasps of pleasure as he lapped at your cunt like it was his last day on Earth.

Or maybe at such a speed as he had thousands of fans waiting for him?

Right now, he didn’t care — the thought of it not even crossing his mind as he made you cum twice before he even freed himself from his slacks, and dragging you on top of him.

And that’s where he had you now. Time ticking graciously slow for everybody else as they awaited him — but not you two.

Not when he had you bent over in his lap — pushed into a brutal position of reverse cowgirl, as they call it, your legs straddling his bare, meaty thighs as he held you back by your arms, thrusting up into you with deep, swift strokes that your eyes stuck in the back of your head.

“Mmph—f-fuck, Mikey—oh, God, I—“

“I know, baby, I know.” He panted, eyes fluttering at the sensation of your cunt pulsating around his hard cock.

He bucked up into you faster with each thrust — tip, drooling eagerly with pre-cum, slamming against your cervix with each jolt of his languid hips, your name falling from his lips like a prayer at the feeling of your soaking cunt. You wailed with each jerk of his cock — tears falling freely down your face at the sheer intensity of the love-making.

You and Michael has dabbled in sex before one of his shows — the erotic notion calming his nerves and releasing tension before he worked so hard on stage. But, it had never been like this before.

Michael was fucking into you with irrevocable passion — his cock ramming so hard into you it had you seeing stars through your glassy vision.

The reason for his position, one you had never explored yet, was not only so he could watch the ripple of your ass against his pelvis every time he dragged his cock in and out of you — but to also watch the shine of your freshly inked up cheek, the light catching the reddened ‘M’ perfectly.

His eyes never left it — gaze completely captivated by the ink that clad your smooth skin, practically drooling at the sight of it.

“Y’so fuckin’ good to me,” He grunted, a trickle of sweat bleeding down his temple, “Markin’ yourself up with my name for life.”

You cried out — moans of undeniable ecstasy falling past your lips at his loving words, pleasure coursing through you like scorching heat as his pace never let up. Sounds of your lewd whines and the provocative squelch of your soaking cunt filling the room with each brutal thrust.

“You’re fuckin’ mine forever now, baby. No one else can have you like this, see that pretty little ‘M’ and not know I fucked you senseless first, huh, dollface?”

“Oh, yes, Michael!” You exclaimed from your swollen rosebuds, clit twitching as you neared your third orgasm of the evening without it even being touched.

Seven minutes had ticked over quicker than you expected — not that either of you were keeping track of precious time as he continued to fuck up into you like his life depended on it.

“Holy fuck, Mikey—shit, g-gonna cum!”

“Cummin’ already, princess, barely even got in’ya baby?” His tone was taunting as if he hadn’t been slaughtering your tight cunt for the past seven minutes.

You came with a scream louder than you intended — cunt spasming violently around him, clenching his cock so tightly it had Michael cursing under his breath. Your head threw back, eyes squeezing shut as pleasure flowed through you with ease, lip sucked between your teeth as Michael’s grip on your arms behind you tightened.

“‘M supposed to be out there right now.” Michael admitted, breath ragged, “But, the way this pretty cunt is sucking me in is makin’ me wanna cancel the whole fuckin’ tour just so I can stare at this pretty ‘tat and fill you up every day.”

You came down from your high, whimpering as Michael’s intense thrusts of his throbbingly hard cock never decreased, cunt twitching around him — you’d never felt pleasure quite like it.

You bit back a smile as you internally thanked past self for getting the tattoo.

And you knew exactly what you were doing — the strategic placement of it had every calculated reasoning. Michael was definitely, proven countless times during your sexual intercourse and private moments, an ass man — eyes remaining locked on every recoil of your plump behind as he rapidly bucked up inside you.

“‘M so close, mama,” Michael whined, voice cracking from the overwhelming arousal that pumped through him, “Y’don’t know what that thing is doin’ to me.”

You knew exactly what his insinuation to your inked-up skin meant — his profound fucking of your cunt revealing every single feeling he had about your new addition.

As Michael repeatedly slammed into you, prominently hard dick now angled directly to abuse the sweet spot inside you, a familiar feeling crept up your abdomen once more.

Four in one sitting was a record.

“M-Mich—Mikey, baby—holy fucking shit, gonna cum, ‘m gonna fucking cum again—Oh!”

Michael groaned lowly behind you, now taking your arms in one hand, the other reaching over to grip your face tightly in his grasp, “Wanna see your pretty face when you cum for me, baby.” He moaned, eyebrows curled up into a pleasureful expression, “Give it to me, angel, please.”

With his desperate plea for your orgasm and the erotic arousal glistening in his vision — you broke. Your fourth orgasm hitting harder than the other three, jaw going slack as you squealed as overstimulating arousal flooded your brain.

Michael wasn’t far behind you — the sensation of your cunt convulsing viciously, squeezing his cock, screaming for his release, had his hips finally stuttering as he pulled out quickly.

He didn’t even need to pump his cock as he came, the sensation of your cunt previously milking him for all he’s worth was enough to have him spurting all over the swell of your ass — groaning loudly as his cum splattered all over your skin. His cum shot hard over you — leaving you whining at the warm gush of his fertile, milky-white seed as he jerked explosively behind you.

Finally, he stopped — body slumping behind you as the aftershock of his release coaxed his body into stillness. He heaved behind you — chest rising and falling quickly as he attempted to catch his lost breath, the grip on your arms loosening ever so slightly, but still enough to keep you from falling forwards.

His head, now resting against the cold of the wall, angled itself down to let the sight of your pretty tattoo fill his vision. A smile trickled its way onto his flushed face once more — a blissful reminder of your loyalty to him each time it caught his eye.

You winced, eyes fluttered shut as you came down from your ferocious high, as Michael ran a delicate thumb over the sensitive skin where the ink resided, body jerking at the sudden touch to the sore, swollen skin — watching as his hot cum dribbled all around his new favourite thing about you, decorating your skin even more so.

“So pretty,” He mumbled, eyes never leaving the vision of his cum trickling all around the ink — now not only branded by name, but his sticky seed.

He pulled you against his chest, hand snaking around your body to cup your waist, pressing kisses to your warm cheek and down your neck — ignoring the loud, incessant bangs against the locked door of his dressing room as his team finally found where he had been for the now ten minutes.

You turned your face towards him, locking lips with him briefly, humming into his mouth as the tang of your own essence still lingered on his tongue, before pulling off with a pop,

“So,” You breathed, a smile tugging onto your own as your mirrored his, “D’you like it?”

He didn’t need to answer — only laughing as the evidence of his adoration for it dripped down the swell of your ass.

He fucking loved it.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

taglist: @444sturns @lotuspetalss @shadyforharrington @sassenachmalfoy @sgl8 @slugstarzz @tirallymissu @undergroundtwink @castielsb1tch @grey342 @simply-lovley44 @ang9lic @lovecherishly @ssamanthasaenz @peacemakersbeloved @ghettofabu05 @lov3lylxvender @lavnderluv @nuhteyam @amoravelee @carterstales @dolliestmelody @ambmxj @msapplehead @ghulify @cafe-lectura @westcoastsayian @bernardsbaby @whoiseanna @winterswifee @inana177 @brownskinnedwitch @btslvts @iwonthurtubaby @hcwait @butterfliesandcoffeex2 @junkie05 @skiicoreee @donniesbbg @mjssluttyfish @michaeljacksonspyt @szalipcombo @princessrosalia @loveposiie @starddustt @veliriumm @your-premier-amour @1andonlytashae @callmeliptoncuzimtea comment/message to be removed! taglist now closed <3

[prettyangeliczz]

🐆💋 — the guilt that comes with being around dbf!michael is beginning to eat you alive. two days have passed since his drunken call. he apologized a million times, saying it was inappropriate of him to put you in that position. so far, he’s been trying to fix his mistake. bringing you to different places to buy out the stores, but all it does is give you butterflies and bring the ache between your thighs again. you thought that maybe you could move past it, that if you force yourself to be around your boyfriend, these small feelings will go away again, right?

that is until michael brings you to his place after taking you out to an event with him. the attention is all on him of course, he kept his hand on your back or around your hand. squeezing it gently to make sure you’re okay, whenever you showed signs of becoming overwhelmed, he spoke to you in your ears cracking jokes to make you feel better. it worked like a charm, always, he knows how to distract your mind. a part of you hated how your body would feel from his keen gaze and hands that never seemed to leave your body. and the grip he had around your waist on accident when some random journalist came up to you to get your number, you felt as if your legs could give out right then and there until he tells the man you’re already dating someone.

at his place, michael had a private chef cook all your favorite meals, the two of you sat at the dining table and ate. you’ve ignored your phone most of the time you were with him, your boyfriend texting you to see how you’re doing. you were tired of this shame following you around like a thunder cloud, michael told you to text him back, stating how it’s rude to ignore someone. you felt even more ashamed at how turned on michael’s stern tone made you feel, but you listened.

michael could see the stress in your body, even after all this week, he spent most of his time trying to find different ways to make you feel better. he took you out shopping more, brought you to your favorite restaurants, and sent you extra money for whatever. yet, still nothing. as you finished up your message and sent it, michael tells you to come sit beside him, the silence between you getting stronger. once you get over to him, one of his hands glides down your leg to your ankle, picking up your foot, he takes off your shoe and places your foot on his thigh, raising his hand immediately to stop you from complaining. still quiet, michael begins to massage your foot, both hands working diligently as he watches you closely. still so tense.

“things your boyfriend should have a good eye on, is this.” he mumbles, your heart beats faster. “michael.” you start and he shakes his head. “i should’ve saw it myself too, i’m sorry for not seeing it sooner, sweet girl.” the way his voice gets deeper, a little breathier, you swear you could have moaned right there. your phone lights up, your boyfriend sends you another message, michael nudges his head to it, “answer it, don’t be rude.” he says, his hands moving up your ankle. eyes still locked on your face, you pick up your phone, and see your boyfriend asking you when you’re coming over to his place. forgetting that the two of you planned to go on a date after so long.

“need me to drop you home?” michael pulls your attention back to him, his hands not stopping, the look in his eyes, you could almost give him anything if he asked. you glance back at your boyfriend’s message nod, michael hums and sighs. “after this massage, then, i’ll get you back to your boyfriend, safely.” it was intentional, michael’s annoyed, he’s so annoyed by your boyfriend’s existence but michael really loves giving you stuff your boyfriend can’t. maybe next award show he’ll take you as his date and won’t correct the next person that assumes you’re his new girlfriend.

[proseandj]

▹ porcelain

michael jackson x black!reader

synopsis: his family’s away, it’s just you and him. you know your boyfriend loves you, and you love him, but what if he’s wanting to take it to the next level?

warnings: fluff, smut (18+), thriller!era, inexperienced mike & reader (at first. until big m gets the hang of it).

a/n: i apologize for the late post. ur girl was out of town but i’m back now!

wc: 7.9k

The Hayvenhurst estate was never this quiet. Usually, the house was pretty noisy. There would be blasting radios, slamming doors, ringing telephones, or Joseph’s loud voice echoing from the rehearsal room. But today, a rare miracle had occurred. Joseph was off handling business halfway across town, the girls had taken Katherine out for a shopping trip, and the rest of the brothers had scattered to find their own fun.

For the first time in a long time, it was just you and Michael.

You had been around the Jackson household for a while now. At first, you were just the cute, sweet girl from down the street who shared Michael’s love for cartoons and vinyl records, but over the last year, you had officially become his girlfriend. The family adored you, but more importantly, you were Michael's whole world.

Right now, the television in the corner of Michael's bedroom was humming softly, playing an old cartoon that neither of you were truly paying attention to.

Michael was sitting on the thick, carpeted floor, his back leaning comfortably against the edge of his mattress. You were sitting right above him, perched on the edge of the bed, your legs parted just enough so that Michael's upper body was nestled perfectly between them.

Your curls bounced softly as you leaned over him. Your hands were buried in his hair, fingers moving with a lazy, soothing rhythm, gently massaging his scalp and twirling the springy, glossy coils around your fingers.

Every time your knuckles brushed against the nape of his neck or the tips of his ears, Michael would let out a soft, contented sigh. He looked completely relaxed, dressed in a simple Mickey Mouse sweatshirt (which you found absolutely adorable), and a pair of jeans.

"You have the best hands in the world," Michael murmured, his voice soft, but thick with a sleepy comfort. He tilted his head back against the mattress, looking up at you upside down through his long lashes.

You smiled down at him, your thumb tracing the soft line of his sharp jawline. "That’s only ‘cause you have the most stressed out head in the world, Mike. You needa’ learn how to relax more often."

"M’ relaxed," he whispered, a sweet, boyish grin tugging at the corners of his lips. He reached up, his long, slender fingers wrapping gently around your wrist, stopping your hand from moving through his hair. He didn't pull away, instead, he brought the palm of your hand to his mouth, pressing a soft, lingering kiss right against your soft skin.

He held your hand there against his cheek, just breathing in the quiet of the room. The cartoon on the television mumbled in the background, but it didn’t matter at this point.

"It's kinda weird when it's this quiet, isn't it?" Michael asked softly, his doe, brown eyes tracing the pattern of your blanket before looking back up at you. "Sometimes I forget what the house sounds like without everyone being here."

"You like it?" you asked, your fingers gently resuming their slow trail down the side of his neck, feeling the steady, calm pulse beneath his skin.

"I love it," he admitted, his voice dropping into a register so low and private it felt like a secret. "Well—with you, I like it. If it’s just me, the quiet makes me think t’much. It gets lonely."

You felt a familiar squeeze in your chest, that strong wave of adoration you always felt for him. The world saw him as this untouchable star, but you knew how sweet and fragile he felt inside beneath all the pressure.

"Aww, baby," you murmured softly, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. "I’ll be here as long as you want me.”

Michael let out a shaky little breath, his shoulders dropping as if a physical weight had been lifted from them. He slowly turned his body around on the floor, rising up on his knees so he was eye level with you as you sat on the bed. His eyes were wide, shiny, and fixed entirely on your face.

He reached out, his heavy palms resting gently on your knees. His thumbs lazily stroked the fabric of your shorts, his touch so light it was almost hesitant, as if he was afraid you might disappear if he pressed too hard.

"You're so good to me," he whispered, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. "Sometimes I look at you and I don't know how I got so lucky. You just love me so openly.. never had that before."

"’Course I love you, honey," you said, a soft laugh escaping you, though the underlying tension in the air was making your heart thump a little faster against your ribs. You reached out, your fingers gently tucking a stray curl behind his ear. "I loved you openly before and I’ll continue to do so."

Michael’s gaze drifted down to your lips and swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. He leaned in an inch closer, the warm scent of his cologne enveloping you entirely. His hands slid from your knees up to your thighs, his fingers tensing slightly against your skin.

"Can.. can I kiss you?" he asked, his voice cracking with that sweet shyness that always hid just beneath his confidence. He asked every single time, as if he needed to remind himself that this was real, that he was allowed to have this. "Like... a real one?"

You didn't answer with words. You just leaned forward, closing the remaining distance, and let your lips melt against his.

The kiss was as soft as a whisper, a gentle press of warm lips that carried sweet, unhurried patience. Michael’s hands stayed resting on your thighs, his fingers twitching slightly as he tilted his head, deepening the touch just a fraction. He tasted like the candy licorice you’d both been eating earlier, and his hands were warm against your skin.

When he pulled back, just an inch or two, his eyes were still closed, a beautiful, peaceful smile gracing his lips. He let out a shaky little breath against your mouth before opening his eyes to look at you.

"Can i have another?" he murmured, his voice low now, a teasing smile spreading across his face, "Please?."

You smiled, your hands sliding from his shoulders down to his chest, feeling the quick thumping of his heart beneath his shirt. "You're so cute. And so incredibly charming."

"I am," he admitted softly, his cheeks flushing a lovely shade of pink. He shifted closer, pulling himself fully onto the mattress until he was sitting right in front of you. The bed dipped under his weight. He reached out, his long fingers carefully lifting a stray curl, admiring the way it coiled tightly around his finger and bounced back before he started you deeply in the eyes. "I like takin’ care of things that matter. And you matter the most."

You looked at his hands, noticing the slight tremble in his fingers despite his somewhat confident behavior. It wasn't just a physical reaction though, it was the manifestation of the giant, humongous ass elephant in the room. You both knew where this afternoon was leading. You had been together for a year, sharing sweet dates, holding hands under dinner tables, and stealing breathless kisses in the hallways of Michael’s home.

But you hadn't crossed that line yet. And the truth was, neither of you had ever crossed it with anyone else.

"Baby," you said softly, your voice dropping to match the intimacy of the room. You caught his trembling hand, locking your fingers with his. "Are you nervous?"

Michael swallowed hard, his adam's apple bobbing in his throat. He looked down at your joined hands, his confidence completely melting away to reveal the shy, softness underneath. He caught his bottom lip between his teeth, a telltale sign that he was trying to find the right words.

"A little," he confessed honestly, his voice cracking slightly. He lifted his eyes to yours, wide and incredibly vulnerable. "I’m not used to this. I’ve never been this close with anyone before. I don’t wanna do something wrong or that makes you uncomfortable.”

Your heart swelled with tenderness. You squeezed his hand tightly, sliding your other hand up to rest against his warm cheek. "Hey, look at me."

He did, his lashes fluttering.

"I've never done this either," you reminded him gently, offering him a reassuring, soft smile. "We're in the exact same boat, baby. You don't have to perform for me. You don't have to know exactly what to do. We can just figure it out together. Nice and slow."

Michael let out a long, heavy sigh of pure relief, his shoulders visibly dropping as the immense pressure he’d been putting on himself finally evaporated. He leaned his face heavily into your palm, closing his eyes as a soft smile returned to his face.

"You make everything so easy," he whispered, opening his eyes again, this time filled with a warmth that made your stomach do a delicious flip. He shifted his weight, sliding closer until his chest was brushing against yours. His free hand traveled to the back of your neck, his fingers gently tangling into your curls, anchoring you to him. "Just... stay right here with me? No rushing?"

"No rushing," you whispered back.

This time, when Michael leaned in to kiss you, some of his nervousness was gone, replaced by a shared curiosity as his lips met yours again, sweeter and deeper than before.

The kiss stretched out, turning deeper and slower as the wave of anxiety fully dissolved. Michael’s mouth moved against yours with a soft, exploratory rhythm that made your head spin. His hands shifted from your neck down to your waist, his long fingers pressing gently through the fabric of your shirt, pulling you an inch closer until the heat of his chest was warming yours.

A soft, breathless hum escaped his throat into the kiss, a sound of pure contentment that vibrated right against your lips.

When he finally parted from you to catch his breath, he didn't move away. He rested his forehead against yours, both of your chests rising and falling in a quick, shared sync. Michael’s eyes were heavy-lidded and incredibly dark, staring at you with a reverence that felt almost overwhelming.

Slowly, carefully, he shifted, guiding you back against the plush pillows of his bed. Your hair spilled out around your head like a dark halo against the sheets. Michael followed you down, hovering over you, supporting his weight on his forearms so he wouldn't crush you.

"You're so beautiful, mama," he whispered, his voice dropping into a raspy, velvety pitch that sent a shiver straight down your spine. He reached a hand up, his thumb tenderly tracing the line of your lower lip, which was flushed and pink from his kisses. "I mean it. You look like an angel lyin’ here."

"Michael," you murmured, your cheeks burning hot with a sweet blush. You reached up, your hands sliding underneath his sweatshirt, your palms meeting the warm, smooth skin of his sides.

Michael gasped softly at the direct contact, his entire body shuddering beneath your touch. His eyes widened slightly, a sudden, intense wave of vulnerability washing over his features as your fingers lightly traced his ribs. He was so lean, his muscles taut from years of dancing, but beneath your hands, he felt incredibly soft and warm.

"Is this okay?" you whispered, looking up at him to check in, keeping your movements slow and deliberate.

"Yes," he breathed out quickly, nodding his head as his curls bounced against his forehead. He swallowed hard, a nervous but deeply eager smile touching his lips. "It feels... it feels amazing. Your hands are so warm."

He leaned down again, but instead of kissing your lips, he buried his face into the side of your neck. He pressed a series of tiny, feather-light kisses right along your jawline and down to the sensitive skin of your collarbone. Each kiss was incredibly gentle—like handling a fragile piece of porcelain—but the heat of his mouth against your skin was starting to spark a much deeper, electric warmth in your belly.

Your fingers tightened against his back, pulling him a fraction closer. "Mike..."

Michael lifted his head, his breathing almost ragged now. He looked down at you, catching his bottom lip between his teeth again as he carefully slid one of his knees between yours, the weight of his thigh resting warm against your crotch. He paused there, his eyes searching your face, silently asking for reassurance.

"’S okay," you reassured him softly, reaching up to cup the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in the springy coils of his hair. "You can keep going, baby.”

Michael let out a shaky, beautiful little sigh, his dark lashes fluttering as he leaned down to catch your lips once more. The sweetness was still there, but his hands boldly slid down to grip your hips.

The heat between you was shifting, growing heavier. Michael’s hands on your hips tensed, his long fingers pressing into your skin through your shorts, anchoring himself as the rhythm of his kisses became deeper, more intentional as his tongue slid against yours.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he broke the kiss, his lips lingering for a final, soft press against your mouth before he pulled back just enough to look down at you. His breathing was shallow, his dark eyes wide and filled with a quiet awe.

"I wanna..." He swallowed, his throat bobbing as his voice cracked slightly with that familiar nervousness. "Can I take your shirt off, sweetheart? I wanna see you."

"Yes, baby," you whispered, your heart doing a frantic, happy flutter against your ribs. "You can."

A beautiful, relieved smile touched his lips. Michael shifted his weight, sitting back on his knees. His fingers were still slightly trembling as they reached for the hem of your shirt. He moved with an unhurried slowness, as if he were unwrapping something incredibly precious. As he slid the fabric up and over your head, his knuckles brushed against your stomach, making you shiver.

When the shirt was gone, he didn't immediately move. He just stared. The soft afternoon light filtered through the window, catching the rich, deep brown of your skin.

"Oh, wow," Michael breathed, a soft, breathless sound escaping him. He reached out, the palms of his hands resting flat against your ribcage, just below your bra, the soft green, lace-y fabric that just barely contained your breasts. His skin was burning, and his thumbs lazily caressed your skin in slow circles. "Fuck you’re so beautiful, baby. Look at you. Your skin is so smooth... you look like a painting."

“Mike..," you softly sighed, a soft burn spreading across your cheeks, but you leaned into his touch.

"’M just tellin’ the truth," he murmured, leaning down to press a warm, lingering kiss right in the center of your chest, his soft curls tickling your chin.

He slid his hands around to your back, searching for the clasp of your bra. Because he was so careful, it took him a moment to figure it out, a soft, embarrassed chuckle escaping his throat against your skin. "Hold on, let me... there."

With a soft click, the strap gave way. Michael gently slid the straps down your shoulders, his large brown eyes tracking the movement before settling entirely on your exposed chest. His breath hitched audibly.

He leaned back over you, supporting himself on one elbow while his free hand came up to hover over your breast. He looked up at your face first, his lashes fluttering. "Is this okay? Can I touch you here?"

"Please, Mikey," you whispered, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

When his palm finally cupped your breast, a soft gasp left both of your mouths. His fingers were so long, gently mapping the shape of you, his thumb immediately finding your nipple, he seemed completely mesmerized by it.

He leaned down, his warm breath coating your skin an instant before his lips replaced his fingers. He swirled his tongue gently over your nipple, testing the waters, before pulling the sensitive peak into his mouth with a soft, slow suction.

A sharp, breathless moan tore from your throat, your hips arching slightly off the mattress. "Oh my god, Michael—"

At the sound, Michael immediately paused, lifting his head. His lips were wet and flushed, his eyes wide with instant concern. "Did I hurt you? Was that t’much? Tell me if it's t’much, I'll stop."

"No, no, baby, it’s not too much," you rushed to reassure him, your hands framing his jawline, your thumb wiping away a stray curl from his forehead. "It feels amazing. You're doing so good, baby."

He let out a shaky little breath, a look of pure, boyish pride and relief washing over his features. "Yeah? You like it?"

"I love it," you praised, your voice thick with affection. "You're so gentle, honey. Keep goin."

A sweet, breathless laugh bubbled in his chest, and he did exactly what he was told. He buried his face against your breast again, his tongue tasting you, while his thumb and forefinger gently rolling your other nipple. Every time a soft gasp or a quiet phrase of praise left your lips—“Just like that, baby,” or “You feel so good, Michael”—his body would shudder with delight. Your praises were like fuel to him, melting away every ounce of his fears and replacing it with a deep, confident rhythm.

He moved between your breasts with worshipful attention, treating your body like it was the most sacred thing he had ever been allowed to touch.

"You're so soft," he rasped against your skin as he moved his mouth up to your neck, then your jaw once more, before finally finding your lips again. "You feel so good against me, pretty girl. Everything about you is perfect."

He sat up, not wanting to waste another second. He slid off the edge of the mattress, his feet sinking into the thick, plush carpet of his bedroom. With a gentle but firm grip on your hips, he guided you forward until you were resting right at the edge of the bed, perfectly positioned above him.

He leaned in, his lips meeting the warm, soft skin of your stomach. He pressed a trail of slow, wet, lingering kisses down your middle, his hot breath making your abdominal muscles quiver. When he reached the waistband of your shorts, his fingers trembled slightly against the button. He popped it open, and slowly slid the zipper down, the sharp sound echoing in the quiet room.

With an agonizing slowness, Michael tugged the fabric down your thighs and tossed your shorts onto the floor.

When he looked back up, he was met with the sight of your matching lace panties. Against your skin, the emerald color was absolutely striking, but what caught his eye—and made his heart completely skip a beat—was the distinct, dark damp spot blooming right in the center of the fabric.

Michael’s large, doe brown eyes widened. He looked up at you through his lashes, a heavy, dazed heat taking over his gaze.

"F’me?" he asked, his finger gently hovering just a millimeter away from the wet lace.

"All for you, baby," you replied, your voice thick with desire, your fingers tangling in the sheets. "Take care of it for me?"

“Yes—anything you want," he breathed out instantly, the compliance raw and immediate.

He leaned his face down, pressing his lips directly against the damp lace, in a soft kiss. Michael closed his eyes and inhaled gently, deeply, relishing the sweet scent of your arousal. Beneath his jeans, his dick was hard, throbbing painfully against the denim. He was so intensely turned on that a low, frustrated hum vibrated in his chest—he felt like he might actually scream from the sheer ache of it. He was so tempted to reach down and palm himself through his pants just to release some of the suffocating pressure, but he forced his hands to stay on you, entirely consumed by your body.

Hooking his thumbs into the bands your panties, he pulled them down, sliding them slowly over your hips and down your smooth, pretty legs until they were discarded on the floor with your shorts.

Instinctively, you parted your legs a little wider for him. The movement completely exposed your puffy, glistening cunt. As the cool air of the bedroom hit your skin, your walls involuntarily clenched and unclenched around nothing, slick with your own wetness.

"Good Lord..." Michael muttered, completely in a daze.

He dropped fully onto his knees, his hands resting on the inside of your thighs to keep them steady, though his own fingers were shaking. He couldn’t take his eyes off you, his face completely flushed, his expression filled with reverence. "This has to be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

You let out a ragged gasp, your body clenching hard at the praise. The intense friction of your own movement made your clit ache, practically begging to be touched.

Michael noticed the way you reacted to his words, his eyes tracking the subtle twitch of your hips. He swallowed hard, his trademark shyness rushing back for a fraction of a second as he looked up into your eyes, completely eager to please but entirely out of his depth.

"Tell me what to do..." he whispered, his voice cracking with a sweet, desperate vulnerability. "I wanna make you feel good, babygirl. Just tell me how."

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening in the bedsheets as you looked down at him. "Put your tongue right here, baby," you whispered, your voice trembling but clear as you took his finger and placed it right on your sensitive nub. "On my clit. Just lick it... not too hard, but not too soft. Just nice and steady."

Michael’s eyes widened slightly, a sudden spark of intense heat igniting in his dark pupils. He didn't hesitate. He leaned in close, his warm breath fanning over your slick skin a split second before his tongue made contact.

When the wet, hot tip of his tongue first brushed against your aching clit, a sharp, ragged gasp tore from your throat. He listened to you intently, using your reaction as his guide. Remembering your words, he kept the pressure perfectly in the middle—firm enough to make your hips twitch, but soft enough to keep from overwhelming you.

"Oh fuck... just like that," you groaned, your head falling back against the mattress.

Hearing your praise made something shift in him. A low, vibrating hum of satisfaction rumbled in his chest, pressing right against your thighs. He grew bolder, parting his lips a little wider to lap at you in long, slow, upward strokes. The texture of his wet tongue against your hypersensitive skin was pure electricity. Every time he swiped up, he caught the perfect amount of your natural wetness, the slick, sliding sounds of his mouth filling the quiet spaces of the bedroom.

He was completely focused, treating you with the same intense, perfectionist dedication he gave to his music, but this was entirely primal. His hands gripped the undersides of your thighs, holding you steady as your hips began to roll instinctively against his mouth.

"Michael, please," you whimpered, your hands reaching down to tangle in his springy, glossy curls, gently guiding the rhythm.

Michael let out a heavy, ragged breath through his nose, his face completely drenched in your arousal. He swirled his tongue around the sensitive peak, flattening it out to give you more friction, before introducing a soft, experimental suction that nearly made your soul leave your body. You arched off the bed, a loud, breathless cry escaping your lips.

He pulled back just an inch, his lips glistening and wet, his breathing completely shot. He looked up at you, his eyes heavy and completely dark with lust.

"Like that?" he rasped, his voice incredibly deep and thick. "Am I doing it right, angel? Do you want more?"

"Yes, please—more," you begged, your voice cracking as your fingers tightened in his glossy curls. "Don't stop."

The desperation in your voice seemed to drive him over the edge. He grew bolder, eager to explore more of you. Remembering how good it felt when you clenched against his tongue, he parted his lips wider and pressed his mouth fully against you, letting his tongue flatten out to lap at the entire length of your wet, glistening opening.

At the same time, he brought his hand up, his thumb finding the sensitive peak of your clit.

He had never done this before, and the first few seconds were a little uncoordinated. His thumb pressed a bit too firmly, making you gasp and twitch your hips away, but he adjusted instantly. He lightened the pressure, keeping his thumb moving in small, hesitant circles over your clit while his tongue worked a slow, wet rhythm down below.

The noises your pussy made were dizzying. The slick, squelching sounds of his mouth eating you out filled the quiet bedroom, mixed with the heavy, ragged sound of his breathing. Michael was completely buried in you, inhaling your deep, musky scent with every breath. He could taste your sweetness on his lips, and it was driving him crazy.

"Oh my God, Mike... right there, baby," you choked out, your toes curling into the mattress.

Hearing your praise, he picked up the pace, his tongue tracing the slick folds of your pussy while his thumb kept up that steady, agonizingly good friction. He was learning your body in real time, matching the speed of his tongue to the frantic rhythm of your hips.

Your walls began to twitch and clench rhythmically, completely soaked, and a low, guttural moan rumbled deep in Michael's throat. He gripped your thighs tighter as he ate you out with a sudden, needy hunger, completely lost in the magic of making you feel this good for the very first time.

Soon he parted from you, almost smiling at the needy whine that escaped your lips at the loss of contact. He let out a shaky breath, completely intoxicated by how wet you were. He wanted to feel more of you, to know what it felt like inside.

he parted your slick folds with his other hand and carefully pressed the tip of his middle finger against your opening.

He paused for a second, his large brown eyes looking up at you, searching your face. He was so careful, so hyper aware of this being your first time, that he didn't want to rush you.

"Take a breath, baby," he whispered, his voice a raspy hush. "’M just gonna try somethin’."

Slowly, gently, he pushed his finger inside. You let out a long, trembling gasp as your tight walls stretched to accommodate him, clamping down hard around his finger. Michael’s eyes widened at the intense, hot friction of your grip. He stayed perfectly still for a beat, letting you adjust to the new sensation, before he began to pump his finger in and out slowly.

At the same time, he leaned back in, pressing his wet tongue directly over your opening again, licking and tasting you as he pumped his finger. The combination of his tongue outside and his finger sliding deep inside felt like wicked and beautiful at the same time.

"Michael.." you whined, your hips lifting slightly off the mattress to meet his hand.

The slick, squelching sounds of his finger moving inside you were loud in the quiet room. Michael was breathing heavily through his nose, completely mesmerized by the way the tight walls of your cunt wrapped around him. Wanting to give you more, he pulled his finger out just a fraction and looked up into your dazed eyes.

“Can I put another one in, mama?" he breathed, his voice cracking with that sweet, polite shyness, even though his eyes were dark with intense hunger. "Can I use two?"

You couldn't even speak, you just nodded your head quickly, your fingers gripping at his shoulders.

Michael smiled, a look of pure devotion on his face, and carefully added his ring finger to his middle one. He pushed them both inside you slowly, a low, needy groan escaping his throat as he felt how incredibly tight and scorching hot you were. He started pumping his two fingers in and out again, keeping the pace slow and steady.

But as he slid them deep inside on the next stroke, his fingers naturally curled upward.

The pads of his fingers hit a soft spongy ridge on the upper wall of your pussy. The moment he grazed it, a loud, ragged moan tore from your throat, and your back arched completely off the bed, your hands instantly clutching his glossy curls.

Michael froze for a fraction of a second, his lashes fluttering as he took in your explosive reaction. A soft, breathless smile touched his wet lips. Oh, he liked that.

"Is that it?" he asked softly, his voice full of wonder and a little bit of boyish pride. "I’m right there?"

"Yes, yes, yes... right there..." you pleaded, your voice breaking as you twitched frantically around his hand. "Don't stop, Mikey, please."

The desperate edge in your voice completely shattered whatever restraint Michael had left. Hearing you beg him not to stop sent a jolt of pure adrenaline straight to his crotch, making his hard dick throb fiercely against his jeans.

"I won't stop, I gotchu’," he panted, his voice gravelly and low— you’d never heard him sound like that before.

He locked into a steady rhythm, keeping his knuckles firmly anchored against your inner thighs, he kept his two fingers deep inside you, curling them upward again to hook ruthlessly against that soft, spongy ridge. In and out, in and out. The friction was intense, generating a frantic, messy heat. With every single stroke, the loud, wet, squelching sounds of his fingers churning through your juices filled the quiet room, sounding almost sinful. Your body was overproducing wetness, a thick, slick cream that coated his fingers and ran down the back of his hand, dripping onto the sheets underneath you.

He didn't pull his mouth away either. He buried his face right back into your soaking cunt, his tongue lapping aggressively at your clit in fast, heavy strokes that perfectly synced up with the rapid pumping of his fingers.

The pleasure was too much, spreading through your lower belly like mad. Your vision blurred with tears, your breath turning into short, ragged hitches.

"Michael—baby, wait. I’m gonna—I'm finna cum!" you screamed out, your fingers desperately clawing at his shoulders, your hips thrashing blindly against his face.

Instead of slowing down, Michael’s eyes went dark, driven crazy by the knowledge that he was doing this to you. He was making you feel good. "Go ahead, baby, give it to me," he moaned against you, and he instantly accelerated.

His fingers became a blur, pumping into your tight, drenched opening at a furious—but delicious— pace. His tongue swiped over your swollen clit over and over, hard and unyielding.

“Oh fuck!”

The dam soon broke and your thighs shook violently, your back arching so high off the mattress your neck almost strained. Your climax hit you like a truck as your internal muscles clamped down on his fingers with a crushing, rhythmic grip, twitching and pulsing in tight, violent spasms.

It was messy and unrestrained. Your body forcefully milked his fingers, squirting a hot, heavy gush of white straight out of you. The sudden flood of wetness literally drenched his hand and splattered against his lips and chin. You let out a loud, high pitched cry, as you rode the intense waves of the orgasm, now completely spent.

Michael didn't dare pull away from you. He kept his fingers inside you, feeling every single tight, throbbing squeeze, his mouth drinking in the hot, sweet overflow of your orgasm. He swallowed everything you had to give him, completely intoxicated by the taste of you, his chest heaving as he listened to the beautiful sounds of your voice dying down into soft, breathless whimpers.

Michael stayed right there between your thighs for a long moment, his chest heaving. He was completely mesmerized, his mind totally blown by what had just happened. He had spent his entire teenage life listening to stories from his older brothers about the wonders of making a lady climax, but nothing—absolutely nothing—could’ve prepared him for how beautiful you looked, how you sounded.. how you tasted. For his very first time touching a girl like this, he felt a profound sense of awe shaking him to his very core.

Slowly—almost as if he didn’t want to— he began to draw his fingers out of you. He moved an inch at a time, watching with wide, dilated eyes as the removal allowed a fresh, thick stream of your cream to ooze out of your stretched, pulsing hole, glistening against your skin.

"That was so beautiful, mama," he praised, his voice now a breathless whisper.

He leaned down one more time, completely unbothered by the mess, and pressed a tender lingering kiss right against your swollen folds. The sudden, sensitive contact made your thighs twitch involuntarily, a soft gasp escaping your throat.

Michael chuckled softly against your skin. He lifted his head, resting his chin on your thigh as he looked up at you. His face was flushed, his lips wet and shining, and those big pretty brown eyes were wide and completely full of devotion.

"Did I do good?" he asked, a tiny, hopeful smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He looked so vulnerable in that moment, asking for your approval like a puppy who just learned a new trick.

You could only nod, your body still humming with the aftershocks of the orgasm, your voice completely trapped in your throat.

Seeing your nonverbal response, a look of pride washed over his face. Michael didn't wait. He shifted off his knees, crawling back onto the bed with a quickness. He hovered over you once more, his jeans pressing firmly against your bare thighs, his hard-on reminding you exactly how much he was holding back for your sake.

He leaned down, pressing soft, wet kisses along your stomach, your ribs, and your breasts, before finally capturing your lips in a deep, slow kiss.

As his mouth opened against yours, he slipped his tongue inside, swirling against yours in a lazy, intimate rhythm. Instantly, the taste of your own arousal flooded your tongue. It was a strangely intoxicating experience—and to your own surprise, you absolutely loved it.

The gentle patience Michael had been maintaining was rapidly burning away, replaced by a desperate, overwhelming heat. Now that he had tasted you, the desire to finally be inside you was making him antsy. His body was so tense, a fine layer of sweat coating his skin as he shifted his weight above you.

"Wanna fuck you, baby..." he murmured against your lips. Hus voice sounded so needy that it sent a shiver straight to your core. "Can I? Wanna know how good you feel..."

As he spoke, he just couldn’t help himself. He began to grind against you, pressing the rock-hard bulge of his dick firmly into your soft flesh with slow, heavy hitches of his pelvis. The friction of his jeans against your bare skin was contrast to the slick warm wetness he had just left between your legs.

He let out a low, muffled groan into your mouth, his fingers digging deep into the sheets on either side of your head. He was moving by pure instinct now, completely unraveled by the ache in his pants and the taste of you still lingering on his tongue. He wanted you so badly it was making him weak, his entire body trembling as he kept up that torturous, heavy grind, waiting for you to give him the green light to finally rid himself of his clothes.

“I want it, Mike.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He moved with urgency, pulling back just enough to yank his sweatshirt over his head, tossing it carelessly onto the floor. Without the clothes, his upper body was fully on display—lean, beautifully toned, and sculpted from years of relentless dance rehearsals. His chest rose and fell in heavy, rapid hitches, his deep toned skin glistened in the bedroom light. He reached down, unbuttoning his pants with trembling fingers, and quickly slid the denim down his legs.

But just as his fingers hooked into the waistband of his boxers, you reached up and gently caught his wrists.

Michael paused, his breath hitching as he looked down at you, his eyes, still dark with hunger, but now curiosity too.

"Let me," you whispered.

Mustering up whatever strength you had left, you braced yourself and sat up on the edge of the mattress. Michael stood between your parted legs, his breathing ragged as you reached out. Your hands were slightly shaking as you tucked your fingers into the waistband of his boxers instead. You slowly slid the fabric down his hips and over his thighs.

The material fell away, and Michael’s dick instantly snapped free, bobbing heavy, and fully erect right in front of your face.

The sheer size of him took your breath away. He was long, thick, and heavily veined, pre-cum already glistening at the very tip, catching the soft light of the room. He was absolutely beautiful, a perfect, raw testament to just how desperately he wanted you.

"Shit..." was all you could manage to whisper, your eyes wide as you stared at him.

Hearing the completely shocked, awestruck tone in your voice, Michael’s couldn’t help but cover his face with his hands. A sudden wave of that shyness hit him as he peaked through his fingers, looking down at his own length, then back up at your face. He shifted his weight nervously from one foot to the other, before putting his hands down to hover awkwardly at his sides.

"Is... is it okay?" he whispered, his voice cracking slightly with a raw, endearing anxiety. "I know it's... I've never... I hope it's not too much for you, baby."

You didn't say a word. You just kept your eyes locked on his face, watching his reaction as you closed your small hand firmly around the thick base of his shaft and started to slid your palm up the length of him. When your thumb caught the heavy bead of clear pre cum glistening at the tip, you smeared the slick fluid across his sensitive head, coating him before pulling your hand all the way back down to the base.

“Oh, God, baby—" he choked out, his voice cracking completely. Michael’s eyes rolled back as his head fell back against his shoulders. A deep, guttural groan vibrated out of his chest—a sound so raw it didn't even sound like him. His lean hips hitched forward instinctively, blindly following the slow perfect friction of your hand as you jerked him off.

"Wait, wait—sweetheart, please," he panted, his chest heaving as sweat broke out across his forehead. He reached down, his trembling fingers wrapping around your wrist to gently halt the motion. He wasn't pulling your hand away, he just squeezed tightly as he tried to catch his breath. "You keep doin’ that, I'm not gonna make it inside you. I swear, I’m finna lose it right now."

He looked down into your eyes, he had never wanted something so bad in his life.

"I needa’ be inside you, baby," he rasped against your lips, his hips already nudging against your inner thighs, seeking out that slick, dripping heat you had left waiting for him. "Please. Lemme put it in."

He parted your thighs with his knees, his large hands sliding down to firmly grip your hips, anchoring you to the bed. He positioned his thick mushroom tip right against your dripping slit, and you both let out a synchronized, shaky breath at the contact.

He looked down into your eyes, his face completely focused, silently asking for that final bit of reassurance. You gave him a tight squeeze on his shoulders, tilting your pelvis up to meet him.

"Now, Mikey," you whined. "Please—just put it all in.. i can take it."

That was all the permission he needed. He gripped your hips tighter and pushed forward, his hips hitching as he finally slid deep inside you.

The sensation was overwhelming. Michael’s eyes flew wide open, a look of pure shock washing over his features as your incredibly hot, drenched walls stretched wide to accommodate his length. He froze completely, his upper body stiffening, his muscles locking up as a ragged, choked gasp left his mouth. It felt like total sensory overload—he was so deep, wrapped so tightly by your flesh, that he felt like he was going to cum right then and there without even moving.

At the exact same time, you let out a sharp, breathless gasp at how big he felt filling you out, your hands instinctively dropping from his shoulders to grip onto his hips, your fingernails digging into his skin.

"Shit... shit, shit—fuck, you’re tight," Michael panted, his voice a ,now, trembling mess.

You stared up at him, your chest heaving, your mind slightly melted. In all the time you had known him, you had never heard him curse so much. The polite, shy boy from before was completely gone, replaced by a man entirely unraveled by the feeling of his girl's tight pussy.

“Michael," you whimpered, your walls tightly twitching and pulsing around him as your body adjusted to his size. "You feel so big, baby... oh my god."

"You feel perfect," he groaned, leaning down to bury his face into the crook of your neck, his hot breath against your skin. He stayed completely still for a few agonizing seconds, letting out shaky, trembling breaths as he fought down the intense urge to cum immediately. He squeezed your hips, his fingers burying into your skin. "Don't move, mama... just gimme a second. You're so hot. I've never... fuck, I've never felt anythin’ like this."

Slowly, his head lifted from your neck. His eyes were completely glassy, low and filled with a raw, primal hunger that made your stomach flip.

"’M gonna move, okay?" he whispered, his voice cracking with that desperate, needy edge. "Tell me if it hurts, okay?“

“I will, baby. Move for me, please," you pleaded, arching your hips up just a little to urge him on.

Michael let out a shaky little sigh and slowly pulled back. He drew himself out until only his tip was left inside, the friction of your tight, wet folds sliding along his sensitive shaft making him shudder. Then, with a slow, heavy thrust, he sank all the way back in, burying his pelvis hard against yours.

“Mike!” You let out a loud, breathless gasp, your hands slipping from his hips to now claw at his back.

He locked into a steady rhythm, his hips working in a slow, agonizingly deep pace. The sound of your bodies meeting filled the bedroom—a heavy, wet, clapping rhythm mixed with the slick, squelching sounds of his thick cock sliding through your cream. Michael was completely breathless. he stared down at where your bodies were joined. Watching his thick, dark cock disappear into your thick swollen pussy over and over was driving him absolutely insane.

“Fuck, ... you're so wet, mama," he rasped as he started to pick up the pace. "Listen to that... that's all you. You're making me so messy."

“Mike—baby, fuck, you feel so good—you’re so deep," you cried out, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist to lock him in deeper.

The change in position opened you up completely, allowing him to hit that soft, spongy ridge inside you with every single downward stroke. Your went into an absolute frenzy, clamping and milking him ruthlessly.

"Oo—shit," Michael whimpered, getting too engulfed in the squelching sounds of your union. He abandoned the slow pace entirely, his thrusts turning faster, harder, and more aggressive. The way he fucked you was relentless, as if he’d been waiting his whole life for this moment.

He leaned down, pinning your hands above your head, locking his long fingers with yours as he ruthlessly battered your spot.

"Look at me, pretty girl," he panted, his forehead drenched in sweat, his pubic bone slamming against yours with every heavy, breathless thrust. "Look at me. Tell me you love it. Tell me I'm doin’ good."

"You're doing so good, baby—oh God, right there!" you screamed, your head tossing wildly on the pillows as another wave of heat began to build rapidly in your belly.

“Yeah? It’s just for you, baby—only you.." he groaned, his hips hitching forward in a vicious, deep push that made your toes curl. He swallowed hard, his breathing completely shot as he felt his own orgasm rushing up on him. "I'm gonna... fuck—I'm gonna cum. I can't hold it. You're too tight, mama, you're squeezing me..."

“Cum.. please," you whimpered back, your voice cracking as the friction pushed you straight over the edge for the second time. "Cum for me, Mikey. Do it inside me.. wanna feel it.."

Hearing his name leave your lips like a prayer, combined with the crushing, frantic spasms of your cunt beginning to clamp down in another violent orgasm, drove him insane.

"Mm fuck—" Michael moaned, a loud, guttural sound ripping from the very depth of his throat.

He didn't slow down, though. he completely lost his mind in your gummy walls. He slammed his hips down into yours with a sudden, wild urgency, burying himself so deep it felt like he was trying to merge his entire body with yours. One, two, three, deep thrusts, his pelvis completely locking against yours as his whole body went rigid.

His eyes rolled back into his head, his jaw clenching so hard the veins in his neck popped out. He let out a shaky, high pitched gasp that died down into a breathless whine as his climax hit him hard. Deep inside your pulsing, squeezing pussy, Michael's thick length violently spasmed, shooting thick, hot ropes of his cum deep into your womb. He twitched inside you over and over, his dick throbbing ruthlessly as you milked every single drop of his release into your soaking wetness.

You were crying out, your body shaking uncontrollably underneath him as your own orgasm peaked, your walls tightly convulsing around his throbbing shaft

The quiet room was completely filled with the sounds of your heavy breathing. Slowly, the tension began to leave his muscles. Michael collapsed fully against you, trying to catch his breath, his face burying itself deep into your hair. He was completely spent, trembling, and honestly ready for a nap. He stayed buried deep inside you, his heartbeat hammering violently against your ribs as he held you tightly.

He then shifted slightly, his head lifting from your shoulder as his breathing finally began to slow down. He looked down at you, his brown eyes soft, and completely overflowing with a tenderness that made your heart melt all over again. He parted his lips, about to say something—to pour out all the beautiful, romantic words he’d been holding back for this moment—when a sharp, sudden knock suddenly rattled the heavy wooden door.

Both of your bodies instantly froze.

“Mike? Y’all good in there?”

[dearjaafar]

⌞ Jaafar Jackson on the set of Michael ♡ ⌝

[prettyangeliczz]

he piss me off with how fine he is

[prettyangeliczz]

🐆💋 — dbf!michael sitting on a chair in his house, his belt unbuckled as his slacks and boxers stay low. his hand is stroking his dick with lube and his pre-cum making his hand sticky as he thinks about you. recently, after the party, you’ve been staying far from him, out of embarrassment. he should feel ashamed at the fact that the two of you did that in public but he could care less. his patience he so has is starting to disappear. his eyes shut as he thinks about you on your knees for him, struggling to keep his length in your mouth as his hand rubs your cheek, calling you his good girl.

he wonders how much you can handle until you’re crying to cum, how long can he tease your pretty clit until you’re jerking your body up and down and his other hand has to hold you down to stay still. michael moans your name out, leaning back in his chair as he thinks about you in your shorts, your ass looking so voluptuous in them. he’s wondered if you ever seen his print because of it, a part of him hoping you did, another part of him, the more sane part, hoping you didn’t.

michael continues to think about you, your pretty face and tears that cover them, your pouty self as you complain about the most basic things your boyfriend should be able to fix but michael ends up fixing it anyway. your hypothetical moans really control everything about this man, fuck he needs you.

he ends up cumming all over his hand and pants as he thrusts up, thinking about the way your pussy would feel around his dick, sucking him good, the way he knows you could. he needs to have your hands on him, needs to feel you driving him wild with your kisses, watching you struggle to get a word out cause you can’t believe you’re getting fucked by someone older. that shit alone drives him wild, he’s wondered if you thought about getting fucked by a man his age or by him.

[glossiercheek]

you could do it on your own, while you’re lookin’ at me . ♡

or in which, you and jaafar are just two horny people.

warnings: 18+ (MDNI), hella disgusting again. you go from pleasuring yourself in front of him -> him face-fucking you -> him coming on your chest -> him doing you on the floor.

additional warnings: cum. cum. cum. cum. + usage of the word “daddy” once? idk how the jaafar community will react to that so just dipping my toes in. 😔 if yg dont fw that i’ll remove it, so my apologies in advance!

the wet sounds of jaafar’s tongue lapping up the juices spilling from your gushing entrance bounce off the walls of your shared, crammy bedroom. you’re so close, you can feel it.

“taste so perfect, shit—” your boyfriend grumbles between sloppy licks, trying to catch all your drops with his soft, wet tongue. “you close, baby?” he asks, pressing a soft kiss to your pussy lips.

your stomach tenses up, the knot in your stomach tightening. your senses are all heightened, your head spinning from the rhythmic waves in which jaafar’s tongue and lips caress your clit, eliciting more moans out of you.

you pussy splutters, wetness pooling under your ass as he eats you out like a man starved.

until he suddenly stops, and you let out a pitchy whine when he cool air hits your wet slit. “j, i said i was cl—”

jaafar sits up on his knees, eyes dark and hooded. “i know baby,” he tells you, all sympathetic and out of breath. he slides himself further away from you, his large hand mindlessly palming the tent in his joggers.

“want y’to touch yourself f’me,” he urges you, eyes zeroed in on your twitching, sensitive pussy. “show me how you do it without me.”

his words are so deep and vulgar, your hole gaping open as more slick drips out of you in strings, all nasty and wet on the sheets.

you can’t believe yourself. your skin feels clammy against your hand as your hand travels all the way down to your bare pussy, your fingertips immediately finding your pulsing clit. “what a precious girl y’are.”

the circling motions are slow and deliberate as your eyes stay locked on jaafar at the other end of the bed. his hand is already reaching into his joggers, sloppily moving over his cock, producing those nasty, creamy sounds as the tendons in his forearm is pulled taut.

almost immediately, you plunge two fingers into your spongey hole, eyes transfixed on how jaafar jerks himself off, how his biceps bulge under his shirt, how his adam’s apple bobs as he throws his head back.

“fuck, you’re doing so good—” he mumbles, out of breath. “look so beautiful, all stuffed full.”

it’s his praise what pulls you over the edge. your release washes over you with white specks floating in front of your eyes. your tiny sighs and mewls, your pretty body coated in sweat only spur jaafar on to rub himself faster.

his eyes stay glued on your pussy, entrance pushing out the last drops of your pearly white cum. “taste y’rself.” jaafar orders between pants, the sounds of skin hitting skin obscene in the thick air of the bedroom.

your fingers reach down, swirling around your milky hole to gather your essence on your fingers. it drips down the length of your fingers obscenely slow before you bring them to your plush lips to lick your cream off, tongue out and all, giving your boyfriend a show.

jaafar’s still rubbing himself up and down, sweat beading across his forehead. his arm is getting tingly. “gonna help me, baby? gonna give me’a rub?”

you don’t hesitate to scramble over the sheets to help your boyfriend out. you end up on your knees on the floor, hands securely holding his shaft as you lower your mouth on him.

it is common knowledge that your boyfriend is big, but you love it. how your jaw just hinges open, tongue swirling over the underside of his dick, his tip hitting the back of your throat repeatedly. your throat is narrow and slick. snug and warm.

fuck, he’d cockwarm your perfect little throat if he had the time.

the gaggy sounds of you trying to drink him down echo through the room. “shit— take me s’good,” jaafar groans above you, hips bucking up, pushing his cock deeper in your mouth. “gonna fuck y’r throat full, yeah?”

you can’t do anything but hum in excitement, fingers clamping down around his base to squeeze more precum on your tongue. and jaafar just keeps on going. your nose bumps against his stomach rhythmically, your cunt leaking drooly drips of slick on the floor in a pathetic puddle as you suck him off.

spit drools down the corners of your mouth. “fuck, look at you— look—” he sighs, totally blissed out, balls slapping against your chin as his cock demands all the space in your throat. “y’like that, huh? big mouth is fuckin’ made for my cock.”

you move your head up and down to nod in agreement, nudging the tip of his dick against the roof of your throat. his hands are knitted into your hair to move your head up and down his shaft just the way he likes it. you feel like a damn doll, but another part of you enjoys how jaafar just uses your mouth to please himself.

“gonna come on y’r pretty tits,” he stutters out after a while, the thrusts into your throat getting increasingly sloppier. his fingers cup your chin to slowly pull himself out of your small throat, his shaft completely covered in your thick spit.

instinctively, your two hands slide over his slippery length, all red and swollen from how neglected it feels. “that’s it, baby, that’s it,” jaafar heaves, leaning on his elbows. “ah— y’do it so well for daddy.”

adrenaline rushes through your spine as jaafar’s hands cramp around the cotton of the duvet. a sign he’s close. he shatters with a heavy groan, thick ropes of milky cum shooting all over your chest, meandering down to your stomach.

you rub him through his orgasm, his tip still leaking white. your tongue darts out, suddenly all shy as you give his twitching dick a couple of kitten licks.

his semen all over your body warms you right up. your own slick is still growing tacky between your folds. jaafar reaches down, as he cradles your cheeks in his hands. “such a good girl.” he simply praises.

you nose his cheek. “only f’you,” you whisper sweetly.

“d’awwh,” jaafar croons. dropping down to your level while simultaneously laying you down on the floor. “sweetest girl in the whole world.” he says while peering down at your weeping pussy.

“this sweet girl deserves some attention too,” jaafar whispers to you, referring to your cunt. his fingers fondle with your pulsating clit while his other hand pushes your legs up. “lucky f’r me, she’s aaalll ready, isn’t she?”

“yeah—” your eyes turn glassy again when jaafar pushes into you. your pussy produces a loud, squelching, sucking nose when he bottoms out, both of his arms holding your knees open to your chest as he plummets into you. you release a pathetic whine when you feel the agonising weight of his dick sliding into your tunnel like a teasing taunt.

he rearranges you with sin and silk, right there on the floor, hips nudging his cock deeper into your soppy little hole with every thrust, every jerk of his hips pushing you closer to the edge.

“y’feel me?” he breathes out, right in your face. his smile looks sweet yet sardonic when his tip prods against your cervix deliciously. “‘m all the way in your guts, baby.”

a/n: as you guys can see i'm quite freaked out over jaafar, so please do send me ur dirty jaafar thoughts in my inbox.

[carmaloves]

𝑫𝒓𝒂𝒎𝒂

Michael Jackson x Reader

Synopsis: Michael loves to call reader while he's away on tour and spill the tea on all the drama backstage Content: Michael swearing, drama queen, established relationship Era: Any W.C. .8 k

Masterlist

Michael calls you all the time when he's on tour. All. The. Time. Not that you have any issue with it of course. But it does occasionally wake you up from a deep sleep just to tell you what's going on between two of his back up dancers. Despite this, you live for the drama and always end up getting way too invested.

2:30 AM and the phone by your bed rang loudly. You groaned and rolled over, holding it to your ear.

"Michael, this better be good, it's so late here." Your voice slurs together from exhaustion.

"I know I know! I'm sorry... but I got more information about Becky, Trina, and Laurence." His voice brimmed with excitement.

You sat up immediately, switching on your lamp.

"Oh shit, no way! Okay okay, what happened?" You held the phone close, not wanting to miss anything.

"Alright, remember how I told you Becky missed rehearsal bout a week before tour started?"

"Mhm, which is crazy, she never misses rehearsal."

"Right! And I asked Laurence, cause they're good friends. Well apparently they were more than good friends. They've been fuckin secretly for a whole year!" He whisper shouted into the receiver.

You gasped, "No way no way! That's not possible, cause he and Trina are together, right?"

"Oh yeah, they've been goin out for 3 years. And get this, are you ready?"

"I dunno! Wait, yes tell me!"

"Becks and Trina are pretty good friends right. Well apparently before Trina got with Laurence she and Becky were a thing. Like a hot thing supposedly."

You gasped loudly, "Wait, noooo! Not the lesbians splitting up."

"That's the thing, Trina got with Laurence after telling Becky she didn't like men. So Becks was pissed and went and messed around with Laurence to get back at Trina."

"Wait, now I'm confused. So are neither of them lesbians?" You rubbed your head.

"No, Trina's not a lesbian, she lied about that. But Becks is a lesbian and is just fucking Laurence to get back at Trina. Keep up, baby."

"I'm trying! I just woke up, you ass." You frowned slightly.

"You're right, I'm sorry. I'll let you go back to sleep."

"Uh no. Finish the damn story, mama wants more movie."

He laughed loudly, "I love you, sweet girl."

You smiled, "I love you too, now back to it, angel face."

"Right, okay. So flash forward to Becky missing rehearsal, apparently it's cause Trina found out and went over to Becks place and they got in a huge fight, but then ended up sleeping together."

"So the lesbians prevail?!"

"Kinda? Not really though, because Trina says it was a mistake and goes back to Laurence, which is why Becks didn't show up."

"Oh poor Becky."

"I know. Anyway, so flash forward to now. We were running a number before the concert started and both Becky and Trina were nowhere to be found, we had to call in their swings last second. The whole time I'm standing there thinking, they're definitely goin at it right now. And I'm also watchin Laurence, and he's pissed. He looked like he was going to burst a blood vessel, the vein in his head was soooo big."

"Oh I bet. Okay, so now are the girls together?"

"Mhm, and get this. This is gonna blow your mind. Laurence quit. Like on the spot."

"Oh shit, wait that's not good, what are you guys gonna do?"

"Well, his swing is gonna move into his spot permanently. Honestly, I'm thrilled. Laurence always got on my last nerve. He has an obnoxious laugh. It's like a hyena." He mimics the laugh over the phone.

You grimace, "Oh, that's grating. I think my ears are bleedin."

"Mhm, now imagine that anytime he makes a joke that only he finds funny. So I'm happy. The lesbians are back together, and we got rid of a lazy hyena."

You laugh, "Well, sounds like productive drama for once."

He laughs with you, "Yeah. Well, I'll let my sleeping beauty get her rest. I just needed to tell you about the update."

"Thank you, baby. I appreciate it. I'll talk to you tomorrow, kay?"

"Alright, I love you." He kisses the phone.

"I love you too, get some sleep." You kiss the phone back and gently place the phone down. You laugh to yourself, he's so theatrical, but you love it.

Taglist: @sebbysbaby @chloethefantastic @umafanficdoidaqualquer

[strawberrykittymp3]

heyyyyy!! i absolutely love the way you write jermajesty, you feed me when no one else does. I was wondering if i could request a blurb where jermajesty catches you getting off to him…but he doesn’t say anything immediately. just watches. for a little bit. and then….you can finish the rest!!! THANKSS <33 i love your writing.

guys i lied, i cant stay away from Jermajesty IM SORRYYYYYYYY. (got some pretty good randy requests i’m for sure gonna do so like and subscribe)

ANYWAYS🫪 MDNI +18 this is way longer than i anticipated im telling you im under spells (Also daddy kink #sueme)

I love that we all collectively agreed that Jermajesty is a freak and a pervy bc i totally see him doing that

imagine

Jer left early for work, and you usually don’t mind spending the day alone…the thing is you were horny. asf. and you tried to get your mind off him the entire day, you really did, but the images from last night (and frankly every night since you started dating) could not stop re-playing in your brain.

After showering, you sat in bed naked, the thought of him was truly overwhelming, “Fuck it” you say as you grabbed the small pink vibrator on the nightstand.

The thoughts starts appearing again, he always seemed to know the perfect formula to make you cum. It was in the way he touched you so slowly but possessively, the way he started off gentle, testing the waters, but then he flipped a switch and got so deliciously rough

“O-Oh Jer” you bite your lip letting the arousal take over you, imagining is your boyfriend who’s fingering your dripping cunt right now

Downstairs, the door opens, Jermajesty is home. And let’s be completely honest, you weren’t exactly…a quiet girl, that’s actually one of his favorite qualities about you, the way he can so easily make you scream, felt like a reward to him.

So he heard you moan a couple of times, that sound only he could get from you, his heart dropped for a millisecond as he was walking towards the room, were you cheating? Oh but the sight waiting for him was far from that.

You, spread out on the bed, two of your fingers pumping in and out of your cunt, while your other hand held the vibrator.

“Jermajesty~” you whimper his name as your pelvis bucks up from the pleasure. It was an immediate boner for him.

his sweet girl masturbating to the thought of him? oh he was gonna ruin you.

Suddenly, you feel a big hand on your inner thigh, which makes you gasp and shot your eyes open, you’re met by Jermajesty’s gaze

“Jer” you say out of breath “what are you-?”

“I was able to get off early” his hand now on your waist “you weren’t answering my calls, thought you was sleeping but” he chuckles, his eyes going from your glistening pussy to the vibrator in you hand “seems like you were having fun without me”

“I-I’m sorry Jer i just- was thinking of you and-“

“Oh i know” he chuckles. your heart nearly stops. “I heard you”

“If i need you wanted me so badly i would’ve ran home hours ago” he takes the vibrator off you hand and chucks it away “get this thing outta here man”

he presses his hard clothed dick on your pussy, making you let out a pathetic moan “that don’t do it like this huh?” his hand moves to your jaw “answer me.”

You shake your head no “no Jer i wasn’t- i wasn’t able to cum, i just needed you inside me so bad im sorry”

“Oh you left a wet spot on my pants” he chuckles looking down “You want daddy’s dick so bad huh?” you nod as he quickly lets his pants down and takes off his shirt, now lining himself up on your entrance, he pulls your legs up on his shoulders and slams into you, making you scream his name

“Thaaats it, this what you needed huh? for me to fuck your brains out?” he says as he fucks into you with a quick pace

“Y-Yes daddy mmm-“ the new nickname only seemed to make him more horny, so you decided to play along

He groans and goes down to your neck, basically folding your body in half “Tell me ma, can you little vibrator fuck you like this?” his pace increased

“N-No daddy only you” you say as your nails claw down his back “J-Just you”

“That’s what i like to hear baby” his thrusts start becoming sloppy “F-Fuck, you see how you got me ma? m’ already close”

“Fuck Jer me too, need to cum, can i please cum daddy?” you say giving him your best puppy eyes

“mmm fuck baby yeah, you’re so good to me” he slams hard into you, his hand goes down to your clit “Cum f’ me mama, i’m right there behind you”

You don’t know if it’s the edging you’ve been putting yourself through the whole evening, or the way he’s fucking you, maybe a mix of both, but your legs shake like never before, you squeeze your eyes shut, you can’t hear how loud you screamed, everything else stops existing for about ten seconds.

Once you open your eyes again, you see it. You squirted, all over the bed, it’s dripping all over Jermajesty’s lower body, a little on his stomach thanks to the position he had you in

“Holy shit baby” he chuckles looking at the mess you’ve made “i didn’t know-“

“Me neither” you say out of breath. He pulls out of you, taking you in his arms and directing you to the shower, as he sits you down on the counter, you say

“So…it’s daddy now huh?” you bite your lip

“Shut up” he says as he turns the water on

“No no i liked it” you pull him by his arm so now he’s facing you, his arms go to the shape of your ass“might call you that more often”

“Yeah?” he says squeezing you ass, his dick already hardened again “Well i wanna see you squirt more often, this time i want it all over my face” he kisses you as he pulls you into the shower “Can you do that f’me?”

You smirk “Yes daddy”

•

•

•

•

•

•

RELEASE ME FRON YOU CHAINS JERMAJESTY

taglist:

@enzo6ekiiii @j6wonsz @jaafarsaura @pawsomelea51 @aaliyah-gw @delictezz @piercetheval11 @bakugotypecrashout @szalipcombo @luvingkiku @chrOnicallyOnlinev @cvntttyybumblegumprincess @watamotee33 @jxngwons-pinkyy @rainbowuni44 @slugstarzz @lanibuggg @mshoneylover @lov3lylxvender @roostersbabymomma @rlm-11 @chloethefantastic @melaninjoys @daniiibananiii @tojiswifeforlife @soimightlikeoldmen69 @cursedbows @1dk-her @lovcheol @sebbysbaby @ariahwritess @softchaosdiary505 @kaliblazin @snowyangel111 @daemontargaryenwhore @milfslut @darasuum-21 @mjenthusiaist @mattsturniolosbabymama @billiejeanisntmylover @narratedillusions @uh444 @devynrulesboisdrool @st-ar-ron

[mikesfavfish]

FAVORITE PART: jaafar jackson x f! reader

content/warnings: quickie smut, jaafar's in his michael makeup, wife! reader, they're currently in tension bc theyre mad with each other, so it lowkey starts angsty but ends steamy and redemption, short but sweet, sub and whiny jaafar YES, dry humping into unprotected sex (hints at breeding kink), fem anatomy described WC: 4.1k A/N: i knew as SOON as i saw him post this picture... a fic was incoming LOL. also, i've been getting lots and lots of questionable and hate comments under my account and i'm here to tell all the haters that this is not the page to do so. i will cuss you out AND block you!

You’ve been gnawing at your lip for what seemed the entire car ride- 45 minutes to be exact. You were unsure whether even coming to see your husband at work was the right idea, especially right now. But it was a tradition you both had built since he began filming, and you weren’t planning to break it just because you happened to be mad at him. 

The argument started two nights ago over something that should’ve been small but has grown slightly. Due to Jaafar’s new movie, Michael, being a family-oriented production, much of the funding came directly from the Jackson family. Thankfully, most of the older family members had their wealth secured and set, and didn’t dig too deep when investing their funds. The second generation, such as the Jacksons’ kids, including Jaafar, weren’t as wealthy. They had their privileges, of course, but most of the money they made was earned individually. Jaafar had built his wealth through music production and occasional film score composing. 

When you got married, you agreed that any major financial decisions would be made together. That was the smartest and most conscious decision. For the five years you two have been married, that deal has been kept. A couple of days ago, however, you received a phone call from your accountant, who let you know that a very large sum had been removed from your account and transferred to someone else. When you double-checked with her to assure it was a mistake, she let you know that Jaafar had signed off on it.  You looked into it, and it turns out, Jaafar had contributed his own investment into the film, without double-checking with you. It made your stomach twist with irritation and hurt, but you chose to brush it off till he got home that evening. 

You were at the kitchen table, dinner in hand, as the front door opened. Jaafar walked in, throwing his hoodie on the coat rack before making his way into the kitchen. “Hey, baby.” He muttered and reached to press a kiss on your face. You turned slightly, lips hitting your hair instead. 

His eyebrows rose in confusion, but he brushed it off, turning to the sink to wash his hands. He took a quick glance at you, searching for anything that could alert him to why you hadn’t greeted him back. “How was your day today?” 

You shrugged, food no longer looking appetizing. You set the fork down and picked up the glass of juice. “Could’ve been better.” Jaafar sets his plate down, arms holding his upper body up against the marble-grained countertop. “Why’s that?” 

“Why did you take 1 million dollars out of our account and give it to the Estate?” You curtly say, pivoting your body towards Jaafar. You point to the flat screen of your phone against the table, lip twitching in uncertainty. You hated confrontation, and doing it with your favorite person made you hate them even more. 

He sighs, shaking his head. He parts his mouth, ready to give an explanation even he knows isn’t enough for you to just leave it alone. “You know my family’s all giving their own shares. I thought it’d be necessary if I did too.” 

“Without checking with me?” 

“I didn’t think I needed to. With filming going on, we needed more funds for some reshoots we’re doing. I thought it was obvious.” 

You scoff, standing from your chair. You stride towards the kitchen, across from Jaafar as he keeps his gaze on you. “We have been asking each other about that kind of stuff for 5 years, Jaafar. Why would it change now?”

He shrugs his shoulders, and his unwillingness to even pretend he can’t see where you’re coming from begins to make your blood boil, but you cross your legs, holding onto the counter for some sort of support, at least. 

“I get you want to help your family out, and it is your movie, but you have to let me know. I cannot see that kind of money just being transferred out of our account with no explanation.” 

“It’s just money. We’ll get it back, I promise.” “That’s not the point I’m trying to make, Jaafar, and you know it. It’s the fact that you did it without checking with me first.”

Jaafar picks up his plate and fills it with food. You stand, baffled, unsure whether he was done talking to you. He walks behind you, taking his seat in the chair at the table. You turn, hands raising in confusion. “Are we done discussing this?”

“We’re not discussing anything. You’re arguing with me about it while I’m trying to explain my side.”

“No one’s trying to argue, babe. I’m just letting you know I didn’t feel comfortable with that happening.” 

He sighs, eyes closing as he rests his head in his palms, breathing without structure. You cross your arms, feeling defeated. “And I’m letting you know what it’s for. I’m not asking for the money back; we need it. The movie needs it. I need it.”

There’s a slight crack in his voice as he speaks, and you know the pressure of everything is on him. It’s in the tired creases around his melancholy eyes, under the plumpness of his chapped lips. It’s in the small bruises in his hands and knees, dancing for hours till his toes bleed in pleas for a break. 

But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s belittling your side of the conversation, so you muster all the courage inside you to shake your head, foot tapping against the tiles under your slippers. “I understand that. I do, I really do. But that amount of money is huge. There’s no excuse for that. We’ve been talking about wanting to try for children soon, yet you make decisions like this behind my back without consulting me first. That hurts, J.” 

“It’ll play out when the movie comes out. That money will come back, and more.”

You suppress an eye roll and shrug your shoulders. “Can you even try to apologize and see where I’m coming from?”

“I do see your side, baby, I do. But please, for the sake of peace, see mines too.” 

Your heart hurts. You understand he’s deflating the way he is because of pressure, exhaustion, and confusion. But you know you’re right, too. And neither of you is willing to recognize each other’s explanations right now. You take a deep breath and raise your hand. “Fine, then. For the sake of peace, sleep in the guest room.” And with that, you give him one last disappointed look before walking away. For a second, you think he’ll apologize and come after you. But in the next second, your steps stay lonely. 

The next morning, Jaafar doesn’t say anything to you before he leaves. He brews you a mug of coffee, but doesn’t leave a note or even bother sending a text message throughout the day to check up on you, like he usually does. You knew the argument could’ve been fixed with a simple apology from him, and maybe a rational thought from you as well, but it was puerile behavior from the two of you now. You reciprocate the same energy by not making him dinner that evening and staying by the pool until he falls asleep. You walked by the guest room and took a quick peek inside. He’s asleep, still dressed in his clothes, even having his shoes on. He’s shivering, and he’s holding the throw pillow tight in his hands. The sight makes your insides turn, in regret and empathy. You shake your head to yourself and walk inside, softly pulling the pillow to the floor. You reach to take his shoes off, and hold his sole carefully, aware of the blisters covering his toes. You throw the blanket on his body, giving his thigh a squeeze before walking away. 

“I love you.” His voice is dazed, interrupting your attempt to quietly leave the room. 

You hold onto your chest before breathing softly. “I love you. Night.” Your voice is fragile, and even as Jaafar’s hardly awake, he heeds the pain in your voice. It makes the guilt soothe him even more, and he closes his eyes, afraid that if he keeps them open, he’ll shatter into a million pieces. 

•┈┈

You park your car in the parking garage, taking a deep breath and holding onto the bag you’ve brought with you. You brought one of Jaafar’s favorite foods, a crispy chicken sandwich from the Honor Bar. It was where he took you for your first date, and you’ve been bringing him lunch every week, as a way to see him amid all the busy hours throughout the work days. 

The crew members greet you as always, giving you polite gestures as you walk through the halls with your bags in hand. Your pass is wrapped around your neck, and you check the time on your watch before stopping in front of Jaafar’s door. You bring a hesitant hand to the door before taking a breath, knocking softly against the wood. You wait a beat before opening the door, and feel the breath you’ve been holding in release on its own. Your occupied hand trembles, and you feel your body betraying you as you force your mouth shut. 

Jaafar is in front of his vanity, a small mirror mounted on the wall, with bright, intense lights highlighting the details of his face. He’s dressed so elegantly, still in costume. His makeup and hair still intact, and despite visiting him for so long, you’ve never actually seen him in costume. Not so still, at least. And alone. 

You hate the fact that there’s a flicker of disbelief in his face, one that he masks with relief. You give him a small smile and clear your throat. “Hi.”

“Hi, baby.” 

“You look shocked to see me here. Not sure I like that.” You close the door and turn the lock as you take a seat on the couch across from Jaafar. 

He opens his mouth, gazing into your eyes as he removes the sparkling white glove from his hand. “I figured we’d still be… you know. I think I didn’t want to get my hopes up.” 

There’s a small scoff that escapes from you, but you follow it with a tut. You cross your legs, tapping your fingers against your knee. “How are your hopes now?” 

Jaafar bites his inner lip, tugging at the tag on his pants as a distraction. “Undeserving.” 

You take his mutter into consideration, cognizant of the tone as he waited for your response. You hum, dipping your head as your eyes remain locked with his. “We have to talk about it eventually. Now, preferably. I don’t want our food to get cold.” 

He softly breaths, an attempt at expressing a sense of humor, but he’s too emotional to do so. “I’m sorry for my behavior these past few days. For a while, actually.” You give him a nod, an acknowledgment of the understanding of what he means. 

“The process for creating this film, and bringing it to life, has become such an overwhelming process. I got so wrapped up in trying to figure things out the way all these experienced people have done before that I thought I could do it, too. In doing so, I went against our core vows and have hurt you in the process. That was never my intention, baby. I truly am so sorry for the way I've acted over the past few days. I gave you space because I know we both needed that more than anything. But I missed you so fucking much, I was going crazy.” Jaafar’s voice cracks numerous times, and he feels the top of his lip wet with several tears. He doesn’t care to let the emotion come to life, because he deserves to feel the regret he came to terms with the moment he saw you walk away. 

There’s no sound in the room besides your heavy breathing, and it takes every restrictive power in you to stop you from standing and shoving Jaafar’s delicate face into your chest. The tears streaming down his face break you so gently. You taste the sweat under your chin as you bring it to your lips, moving anxiously under Jaafar’s red eyes. 

“I’m sorry for not being willing to see your side, baby. I think I always did, but I was mad at you for being so stubborn.” You whisper, eyes slightly dipping in mendacious tautness as your husband gives you a concurring nod. 

He dabs at his face, attempting to wipe any tears off his prosthetics before he continues speaking. “You wouldn’t have to feel that way if it weren’t for me. I’m so sorry, sweet girl.” 

The nickname breaks you of any restraint, and your body rises before your mind alerts you. You close the short distance between the two of you and wrap your arms around Jaafar’s sequenced shoulders, rubbing at any previous rigidness with consoling devotion and pardon. He feels the way only your unique and soothing touch can bring him back to life fully, and he closes his eyes, a quiet moan escaping him. It was quiet under the heavy breathing that was transpiring from his mouth, which you almost didn’t catch. Almost. 

“Now, now, I forgive you, baby. I missed you, too.” There’s a commanding intonation in the manner you hum against Jaafar’s styled hair, and suddenly the friction between the two of you grows desperate. This was secretly your favorite part after all the worries are no more, and the things you have said to one another are gone. Somehow, it always got to that point. Where sincere apologies are made, and you drop the authoritarian act, and become authoritative. The anger is no longer quiet screaming, but instead moans of passion. In some way, you sometimes wonder if this unbreakable habit is wrong, but it always gets to that point somehow. Where your clothes become half-off, and all the pent-up frustration becomes released through ruts and rushed kisses.  

There’s a twitch in Jaafar’s hardening cock as he hears the tone in your seductive syllables, and he forces his hand against the pinch of your waist to relax. He slightly pulls his head away from your chest and throws his head back. “We’re done filming for the day, in this costume. I’m ‘posed to be taking this makeup off, actually.” 

You hum in reply to his piteous mumble and bring your fingers across Jaafar’s face, fixating on every detail of his features. The makeup team took their time in ensuring his face was exact to what his uncle’s details were, and you ran your fingers extra carefully on the parts you noticed were made with additional caution. It was something so alluring about seeing Jaafar in this costume and makeup- it was almost like it was another version of him you never knew you could access. But having him under your touch, legs on either side of his perfectly built thighs, made your core begin to moist with seduction and satisfaction- a guilty pleasure, if truth be told. “Is that so? And here I was, having some time to watch how beautiful you look in that makeup.”

Jaafar would never get used to the way you would confidently call his beauty out. He knew he was a pretty man, but hearing the words come out of your lips, the ones he loved to run his tongue against, was another form of a tantalizing rush down his cock, quickening his pulse until his mind would become foggy, control no longer his. “Can you help me take it off, then? Please, baby?” 

A double glance at the locked door is all it takes for your lips to crash against Jaafar’s. Your tongue swirls against his, desperate savoring evident in your hoarse exhales. Your hands run along the back of his head, textured curls tangled in between your fingers. There’s a soft piece caught between your ring as you pull, which makes Jaafar whine. The cry is frenzied, and a smirk crawls on your lips. His hands began to fondle with whatever plumpness of your body he could find, wanting to capture whatever he could knead. 

Every clash against your mouth is an unspoken plea Jaafar begs for sonorously. He needs more, and despite the wetness of his pre-cum you feel against the material of your bottoms, the distance is too much. He knows there’s a time limit that the two of you have to fool around before work begins again, and the warmth that circulates throughout his body is enough sampling to thrill him for more. He takes a shameful swallow before lifting his hips up, readjusting himself in the chair, and gripping onto your hip bone. He laps at your lip as he moves your body against his own, the drag of your clothed cunt against his own cock melting flawlessly. You grind onto his lap with erratic snaps, eyes rolling back with elation. The thrums against your skin become too much, and you pull off your top, crashing Jaafar’s face into your chest. He does his job in nipping at the softness of your breasts, ensuring a mark is left with a desperate lick. His patterns become overstimulating, so you pull down your bra and keen in roil as his teeth graze over your nipples. 

Jaafar silently begs to whoever is listening to his intoxicating mind to allow him to remain in this bliss forever. His eyes trace over the transfer of his makeup against the sweat on your skin, and that sight is the most captivating thing he’s ever seen on you. He feels his hair stick onto his skin, but his focus remains on the bounce of your breasts, every hump against the curve of his cock enveloping him in a trance he never wants to snap out of, not even when he feels his release begin to build up. 

You feel the metal of his zipper hit your clothed pussy, and the sensation makes your button tingle with electricity. You feel your slick continue to swell, pleating against your folds. Your jerks are intense, like a personal workout your body appreciates you’ve decided to take. Your eyes open for a slight minute, stuck on the way, Jaafar’s eyes remain riveted on your body. You let out a sharp intake of breath, feeling a tiny bit of drool threaten to escape from the side of your mouth. The consciousness only grows because Jaafar’s eyes begin to well up with tears. Overstimulating tears, the ones that you know he’ll let out the second your walls enclose around his bare cock. 

He gives a soft croak as his eyes dip, greed entering his body as he cups your breast. “More, more, more.” Every whine is hasty, yearning for a release. He doesn’t care that his underwear will be sticky once he pulls it down his legs, or the fact that the very expensive costume pants he’s wearing will be ruined with your slick. Jaafar’s only focus is on the rapid darts of his tongue on you. He watches the way your mouth parts open, your head bobbing with every lap he gives you.  

He feels the release threatening to snap, so he uses all his force to grip onto your hips even harsher, approving of every pornographic bounce you lay on him. “I need to cum.” He whines against your skin, and you bring your mouth to his ear, softly licking his lobe as your hand runs down his neck and onto his jacket, gripping the material beneath it. The small conscious part of your mind is aware he’s still in costume, and will most likely have to return it once he’s done using it. 

The bigger portion of your consciousness, however, only cares about the intense throbs of your cunt, because you give him a laudatory nod, melting at the way your skin burns so perfectly under Jaafar’s reckless hold. Your husband instantly uses his green light and cries, moaning like an animal in heat as his release fills his pants, wet and slick, and begins to run through onto your thighs. Your release comes seconds after, and your bounces slow down, legs spasming with exhaustion. 

Your heavy breaths blend, and you bring your hand hurriedly to his pants, unzipping the material, fingers wetting with Jaafar’s cum. You bring a finger rapidly to your mouth and lick it, humming at the taste. Jaafar swears he feels more spill out of his tip, so he brings his hands to help pull his cock out as you stand and step out of your pants, not caring to do the same with your panties. You pull those to the side and keep one hand on Jaafar’s shoulder, breath hitched as you sink down on his cock. Every inch is an eyeroll you give, and before you know it, you’re both immediately swallowed by warmth. There’s a hint of pain, so you use the adjustment to his size to bring your lips to his neck, licking at his sweet spot.

“Thank you, my sweet girl. Thank you.” The tightness disappears into pleasure, and you move slowly. You begin to grind against his shaft, building up slick before you begin to quicken your pace. His hands come up to your face, and your features fit so perfectly against his large palms.

“You’re doing so good for me, for us, my baby. I love you. You always do so great. I admire you, my sweet love.” Every word hits you deeper than his cock, and your body instinctively begins to build an unrelenting tempo, every ride against his perfect cock massaging your walls. It makes your body yearn for more, more than what you’re bucking for.

Every bounce on him becomes a precise beat, hips smacking against one another at the same time. Your fingers run under Jaafar’s eyes, tears slickening them as you softly smirk. “All these tears, just for me, hm?” 

He nods without hesitation, cock hitting every spot so perfectly. “Yes, m’am.” Oh god, could he be any more perfect for you? You hum against his skin, watching the ways his curls move against the rhythm you’ve both set, and it makes you fuse grow even quicker. 

Jaafar grips both sides of your hips, eyes focused on the way his cock slips in and out of you. Watching the way your cunt is so perfectly stuffed by him, it makes his hunger grow. He takes hold of the control, thrusting himself into you with pounds so heavy and filling, you feel it penetrate you mercilessly. His mouth opens before he can think about what he’s about to say, yet he feels no regret. “I want to cum inside you and put a baby in you. Can I do that? Please? Will you let me stuff you full, sweet girl?” Your moans become inconsolable, and you nod your head, unwilling to care about the reality of what this will mean for both of you. Your legs begin to shudder, and you give warning taps against Jaafar’s face as he nods. 

His thrusts become frantic, wanting to make sure you feel the need in every vein inside you, in every rut as he begins to fill you. He directs your hand to your nipple, and you pinch it, and your vision becomes spotty. Your mouth parts, and your back arches as Jaafar’s hips jerk against you. His whines grow louder, and you take every single one in memory as he spills inside you, painting you like a piece he wishes to admire forever. His tired eyes come down to your opening, and he watches in awe as his release spills outside your cunt and down your legs. 

You fall onto his chest, knees limp as Jaafar brings his hands to your back, soothing it in a familiar pattern. A wave of aftershock washes over you for some time, so you’re silent, body slightly twitching from the sputters undone. 

Jaafar pulls your head off his chest with care, pressing kisses against your face as he whispers comforting praises. It makes you melt, and your walls begin to flutter as he softly twitches inside you. His pupils are dilated, and the sight of his wet, dark, beautiful eyes makes you lean forward, relaxing your mouth against his. 

“Sweet girl.” He mutters against you, stroking the softness of your neck as your breathing calms down, no longer past the normal beat. 

There are no words, no sound. Just breaths, just nearness. Just Jaafar’s familiar hand brushing his thumb over your knuckles, just existing quietly in a now sacred space you’ll both remember for a lifetime. It’s a moment you begin to already detail your mind over, resting your open palm calmly over your husband’s even heartbeat, a pulse that he gentles with passionate vulnerability. 

[mjmicrophone]

This is HELLA funny

[mustangb3byy]

۫ ꣑ৎ baby be mine…۫ ꣑ৎ

willow. 20. aquarius. sage green. angst lover. thriller and bad era mj.

- requests and questions are always open and always appreciated. if you ever have any ideas that you would like me to write, let me know and i’ll do it because i really love writing for yall <3

- i write these for fun, nothing serious at all.

- i’m lowkey biased towards thriller and bad era michael.

- i don’t use “y/n” in my writings.

- i love you all so much, yall are like my own little family.

- i try to update as fast as i can so bare with.

- i only write for michael jackson.

- enjoy and feel free to leave any feedback on any of my writings ۫ ꣑ৎ

master list below ˚₊۶ৎ˙⋆

𓂃⋆.˚

thriller era mj. ˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀

gotta be quiet. (smut.)

gotta be quiet part two. (smut.)

out of this world. (smut.)

red lips. (angst.)

disneyland. (smut.)

bad era mj. ˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀

all his. (smut.)

more to come soon… 𑣲⋆｡˚

[ebonymuse]

— 𝐞𝐫𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 ; 𝐁𝐀𝐃 (michael)

through every era, him. 18+ (i got super carried away so enjoy a long one!)

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

150 days.

150 excruciatingly long days without him.

150 days since Michael cut the cord — ending your three year long relationship on a whim.

It came as a shock — something you would’ve never thought in your worst nightmare that would come true.

You had crawled into bed with Michael one night, skin glistening from the expensive floral scented lotion you’d just delicately rubbed into your skin, settling comfortably in the sheets next to him. He was quieter that night — he mumbled at dinner, barely conversing with you, playing with his food. Michael didn’t have a large appetite, so his lack of eating hadn’t phased you as much as it did now. You didn’t expect him to be too chatty that night either, you had already had a heated disagreement a few hours earlier that remained unresolved — something that was becoming more frequent in recent times due to his demanding career.

So, when you nestled against him, his hands rigid at his sides, was when you noticed something was undeniably wrong.

“Is everything okay, baby?” You asked, peering up from his chest to glance at his pokerface.

“I think we should split up.”

The words hit you full-force, panic and shock instantly flooding your emotion — sitting up so frantically it made Michael flinch.

“What? What the hell are you talking about?” Your voice was frantic and distressed, face forced into a scrunch of anxiety.

Michael stayed silent for a few moments, not daring to meet your eyes, just staring blankly at the wall next to him.

“Michael, don’t fucking joke with me. Fucking say something.”

“Stop cursing, please.” He forced out, voice hoarse and low, attempting to keep his dignity.

You scoffed in disbelief, “So, you blurt out that you wanna break-up, but all you care about is a curse? Are you fucking serious?” Anger was the emotion at the forefront of your brain now, utterly disgusted with his coldness towards you mixed with the cruelty of his words.

“Things are complicated right now.” He started, still facing away from you, “I’ve got the album and the tour, and we’re fighting too much already because of it. It’s not good for us especially if I’m away for long periods of time. You deserve someone who can be around for you. Someone better.” He sighed, shaking his head, “I don’t want to let this progress and then end up hurting one another more.”

“‘Let this progress?’ Michael we’ve been together for three years, nearly four. You didn’t think to end things three and half years ago if you didn’t wanna get hurt? Are you serious?”

“I still love you, I just want to protect us both from pain.” He spoke quietly.

“Love? This isn’t love, Michael, this is cruel. This is worse pain. Someone who loved me wouldn’t treat me like this. Why are you doing this to me? To us?”

His heart clenched as your voice cracked, not brave enough to look you in your eyes, now brimming with tears.

“I’m sorry.”

The words felt faux as they left his lips — silencing encasing the room. You scoffed, standing up swiftly from the bed, rushing into the bathroom, slamming the door harshly behind you. You missed the way Michael flinched once more as the loud sound echoed throughout the quiet room, a single tear falling down his cold cheek — attempting to ignore your wails of despair from behind the door.

He saw you for the last time as you rushed out of the bathroom — bag full of your toiletries in hand as you raced towards the bedroom door, sobbing.

He called your name, but you cut him off, swearing brutally at him, along the lines of ‘Go fuck yourself, Michael’. Your memory of that night wavered thin now — your brain compartmentalising the pain to the back of your mind, pushing it the furthest away from to prevent you from punishing yourself with the hurtful memory.

You were packed and moved out the same night — moving back in with your parents, who comforted you for weeks on end as you experienced the worst heartbreak you’d ever felt in your life. The one person you loved and trusted the most in your life had been the one to hurt you the most, too. It was a strange phenomenon — to still love and yearn for the person causing you agonising misery.

At month one, you spent most days in bed — wallowing in your despair, reading old love-letters, staring at photos taken on your first tropical vacation, your anniversary, his birthday. You were torturing yourself — a bittersweet pain that you struggled to rid yourself of. Ending most nights by sobbing into your hand as you read the newspapers — headlines of your split plastered everywhere. Utterly devastated at how disgusting tabloids portrayed you as a deadweight on Michael’s blossoming career, that you were only dragging him down, that he made a good decision to free himself of you.

By month two, you got back to work. You had managed to find your new routine — working hard on your own music, pouring your damaged heart into each song, passion flowing from your lips with each lyric. You didn’t cry as much — only now and again when Michael would pop up on the television, his new album ‘Bad’ going world platinum again, just as his others did, his success booming. What irked you most was he looked perfectly fine — smiling happily for the cameras, performing on stage on tour with pure, irrevocable talent, adoration and excitement oozing off of him, like he didn’t destroy someone’s life two months ago.

By month three, you acted unaffected. You’d moved out into your own place — gaining some unwanted independence. You began going about your life like you’d never met him — going on a few dates, dancing at clubs with your friends with guys you were a stranger to, late night calls with men you knew deep down would never compare, but indulging in the fun of it nonetheless— heart fuelled by anger and frustration, desperate to get back at him. When you finally moved on sexually, you were irritatingly disappointed — no man on the planet could please you like Michael had. That’s what filled you with pure rage. Faking orgasms and pretending as though their cock’s even made half the stretch that Michael’s did had you furious — often pushing them away mid sex, ordering them to get out of your apartment.

You were now almost at month six and the ice in your heart towards Michael hadn’t let up.

You pretended, to your family and friends, that you were over it — that it didn’t affect you anymore. That you had totally moved on with your life. Wrong. You were still livid deep down — not a single day going by where you didn’t curl your fists up in fury at the thought of him. Fury that you still had an annoyingly large place for him in your heart — that no matter how bitter you tried to convince yourself you were about him, it did nothing to dilute the sickly sweetness that overpowered your heart.

And that lovesick heart of yours was pounding violently in your chest right now.

Sat in the back of a limousine, dolled up to the Gods — hair, makeup and outfit perfected to a T, you looked divine. So divine you were determined to make a statement — one just as bad his.

Ironic.

The man in question who you were dying to shock, self-proclaimed as ‘bad’, connotations to his new album, was someone you believed to be sweet, tender and loving. An album title you always thought was truly ironic as he was quite the opposite.

Not as of recent.

Diana Ross had been a thorn in your side since the day you and Michael met. Her relentless flirtatious energy towards the man you craved was angering — even before you called it official was she persistent with her teasing.

“So, you’re the girl Michael keeps talkin’ so much about.” She drawled, the day you met her, your handshake harsher than usual as you gripped her bony hand in your own, “Not his girl, yet though, right?” She laughed, “Better snatch that handsome thing up before I do.”

You confessed your love to Michael that night.

You did truly have intense feelings for him — but that old cow had given you the push you needed. No way in hell was she going to take him away from you — not on your watch.

So, rightfully so, you were anxious at the thought of her finding out about your split — wondering what her next move would be. You’d spend everyday reading the newspapers in a panic, skimming through a thousand words a second in an attempt to find any news of them being spotted together.

And the day came — a week before The 1988 Soul Train Music Awards. The very award ceremony you were heading to, looking so beautiful.

Michael and Diana were front page — pressed tightly against one another at a famous club. His smile was bright, wide and genuine — something you’d missed seeing in person, now adorning his captivating face because of that witch. She had looped her arm through his, the picture capturing her pressing a sloppy kiss to his cheek. The title read ‘MICHAEL MOVING ON ALREADY? — OLD FLAME REIGNITED’

Oh, he had really done it this time.

He knew how much you hated her — loathed her, actually. The older woman often getting in the way of your relationship throughout the years you were together — despite having a husband herself, she was betrothed with your man.

So, even if technically he didn’t owe you a thing as you weren’t his anymore, you silently felt fury at him for letting her kiss him for the cameras.

Therefore, your only response was to fight fire with fire — childish? Maybe. But, clever? Absolutely.

“You ready, sweetheart?”

The sound of Prince’s voice next to you in the limo tugged a devilish smirk onto your face as you nodded.

If Michael wanted to play dirty — you would play real dirty.

The car had rolled to a stop — flashes of the paparazzi’s intrusive cameras burnt into your vision as the driver pulled the door open. You stepped out, smoothing your dress, a wide smile on your face, waving sweetly as you waited for your date to exit the vehicle.

If you thought the flash was bright before, you were mistaken. Spots blurred into your vision as Prince stood next to you, instantly taking your hand in his own, confidence oozing from him as always, before smiling down at you. You turned to him — pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, lipstick now smeared across his skin, earning a knowing laugh from his throat.

Cha-ching!

Those pictures, dripping with revenge, were a real moneymaker — something that would put that sloppy, old hag’s attempt to make you jealous to shame.

Everyone knew of the musical feud between Michael and Prince — the two men battling for the title of ‘the biggest star in the world’. You knew that Michael took the cake — but, you also knew that seeing his biggest rival with his ex-girl would shut down any attempt of riling you up.

“Nicely done.” Prince whispered, lips close to your ear as you were ushered inside the building. He was aware of your vengeful plan — and more than willing to help aggravate his arch nemesis.

“You too.” You sent a wink his way, engaging in a childish, unison giggle, knowing exactly what you were doing was going to end messy, “I’ll see you later.”

You parted ways with your exes nemesis, not before letting him press a calculated kiss to your knuckles, peripheral vision burning as more cameras captured your (fake) romantic moment, before being ushered to your assigned seat.

You were fairly near the stage, around three rows in front, next to your favourite female pop-star and close friend, Whitney Houston. A real, genuine smile burst across your face when she seated herself next to you.

“Girl.” She breathed out a laugh, placing her clutch bag gently in her lap.

“What?” You laughed, smiling across at her in confusion.

“Honey, I think you know what.” She shook her head with a grin, “You made quite the entrance back there.”

Perfect.

The corners of your lips tugged up into a deeper smile, “Then my plan is working.”

Whitney chuckled, “I just know that poor man is beyond ticked off right now.”

“‘Poor man’?” You scoffed, “He is far from poor. You saw the papers, right?”

“Everybody did, sweetie.”

“Number one, not helpful,” You pointed a finger at her, ignoring the way she cackled, “And two, he had it comin’” You paused, “Everyone, including him, knows how much I hate her.”

“Hate who?”

You froze — the infamously familiar voice that once had you smiling like a damn idiot before, now had your face falling as your head lurched behind you.

And there he was.

Michael.

In all his annoying glory — sporting a dashing red button-up, a sleek tie around his neck, paired with a black suit jacket, that hugged the curve of the lean muscles in his arms in a way that your breath hitching in your throat.

It aggravated you that he looked so good.

But, you knew that he knew that you looked better.

Your irritation only blossomed as you glanced at the seat to your right — eyes rolling in annoyance as his name, scribbled onto a flimsy piece of paper on the chair right next to you, hit your vision.

Fuck award show assigned seats.

“Well, shit, girl.” Whitney mumbled, laughing under her breath as she turned away from the tension that was rising as Michael took his seat.

“Hello.” He spoke, voice soft and gentle, just like you remembered.

“That’s all you have to say to me?” Your voice came out harsher than expected, an angered frown visible on your face as a grin bloomed on his.

His mouth went to open, but you cut him off, hand shooing him away, “Actually, don’t even speak to me, please.”

“You look beautiful.”

“What did I just say Michael?”

You hated the way he smirked at your snappy tone, lip coming between his teeth as he obeyed your request, getting comfortable in his chair. You also hated the way your heart did an extremely noticeable flip in your chest at the compliment.

This night was going to be the death of you.

And it only got worse as Michael retreated to the stage, not once, but twice — each time looking more gracious and handsome as the next. He won Best Single and Album of the Year for Bad — the trophies enclosed around his beautiful, slender hands, ones that once gave you blissful satisfaction.

You despised your weak mind for the way you let it run away with itself — eyes trailing over his tall, elegant frame each time he’d take the stage. That infamous smile that had you weak at the knees did nothing to cool the desire that was overpowering your anger, the yearn for him only increasing.

Michael thumped into his seat next to you with a sigh, now two awards richer, running a hand through his long curls that cascaded down his shoulders.

You could sense he was looking at you — his smiling face visible in your side eye-line, but you refused to turn, your eyes fixated on the stage as the next category was revealed.

“Saw your little stunt earlier.” He whispered, “Real classy.”

You scoffed quietly, “That’s rich.”

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

You knew that tone — that cocky, teasing tone that had you gritting your teeth.

You finally turned to face him, “Oh, right. I’m sure letting that old crow kiss you is a regular thing now, huh?”

“Saw that, did you?” He was testing you, it was evident in the way the knowing smirk on his face never faltered.

You were halfheartedly listening as your name was read for the nomination, not even bothering to care as you held your gaze with the man seated next to you — a brutal lock of eyes that said a thousand words. You were furious, failing to hide it miserably, and he, well, he was enjoying it.

“I did.” You started, “Nice to see a downgrade was my replacement.”

Michael’s smile flickered at your harsh dig at his life-long friend, “I think I could say the same about your date.”

“At least I have one.”

That sure wiped the smirk off his face.

“And definitely not a downgrade in the bedroom.”

You basked in his shock — the smirk he once sported now adorning your face, nearly missing the way your name was called from the stage, the room erupting in applause.

“Excuse me?” Michael’s voice was bitter, cold, mortified at your admission. A false one at that, but he didn’t need to know. Yet.

“Sorry, can’t hear you.” You shrugged him off, rising to your feet with a proud smile — at your award mostly, but also at your triumphant win in the petty disagreement, as loud cheers exploded in your ears.

You took the stage — a new found confidence oozing off of you, a gorgeous smile on your face as you took the award from the announcer’s hands, pulling them into a small hug. You thanked your producer, musical team, family and friends — humbleness evident in every word you spoke.

You looked perfect — utterly radiant under the bright lighting blaring down onto the stage, award glistening in your hands as your pearly white smile twinkled in the spotlight.

Michael, albeit still in an angered daze over your admission, couldn’t help himself but rake his eyes over your frame — breasts pushed perfectly up your corseted dress, the curve of the plush mounds visible to everyone’s eyes from the audience, eyes never leaving those perfect tits he’d once nestle his face into as he flung your legs over his shoulders and filled you to the hilt with his cock.

The thought had him readjusting his slacks — hard-on now painful against the restrictive clothing at the delicious reminiscing of your love-making.

It was your next words that had the sexual memories leaving his head.

“And I wanna thank my wonderful date for tonight— matter of fact, come up here! Prince, where y’at, honey?”

The room erupted into cheers once more — everyone but Michael, who attempted to drown out Whitney’s disbelieving laughter from two seats down from him, watching as you shielded your eyes from the light, searching for the man in the crowd.

Michael stared lethal daggers into Prince’s back as he sauntered up the stairs to the stage — his chest heaving in undeniable envy as he watched Prince pull you into a tight hug. Those gorgeous breasts now pressed up against Prince’s chest.

He was livid. Hands tightening around the material of his trousers, knuckles white as his grip turned taut.

“Not only is he a Pop King,” The room exchanged hushed gasps at the title, one that everyone knew belonged to your furious ex, “But, he’s also a fantastic plus one.” Laughs fizzled out the shock at your insinuation that Prince was only there with you, not for his own musical nominations.

Michael, however, had never felt fury quite like it.

That title was his.

One he worked so hard for — something him and that idiot, in his mind, up on stage with you had fought over for so many years. And you knew that.

He knew you were aggravating him deliberately.

Prince smirked, eyes finding Michael’s in the crowd, expression darkening, “Sorry, Michael.”

And with a smooth arm wrapped around your back, and a swift dip in the air — he kissed you.

Well, not actually.

His lips attached to the corner of your mouth, barely touching, but to the audience, and more importantly, the cameras, it looked as though your ex-boyfriend’s fiercest enemy was kissing the life out of you on stage.

And, boy, did everyone in the room eat it up.

Standing ovations and screams of joy sounded in the room as they clapped — basking in the pure drama of it all.

Prince pulled away from you with a smile, winking at you as you laughed, shaking your head. He took his hand in yours, guiding you backstage, the noise of the crowd dying down as you were ushered away.

“You’re evil.” You chuckled, chest heaving from the adrenaline.

“Well, maybe it’ll give him the push he needs to try get y’back.” Prince admitted, “Either that or to write ‘nother okay album.”

You shoved his arm playfully, “Oh, stop. Y’know it was a good album.”

“Sure, sweetheart, sure.” He teased, sending another smug wink your way, earning another giggle from your lips.

You’d barely made it ten steps backstage before an all familiar frame blocked your way.

You swallowed thickly as Michael’s cold, blank expression met your eyes, his hands curled at his side as he held your gaze — watching as the smile fell from your face.

He didn’t fail to notice how quickly you dropped Prince’s hand, either.

“Come with me. Now.” His voice was darker than his usual soft, gentle tone — not holding a deeper undertone of something that had a chill running down your spine.

“Oh, he mad now.” Prince spoke up, a soft, breathy laugh leaving his lips, “Don’t be jealous, brother, y’got ‘Ross don’t’cha?”

Michael’s jaw clenched, his gaze turning to Prince, eyes darkening into something icier, “I’d walk away if you know what’s good for you.”

Prince laughed once again, eyes flickering back towards you, “Good luck, girl.” He turned back to Michael, placing a hand on his shoulder, “Be sure to bring her back t’me when you’re done, yeah?”

Michael lunged, flinging his hand off his shoulder in a brutal shove, turning towards him with clear intent. You rushed in between a seething Michael and a laughing Prince, hands steadying the angered man on his chest.

“Enough. Both of you.” You hissed, “Just go.” You signalled to the amused man behind you.

Prince didn’t fight it — just turned to walk away with his hands in the air in surrender, chuckling as he went.

“Michael, what the hell was that for?” You snapped.

Michael didn’t speak — only grabbed your wrist in a firm, not aggressive, more so possessive, grasp, tugging you away, his longer legs moving swiftly with each stride, your own practically in a run as you fought to keep up.

He found a nearby bathroom, pushing the door open with all his strength, ignoring the way you winced at the sound of the handle harshly slammed into the wall. The door was shut and locked quicker than it had opened — before you were pushed against it.

“Me?” He started, answering your prior question, his chest heaving as he stared down at you, pupils blown in distress, “I think I should be asking you that question, sweetheart.”

The pet-name spat from his mouth with a curl of his lips — face contorted into a scowl.

You gained your pride, taking two hands to his shoulders and shoving him, your strength against his own doing as little as moving him a few steps backwards.

“Don’t get it twisted, Michael.” You retorted, “You started this with that bitch.”

Michael scoffed, “Go’head, baby, try and convince yourself I’m in the wrong here.” His tongue poked out from his inner cheek, “You’re insatiable.”

“Don’t you dare call me that.” Your voice seeping with distaste at the familiar pet-name, “You lost that privilege the second you gave up on us like we were nothin’.” You shook your head, “Would’ve let you have it back if you didn’t let that old slut rub up on you like you’re a fuckin’ groupie.” You laughed darkly, looking him up and down, “Not now. Lost every fuckin’ chance with me.”

Michael looked taken aback by your disrespectful words — teeth grinding together as he never took his eyes away from your own.

“I never gave up on us willingly.” He revealed, ignoring the way you scoffed with a laugh, as he took a step closer to you, “And as for her,” He paused, attempting to find the right words.

“See? You can’t even convince yourself there’s nothin’ going on there.” You cut him off, hands flailing in the air as you spoke theatrically.

“Let me finish, woman.” He shot back, “As I was sayin’ — she means nothing to me. Absolutely nothing. She’s an old friend. Someone who mentored me as a kid. We have history — but nothin’ more than platonic. Barely even platonic, just professional.”

“Don’t kid yourself, Michael. No ‘professional mentor’ kisses their ‘colleague’ like that.” You air-quoted the words that felt faux with your manicured fingers, shaking your head, “Do you take me for some kind of idiot?”

“Not in that sense, no.” He started, “For actin’ like that with him? Maybe.”

You laughed in disbelief, “You just love it, don’t you? Pretending to yourself that I’m the bad guy, that I went up there and acted like that just to hurt you with no real reason?” You looked him up and down with disgust, “You’re so blind.”

“How many times, girl? There’s nothin’ going on with me and Di.”

He regretted the use of the nickname the second it left his mouth.

“Di? That sounds real professional to me, asshole.” You turned on your heel, clicking the lock back open and twisting the handle, pulling the door open in an attempt to storm out.

Before you could even move, the door was slammed shut once again. The loudness blooming a new found silence in the room, one that failed to occur from the second you walked in there.

Michael’s hand, despite his burning anger, remained gentle as moved your body back to face him, pressing you back into the door.

“Don’t even think about it.” He whispered, “You are not walkin’ away from me.”

“That’s ironic.” You bit back, “If you hadn’t have done that in the first place, we wouldn’t be havin’ this argument.”

“Y’think I wanted to do that? Think I wanted to sit there and watch you panic? Listen to you cry? Hear you cuss me out because of pain and anger I caused? No. That’s where y’dead wrong, girl.” He let out a shaken breath, “I have always, from the moment I met you, till this very day, loved you. Loved you so much I had to give you the life you deserved. I had to let you go. Had to get you away from the pain I was bringin’. No one wants to be with someone who’s never there, and when they are, they’re always fightin’.” Then, he went silent, his eyes now softened as they met your glassy ones, tears threatening to fall as you let him talk.

You both stayed in deathly loud silence, louder than any door slamming or screaming argument — silence that spoke more words than any you’d ever said.

You swallowed thickly, your resolve cracking as his admission settled in your brain, “That wasn’t your decision to make, Michael.” Your voice was quieter now, still with the same stubborn sharpness, but less accusatory, now filled with evident upset.

Michael breathed, his head hanging low, his forehead a mere few inches from your own, “I regret that night every fucking day.” He whispered, a vulnerable string of words that hung heavy in your heart, “Letting you walk out that door was the worst mistake of my life.”

“Why her?” Your voice cracked as you spoke, a stray tear falling down your cheek as you met his gaze.

“It wasn’t a personal attack. She was just at the same club and approached me.” He revealed, “The picture was taken before I even had a chance to say no.”

You shook your head, breaking the eye-contact as you looked at your feet, hiding your rapidly falling tears. Michael’s trembling hand reached for your face, a tentative hand cupping your warm cheek, lifting your face to meet his eyes once more.

“Mama..”

“Stop.” You turned your head, pushing his hand away with your own, “I can’t even look at you.”

“Don’t act so innocent.” Michael’s tone, that had once softened, grew the all too familiar iciness that had been evident the whole evening, “I’m trying to fix things here despite your little ordeal earlier. D’y’know what it’s like to see you kissing him up there? That used to be me if you even remember.”

You let out a low laugh, “He didn’t even kiss me, fool, ‘was all an act. Unlike you and Di.” You barked, “Y’know you actually blow my mind, you’re so—Mmmph!”

Michael connected your lips in a frantic kiss, cutting off your incessant bickering, lips moving against yours quickly.

You shoved him back, gasping for air at the sudden loss of breath, “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Puttin’ that bratty fuckin’ mouth to better use.”

He kissed you again — mouth sliding against your own in a feverish lip-locking, a hand now gripping the nape of your neck, the other on the curve of your waist.

And this time — you let him.

You melted into him, hands flying to his face, eyes fluttering shut as you caved, droplets of tears falling onto the tops of your cheeks — falling deeper into his mercy. His tongue slid across the surface of your bottom lip, still awaiting permission despite his frustration. You allowed it, letting his tongue slide into your warm mouth, humming in delight at the taste of his minty breath on the hot muscle, revelling in the way he pushed his body into yours. His hands wondered — now travelling down your body to grab a handful of your ass through your dress, continuing his oral assault on your swollen lips.

“Jump.”

You obeyed, leaving his lips to leap into his arms — his hands cradling your behind as he connected your lips once more, settling you on the sink, slotting himself between your ajar legs.

Michael detached his mouth from own, moving his lips down the curve of your jaw, and down your exposed neck — letting his hips rock into yours involuntarily, while he sucked possessive marks into your skin, at the sound of your breathy moans, head tilted back to allow him better access.

“Michael, please.” You whined, voice a needy plea, hands sliding up into his hair, threading through his tight curls.

“Please, what, angel?” He mumbled against your neck, breath hot against your skin, fresh lovebites forming as he spoke.

“Please—mmhm—Need you, fuck.”

Michael pulled away, hands flying to your dress, pulling down the zipper harshly — before pulling you to your heeled feet, pushing it off your body swiftly, leaving you in just a skimpy bare of lace panties.

Ones you knew were his favourite.

“Oh, sweetheart,” He breathed, eyes raking over your bare frame, glossy doe-eyes peering up at him as he towered above you, “Wore my favourite just for me?”

You nodded, “Just f’you, Mike.”

Michael turned you, with precise smoothness, pressing your stomach against the cold of the sink, your bare back now pressed against his chest.

He slid a tentative hand up your side, toying with the tiny string the thong that clad your bottom half, as he locked eyes with your own in the mirror before you, “How am I supposed to know you didn’t wear them for him, mama?”

You pushed back against him, rolling your hips into the statement of his arousal, “Shut up about him and fuck me.”

A harsh hand connected with your left ass cheek — a half-gasp half-moan ripping from your throat at the sudden contact, “Thought I told you to keep that bratty mouth shut?”

You, testing your luck, ground against him once more, smirking at the way his hand tightened against your hand-printed behind, “Give me what I want then.”

Michael shook his head behind you — one hand working on his belt, pushing his slacks down along with his boxers, his palm wrapping around his achingly hard cock, pumping himself slowly, while the other pulled down your panties, now morphed into the shape of your plush folds from your leaking arousal, to the side, “Be careful what you wish for, doll.”

With one swift, sudden thrust, Michael pushed inside you — bottoming out instantly. A scream erupted from your throat at the instant fullness, your tight cunt struggling to adjust to the sheer size of him as his leaking tip kissed your cervix. Your pussy betrayed you as it clenched around him, drooling around him, coating his cock in your slick.

His hand flew to your mouth, his large palm enclosing around your swollen lips, muffling the whimpers that left you as you struggled around him — eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of him throbbing inside you.

“Keep those eyes open, mama,” He ordered, sliding out of you slowly until the only thing that remained inside your quivering hole was his plump mauve cockend, “Want you to see how pathetically you fall apart on my cock. My cock. No-one else’s.”

He pushed in again with the familiar harshness from before as your eyes shot open — now starting a brutal, animalistic pace that had you clawing at the tense of his hand that enveloped your mouth, hiding the high-pitched squeals and whines of pure, irrevocable lust that took over your mind, body and soul.

Michael groaned into your ear, eyes locked on your own as he fucked into you with such a pace and lack of gentleness that you’d never seen before. During your companionship, Michael took his time with you — worked you open with his mouth and fingers, took his time to get you ready for the thickness and length of him. But, not this time — all the pent up rage brought upon him from the start of the night now being fucked into you with every harsh rock of his hips.

Keeping you flush against his chest, his free hand slid down to where you connected — rubbing tight figure eights against your clit that throbbed for attention. Your head fell back against his shoulder, eyes rolling to the back of your head, ignoring any order he gave you to hold his gaze.

“Mmphmh—M-Mich—Michael, please!”

Words failed you as you cried against his hand, drunk on the way his cock dragged in and out of your gummy walls that sucked him in with each thrust — the sound of your feverish moans and your squelching cunt mixing with his breathy groans filling the air of the bathroom that now stunk of Michael’s intoxicating cologne and passionate sex.

“Take it, baby, take this fuckin’ dick.” He grunted into your ear, his words unlike his usual loving coaxes, “Make up for what’cha did.”

Michael hissed as you bit down on the skin of his palm, his hand pulling away from the source of pain as he meet your gaze in the mirror — your own expression now deepening into a scowl, “Fuck you.”

The words spat from your mouth, dripping with venom, at his words of blame, watching as his face scrunched up in frustration.

“Oh, you’ve done it now, ma.”

His pace never let up — if anything, since your oral stunt, it quickened. He forced you down, now completely bent over the sink as he created a new angle — his cock now driving deeper into your sopping cunt, abusing the sweet spot inside you relentlessly.

Now released from his grasp, your loud, incessant cries sounded throughout the small room — so voluminous that any passerby would hear every scream of his name.

His hand collided with your ass cheek again — cursing under his breath as the familiar feeling of a much needed orgasm crept up his abdomen. The lustful spark in your stomach blossoming much the same as he slid a hand into your hair, tugging your head upwards to look directly into the mirror once more. You were a state, completely, and literally, fucked — eyes streaming with tears that coated your hot cheeks, lips swollen and stricken with spit from his frantic kisses, and a small yet equally evident imprint of his fingers around your mouth where he held you harshly.

“‘M gonna cum so fuckin’ deep in this pussy that you can’t fuckin’ walk without flooding your little panties with my seed.” He grunted, never letting his thrusts faltering as you squirmed beneath him, “Who’s needy little cunt is this?”

Words failed you as you continued to cry — only desperate, eager whimpers falling from your lips.

Another spank connected with your ass cheek, coaxing a loud whine out of you, “Answer me when I ask you a fuckin’ question, woman.”

“Yours!—fuck, Michael, it’s all yours.” You panted, tears falling from your eyes faster than you could stop them.

“Say this pussy’s mine.” Michael spat, tugging hard on your locks of hair.

“My pussy’s all yours, baby, fuck—mmph!—Gonna cum!”

Michael hummed, clearly pleased with your response, his hips stuttering as he neared his own release, “Cum with me, beautiful, cum on my cock like a good girl.”

You cried out, loud and despairingly, as you finally broke — red-hot ecstasy taking over your body as you came, the flood gates of your pleasure breaking open to consume you. Michael followed, the tight clenching of your quivering pussy sending him over the edge, spurting his hot seed into your fertile cunt as he groaned lowly — the sensation of his cum filling your fluttering sex only furthering your own orgasm.

You slumped against the countertop — chest heaving as you attempted to catch your breath. Michael stilled behind you, swallowing thickly as he softened inside you. He leant down, pushing his chest against your back, coated with a sheen of sweat, before pressing a soft, loving kiss to your shoulder.

His kisses trailed up to your neck, beneath your earlobe, your cheek, before using a trembling hand to tilt your head to the side, and pressing his lips against your own. You sobbed into the kiss, more tears, now from overwhelming emotion, falling from your eyes. Michael’s hand cupped your cheek — deepening the kiss, that once held so much irritation, resentment and anger, now filled with undeniable attachment, deep love and compassion.

“I love you.” Michael breathed, disconnecting your lips, resting his forehead against yours — singular curl that stuck to his slick forehead tickling your own, “Please be mine again.” He whispered.

You nodded, pressing a soft kiss to his nose, head reeling from the overstimulating rush of emotions.

“But don’t pull that shit again.” He added with a playful smile.

“Yeah,” You sniffled with a breathy laugh, “You too.”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

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[imhaechanshoe]

MY FAMILY 𖥻 JERMAJESTY JACKSON

synopsis: jermajesty shows up unexpectedly while your new boyfriend happened to be there.

 ᵎ!ᵎ angst(?) ⊹ past sexual acts mentioned ⊹ language ⊹ black.ᐟ𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 ⊹ toxic baby daddy.ᐟjermajesty ⊹ arguing

requested by annon.

the living room was bathed in the soft glow of floor lamps when the lock clicked. jermajesty entered without knocking, as he always did, his keys jangling in his pocket. "where jovonnie at?" he called out, kicking off his expensive sneakers by the door.

ethan, your new boyfriend, emerged from the hallway, wiping his hands on a dish towel. "he's already asleep," he said calmly, watching as jermajesty's expression shifted from casual to territorial. "i'm ethan, by the way."

jermajesty's eyes narrowed as he took in ethan's presence. "oh shit… you got another nigga watching my son?" he asked, stepping closer until their chests almost touched. "that's what we doing now, ma?"

you rushed out from the kitchen, heart racing. "jermajesty, what are you doing here?" you demanded, positioning yourself between the two men. "ethan, this is jovonnie's father. jermajesty, this is ethan."

"oh i know exactly who this is," jermajesty replied, his voice dropping dangerously low. "ain't that the same nigga you said was just a 'friend'?" he turned his attention back to ethan, sizing him up with dismissive eyes. "you feel big putting my son to bed? playing house?"

ethan stood his ground, refusing to be intimidated. "i'm here because y/n asked me to be," he stated evenly. "if you have a problem with that, we can discuss it like adults without getting in each other's faces."

"adults?" jermajesty laughed harshly. "don't talk to me about being an adult when you in my spot." he stepped back just enough to address you directly. "so this what it’s now? you move on that quick?"

"it's not like that," you insisted, grabbing his arm. "we were just… having dinner."

"just dinner?" jermajesty's voice grew louder, causing you to flinch. "where was this 'just dinner' two days ago when you were calling me over at 2am? when you had your legs wrapped around my neck?"

ethan's jaw tightened at the graphic description. "that's enough," he said firmly. "whatever happened between you two before doesn't give you the right to show up here causing a scene."

jermajesty turned slowly, a smirk playing on his lips. "ain't nobody causing a scene. just checking on my family." he reached out to touch your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin. "you still look beautiful, mama. been thinking about that night."

"stop," you whispered, pulling away. "you can't just show up here saying things like that."

"why not?" jermajesty challenged, his eyes flickering between you and ethan. "we still got something, y/n. you know we do." he moved closer again, his voice dropping to an intimate whisper. "remember how you were moaning my name? that wasn't pretend."

ethan stepped forward decisively. "i think you need to leave," he said, placing himself between you and jermajesty again. "now."

jermajesty's eyes flashed with anger. "you don't get to tell me when to leave my own son's house," he snarled. "or when i can talk to his mother."

"this is not your son's house," ethan corrected. "it's y/n's house. and you're making her uncomfortable."

"y/n?" jermajesty laughed, turning to you. "he calling you y/n like he knows you. like he knows how to when you when you're stressed. like he knows what makes you cry."

tears welled in your eyes as you felt trapped between your past and present. "please don't do this," you begged softly. "not tonight."

"don't do what?" jermajesty asked, his voice softening slightly as he focused on you. "just stating facts. we got history. we got a kid together." he reached for your hand. "we love love each other."

"the kind of love that involves showing up unannounced and threatening people?" ethan interjected dryly. "sounds unhealthy."

"oh, and you’re the expert on healthy relationships?" jermajesty shot back. "how long you known her? couple weeks? months?" he squeezed your hand gently. "i’ve known her since we were teenagers. i know every scar on her body. i know what she looks like when she's about to cum."

"uhm that's disgusting," ethan said, his face hardening. "you don't respect her at all."

"i respect her more than you ever could," jermajesty countered, finally releasing your hand to step toward ethan again. "i was there when she found out she was pregnant. i was there through the morning sickness. i was there when she was crying at 3am because the baby wouldn't stop crying."

"where were you last week when she was sick?" ethan challenged. "i was here making soup. i was here taking care of her."

jermajesty's expression faltered for a moment. "i was working," he said defensively. "providing for my family."

"providing emotionally or financially?" ethan pressed. "because she needs both."

you stepped between them again, tears now streaming down your face. "stop it," you cried. "both of you, just stop it."

jermajesty immediately softened at the sight of your tears. "hey, hey, don't cry, mama," he soothed, reaching to wipe your cheeks. "i'm sorry. i just... i miss you. i miss us."

"you can't keep doing this," you whispered, leaning into his touch despite yourself. "you can't keep saying you miss me when you're the one who left."

"i know," he admitted quietly. "i messed up. but i'm trying to fix it." he glanced over at ethan. "but i can't fix it if you moving on with... him."

"you had your chance," you said, pulling away again. "multiple chances."

"and i'll take more if you give them to me," jermajesty replied, his voice earnest. "you know i love you, y/n. you know i love jovonnie. we're family."

ethan watched the exchange with a pained expression. "y/n," he said gently, "maybe i should go."

you didn’t say anything.

jermajesty looked at ethan with a mocking glare, "maybe i should go." he said slight turning away.

you already knew he was joking but still couldn’t bare the thought of him leaving.

"no," you said quickly, turning to him. "please don't."

"see?" jermajesty pointed out. "she needs me. she still needs me."

"she needs someone who respects her boundaries," ethan countered. "someone who doesn't show up unannounced to intimidate her guests."

"intimidate?" jermajesty laughed. "this is how we communicate. passionate. real." he moved closer to you again. "not like whatever polite bullshit you two doing."

"polite bullshit is called respect," ethan replied. "something you clearly lack."

"and you clearly don't know the first thing about our relationship," jermajesty shot back. "about how we operate."

"and maybe it's time you learned a new way to operate," ethan suggested. "a healthier way."

jermajesty turned to you, his expression hurt. "you hear this shit? you gonna let him talk about us like that?"

"he's not wrong," you admitted quietly. "this isn't healthy, jermajesty. us fighting all the time. us breaking up and getting back together."

"but it's real," he insisted, grabbing your hands. "what you got with him is... what? comfortable? safe?" he shook his head. "that's not what we are. we're fire."

"fire burns everything it touches," ethan observed. "including the people closest to it."

jermajesty ignored him, focusing solely on you. "remember when we found out we were having jovonnie? how scared we were? how we promised we'd always be there for each other no matter what?" his voice cracked with emotion. "i'm trying to keep that promise, ma."

"by showing up here and starting fights?" you asked, though your resolve was weakening. "by trying to make me choose?"

"by showing you that i still care," he corrected. "that i still want you. that i'm not giving up on us."

ethan sighed softly. "y/n," he began, "i think you need to decide what you want. without either of us pressuring you."

"i know what i want," jermajesty said immediately. "i want my family back."

you looked between them, heart pounding. "i need time," you finally said. "i need to think."

"think about what?" jermajesty pressed. "how good it feels when we're together? how right it is?"

"about what's best for jovonnie," you replied. "and what's best for me."

"i'm what's best for you," jermajesty insisted, pulling you into his arms. "we're what's best for each other."

you didn't resist his embrace, melting against him despite knowing you shouldn't. "i hate when you do this," you whispered against his chest.

"do what?" he asked, stroking your hair. "love you? fight for you?"

"make it impossible to say no," you admitted, looking up at him.

"then don't say no," he whispered, lowering his head to kiss you.

ethan watched with a pained expression before quietly heading for the door. "i'll see myself out," he said, though neither of you seemed to notice.

© 𝑖mℎ𝑎𝑒𝑐ℎ𝑎n𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑒