“Spit in my mouth baby, bring me closer when we fucking”
a/n zuko fic next 😉 ...ALSO be patient its a TEENY TINY BIT long...okeh bebehs? 🥺papa got yall just breathe when he puts it in...LMFAO
i cant think of any starting plots yall send help
-
The argument had been building for days.
Not over anything real—not really. Just the small things. The way he looked at the air nomad girl a second too long. "You're being unreasonable," Aang said. His voice was calm. Too calm. That serenity that made you want to scream.
"I'm being unreasonable? You've been gone for three weeks, Aang. Three weeks. And you come back and the first thing you do is—"
"Is what? Breathe? Exist?"
"Flirt!"
He blinked. Those gray eyes—ancient and young all at once—narrowed slightly. "I wasn't flirting. I was being polite."
"You were being charming. There's a difference."
"You're jealous."
"I'm not—" You stopped. Pressed your hands to your face. "Yes. Okay? Yes, I'm jealous. I'm jealous and I'm angry and I'm tired of feeling like I'm the only one who—"
You didn't finish. Couldn't. The words stuck in your throat like thorns.
Aang stood. He was taller now than when you'd first met him—broader, too. The years had carved him into something harder, sharper. The boy with the arrow on his head had become a man. And that man was walking toward you with an expression you couldn't read.
"Who says you're the only one?" he asked quietly.
You looked up at him. Your breath caught.
"What?"
His hand came up. His fingers brushed your cheek. The touch was light—almost hesitant—but his eyes were dark.
"You think I don't feel it?" he said. "You think I don't lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling, thinking about you?"
"You've never said—"
"I'm saying it now."
He kissed you.
Not gentle. Not tentative. His mouth crashed against yours, hot and demanding, and his hands fisted in your hair. You gasped against his lips, and he swallowed the sound, pulling you closer, pressing your body to his.
You should have pulled away. You were still angry. Still hurt. Still tangled in the sharp edges of the fight you'd been having.
But his tongue slid against yours, and your knees went weak, and your hands fisted in his robes.
"Aang—"
"Shut up."
He pulled back just enough to look at you. His gray eyes were dark, his chest heaving, his lips swollen from your kiss.
"We're not done fighting," you managed.
"Mhm"
"You can't just kiss me and expect—"
"I'm not expecting anything." His hand slid down your back, over the curve of your spine, settling on the swell of your rear. He squeezed. Hard. "I'm taking."
You should have been offended. You should have pushed him away.
Instead, you moaned.
"Mngh…"
His mouth curved. Not quite a smile. Something meaner. Something hungrier.
"That's what I thought."
Two minutes later, you were under him.
He'd lifted you like you weighed nothing—because to him, you probably did—and carried you to the bed. Your back hit the mattress. Your legs parted. His body settled between them, heavy and warm and impossibly solid.
He'd pulled your tunic off somewhere between the door and the bed. Your breasts spilled free—full and round, soft in his hands. He cupped them both, thumbs brushing over your nipples, and you arched into his touch.
"Look at you," he murmured. "So pretty. So desperate."
"Ngh… Aang…"
"Been waiting for this, haven't you?" His head lowered. His mouth closed around one nipple, and he sucked—hard—and you cried out. "Been so needy while I was gone. Touch yourself, didn't you?"
Your face burned. "I—"
"Didn't you."
"Yes."
He bit down. Gently. Just enough to make you gasp.
"Good girl."
He moved to the other breast. His tongue circled your nipple, then flicked, then sucked. His hand kneaded the soft flesh he'd abandoned, fingers pressing deep, leaving marks.
You were wet. So wet. You could feel it pooling between your thighs, soaking through your pants, and he hadn't even touched you there yet.
"Aang—please—"
"Please what."
"Please touch me—"
"I am touching you."
"Please—"
He pulled back. Looked down at you. His gray eyes were dark, almost black, and his tattoos seemed to glow faintly in the dim light.
"Roll over."
You did. Hands and knees. Your rear lifted, presented, and you heard him groan behind you.
"Spirits, you're perfect."
His hands found your hips. His fingers pressed into the soft flesh, and he pulled you back against him. You felt him through his robes—hard, thick, pressing against you.
"Take these off," he said, tugging at your pants. "Now."
You fumbled with the ties, your fingers shaking. He helped—impatient, rough—and then your pants were gone, and you were bare beneath him, and his hand was sliding between your legs.
"So wet," he murmured. "All this for me?"
"Mngh… yes—"
"You're lying. This is from the fight. You get off on fighting with me, don't you?"
"N-no—"
He pushed two fingers inside you. Curled them. You cried out, your arms buckling, your forehead pressing to the mattress.
"Yes," he said. "You do. You like it when I'm mean. When I put you in your place."
"Ngh… ah…"
"Don't you."
"Yes—"
He pulled his fingers out. You heard him undo his robes. Heard the fabric rustle. Felt the bed shift as he moved behind you.
"Look at you," he said. "On your hands and knees. Arching for me like a good little thing."
He pressed against your entrance. Just the head. Just enough to make you whimper.
"Please—"
"Please what."
"Please put it in—"
"Beg."
You sobbed. "Please, Aang, please, I need you inside me, please—"
He pushed in.
You screamed.
He was big. So big. Thicker than you remembered, longer, stretching you open until you couldn't breathe. Your nails clawed at the sheets. Your back arched deeper.
"Ah—nnm—too big—"
"You've taken it before."
"Not—ngh—not like this—"
"You've taken it before," he repeated. His voice was steady, almost conversational, even as he buried himself to the hilt. "You can take it again."
He pulled out. Slammed back in.
"Mngh—!"
"You can take it," he said again. "Good girls take what they're given."
"I'm trying—"
"Try harder."
He set a pace. Hard. Deep. Relentless. His hips slapped against your rear, and the sound filled the room—wet and obscene. Your moans were pathetic, high and broken, punctuated by every thrust.
"Ngh… ah… mmph…"
"That's it," he said. "That's my good girl. Taking all of me."
His hand came around your hip. His fingers found your clit—circling, pressing, pushing you toward the edge.
"You're close," he said. "I can feel you squeezing me."
"Please—"
"Please what."
"Please let me come—"
"Not yet."
You sobbed. Your body was shaking, trembling, every nerve on fire. He was so deep—deeper than anyone had ever been—and his fingers kept working your clit, and his voice kept washing over you, dark and sweet and cruel.
"You wanted to fight with me," he said. "You wanted to scream at me. Tell me I don't care. Tell me I don't love you."
"I'm sorry—"
"You're not sorry. You're exactly where you want to be."
He slammed into you harder. Your arms gave out. Your chest hit the mattress, your breasts pressed flat, your rear still lifted.
"Arch for me," he said. "Show me how pretty you look when you're being fucked."
You arched. Deeper. Your spine curved, your rear lifted higher, and he groaned.
"Spirits. Look at you."
His hand slid up your back. Pressed between your shoulder blades, holding you down. His other hand gripped your hip, fingers bruising.
"I'm going to fill you up," he said. "Going to put my babies in you. Going to watch you grow round with them."
"Ngh—Aang—"
"You'd like that, wouldn't you? Being full of me. Walking around with my seed inside you."
"Ah—yes—"
"Say it."
"I want—ah—I want your babies—"
"Say it again."
"I want your babies—please—fill me up—"
He groaned. His hips stuttered. His rhythm broke—just for a moment—and then he was slamming into you again, harder, faster, chasing something.
"You're going to be so pretty," he said. "So round. Everyone will know you're mine."
"I'm yours—"
"Say it."
"I'm yours, Aang—only yours—"
He came.
His body tensed. His fingers dug into your hips. His head fell back, and his tattoos flared—bright blue, blazing, lighting up the room like lightning. He groaned—loud, raw, almost pained—and you felt him spill inside you. Hot. Thick. Filling you the way he'd promised.
You came too. Your body convulsed, clenched, pulled him deeper. Your moans were broken, pathetic, lost in the sheets.
"Aang—Aang—Aang—"
He collapsed over you. His chest pressed to your back. His face buried in your neck. His breath was hot on your skin, and his heart pounded against your spine.
You lay there. Shaking. Sobbing. Full of him.
He pulled out slowly. You whimpered at the loss. He rolled you over, gathered you against his chest, pulled the blanket over your trembling body.
----------------------
BONUS FIC!
The day had been a slow burn.
You'd started it innocently enough—brushing against him in the hallway, your hip bumping his, your hand lingering on his arm a moment too long. Aang had looked at you, curious, but you'd just smiled and walked away.
Then came breakfast. You'd sat across from him, legs crossed, the fabric of your tunic riding high on your thighs. You'd stretched—slow, deliberate—reaching for the teapot, letting the fabric pull tight across your chest. His eyes had dropped. Just for a second. But you'd seen it.
By mid-morning, you were relentless.
You'd found him in the library, reading scrolls, and you'd perched on the edge of his desk. Leaned forward. Let your hair fall across your shoulder. Asked him questions about airbending philosophy in a voice so soft and sweet it made his jaw tighten.
"Aang," you'd said, "what's the most important thing you've learned from the monks?"
He'd looked up at you. His gray eyes were patient, but there was something underneath them now. Something darker.
"Detachment," he'd said.
"Detachment?"
"Letting go of desire." His gaze dropped to your lips. Held. "It's not easy."
You'd smiled. Hopped off the desk. "Good thing I'm not a monk."
You'd walked away, hips swaying, and you'd felt his eyes on you the whole way.
At lunch, you'd fed him fruit.
A piece of mango, held between your fingers, pressed to his lips. He'd opened his mouth—slow, almost reluctant—and let you slide it onto his tongue. His lips had closed around your fingertips. Just for a second. Just enough to make your breath catch.
"Sweet," he'd said.
"The mango?"
"Everything."
You'd pulled your hand back. Smiled. Walked away.
In the afternoon, you'd bathed.
You'd left the door open—just a crack—and you'd hummed while you washed, letting the sound drift through the temple. You'd taken your time. Soaped every inch of your skin. Let the water run over your breasts, down your stomach, between your thighs.
When you'd come out, wrapped in a thin robe, he'd been standing in the hallway.
His arms were crossed. His jaw was tight. His eyes were dark.
"You're doing this on purpose," he'd said.
"Doing what?"
"Torturing me."
You'd blinked. Innocent. Wide-eyed. "I don't know what you mean."
"You know exactly what you mean."
You'd stepped closer. Your chest almost brushed his. Your hand had reached up, touched his cheek.
"I have no idea," you'd whispered, "what you're talking about."
And you'd walked away.
Now it's evening.
The sun has set. The room is dark except for the glow of a single candle. The bed is soft beneath you, the sheets tangled around your limbs, and Aang is on top of you.
He's been on top of you for hours.
Or maybe it's been minutes. You can't tell anymore. Time has lost all meaning. There's only him—his weight, his hands, his cock buried inside you, filling you, stretching you, fucking you so deep you can feel him in your throat.
"Look at you," he says.
His voice is soft. Cooing. Sweet in a way that makes your stomach clench.
"Look at you now. After all that teasing."
You try to answer. A moan comes out instead.
"Mmph—"
"That's right." His hips roll. Slow. Deep. "Can't even talk anymore, can you?"
You shake your head. Tears cling to your lashes.
"Poor thing." His hand cups your face. His thumb brushes your cheek. Gentle. Mocking. "You were so confident this morning. So in control."
"Ngh—"
"Grinding on me in the hallway. Feeding me fruit. Leaving the door open while you bathed." He clicks his tongue. "You wanted my attention. Now you have it."
He thrusts deeper. Your back arches. Your mouth falls open.
"Ah—Aang—"
"Shh." His thumb presses to your lower lip. Pushes inside. "No talking. Just feel."
You suck on his thumb. Your tongue swirls around it. His eyes darken.
"Good girl."
He fucks you harder. His hips snap against yours, and the sound fills the room—wet and obscene. Your breasts bounce with every thrust, full and soft, and he watches them. Watches the way they move. Watches the way your nipples pebble in the cool air.
"So pretty," he murmurs. "These pretty tits. Bouncing for me."
"Ah—ngh—"
"You like when I watch, don't you? Like when I stare at your body while I fuck you."
You nod. Desperate. Needy.
"Say it."
"I like—ah—I like when you watch—"
"Louder."
"I like when you watch—"
He slams into you. Your vision goes white.
"Good girl."
His hand slides from your face. Down your body. Over your stomach, your hip, your thigh. He grips your leg, pushes it up, opens you wider.
"Look at you," he says. "So pretty. So desperate. All for me."
"All for you—"
"That's right." He leans down. His mouth hovers over yours. "All for me."
He kisses you.
It's not gentle. It's messy—sloppy, wet, his tongue sliding against yours, his teeth grazing your lower lip. You moan into his mouth, and he swallows the sound.
When he pulls back, a string of saliva connects your lips.
He looks at it. Smiles.
"Open," he says.
You open your mouth.
He lets his drool fall from his lips. Into your mouth. Warm. Wet. Intimate in a way that makes your head spin.
"Swallow."
You swallow.
His hand grips your jaw. His fingers press into your cheeks. His thumb brushes your lower lip.
"Good girl," he says again. "So good for me."
You whimper. Clench around him.
"So needy," he coos. "So desperate for my cock."
"Please—"
"Please what."
"Please don't stop—"
"I won't." He thrusts. Slow. Deep. "I'm not going to stop until you can't remember your own name."
You believe him.
His pace quickens. His hips slam against yours, and the bed rattles, and your moans fill the room—loud and lewd and completely uninhibited.
"Aang—Aang—Aang—"
"That's it. Say my name. Let everyone hear who's fucking you."
"Ah—ngh—"
"You're close. I can feel you squeezing me."
"I'm close—"
"Not yet."
He slows. Pulls almost all the way out. You sob.
"Aang—please—"
"Please what."
"Please let me come—"
"Beg."
"I'm begging—"
"Beg like you mean it."
You look up at him. Your eyes are wet. Your lips are swollen. Your chest is heaving.
"Please, Aang. Please let me come. I need it. I need you. Please—"
He pushes back in.
You scream.
"Good girl."
He fucks you harder. Faster. His hand finds your clit, circling, pressing, pushing you toward the edge.
"Look at me," he says.
You look.
His gray eyes are dark. His face is flushed. His lips are parted.
"I love you," he says.
"I love you—ah—I love you—"
"Come for me."
You come.
Your body convulses. Your back arches. Your inner walls clamp down on him, squeezing, pulsing. Your mouth opens in a silent scream. Your eyes roll back.
He watches you. Drinks in every expression, every sound, every tremor.
"Beautiful," he murmurs. "So beautiful."
He fucks you through it. Through the spasms and the cries and the way your body clenches around him like it's trying to keep him inside you forever.
"I'm close," he says. "I'm going to fill you up."
"Yes—"
"Say it."
"Fill me up—"
"Say it again."
"Fill me up, Aang—please—"
He groans. His hips stutter. His rhythm breaks.
"Take it," he says. "Take all of it."
----------------
this one was the og draft but wtv....oh and i cant write...gulp forgive me
summary: Clark Kent is the perfect neighbor and the ultimate gentleman. Baking cookies, fixing stuff around your apartment, always there with his reliable smile. So who's he to say no when you ask him to help build your new couch and… break it???
tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, neighbors to friends to lovers, whipped clark kent, he is a gentleman, clark and reader are horny for each other, oral (f receiving). clark has a BIG DICK, unprotected p in v sex, creampie.
wc: 3.4k words.
a/n: first of all... thank you so much to @tw1sters for managing and giving me the chance to take part in this SEXY event! i had so much fine writing it ahhh. second, hugeeeee thanks to @theworstwolvie and @clarknsun for being the first one to read and comment on this one, i am truly grateful. third, @sparklingsin!!!!!!!!! YOU AND YOUR TALENT HELLO i love the header sooo much thank you for making time to make it for me. i love all of you (and you readers too) very dearly <3
KENT masterlist | masterlist
You live in a humble apartment located in the heart of Metropolis. With a good amount of room for one person, every night, the sound of the traffic around you would hum like white noise, the high floor-to-ceiling window showing you the perfect view of the city’s nightlife—you mostly never closed the curtains in your living room—hell, you could even view Superman fighting one of his weekly villain fights through it.
Yet the thing that made you love it even more—to the point where you would rather be inside all day than go out with your friends, declining their offers—was not those.
It was your perfect neighbor: Clark Kent.
You pegged him as the ultimate neighbor since the first day you moved in. As the moment he saw you struggling with your boxes of too much stuff, he immediately offered to help.
Lifting up three heavy objects that were filled with your heavy kitchen appliances and bathroom necessities too easily, you can’t help but stare at those bulging biceps as he moved around. Quickly looking away every time you feel like he’d almost catch you.
And let’s just say your moving-in process was finished in just an hour, rather than the whole afternoon, with his help.
“I’m Clark, by the way,” mentioned the broad and tall man as he brushed his palm against his jeans, with his thick rimmed glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose and his deep dimples and boyish smile that you were sure would make you do a double take if you saw him on the streets.
“I live next door,” he pointed to the unit next to you.
So– you have a good view of the city AND a hot neighbor too? You really felt like you hit the jackpot with this one.
You smiled and offered him your name. “Nice to meet you, neighbor. I hope we could be good friends then.”
He nodded, lips curling up even more. “Just knock if you need anything. I’ll leave you to it?”
Humming, you then lead him out of your boxes-filled apartment, thanking him one last time.
You thought it would stop with him acting like a decent person—just helping a girl out with her things, but it didn’t. Later that night, you heard a knock on the door.
Looking up from your kitchen floor, you fixed up your shirt before padding down the hall. Checking the peephole to see the same new neighbor—Clark—carrying a plate filled with what you presume were freshly baked cookies.
Your eyes widened as you opened the door and saw exactly that. His soft smile, the scent of sweetness and the warmth emanating from the cookies almost made your heartbeat quicken.
“Sorry to bother you,” he fixes up his glasses with his free hand, then offers the plate out.
“Housewarming gift. Freshly made– though please do not mind if it’s not that good.”
You looked down at the plate, taking it, then up at him again. “Clark– wow, you didn’t have to…”
His smile softened immediately. “I wanted to. Hope you enjoy it.”
You breathed out a small thanks before he left you to continue your organizing.
The next day, you knocked on his door. His once-filled plate with cookies was now replaced with chocolate muffins you made all morning.
His surprise was evident, soft red hues creeping up his cheeks to the tips of his ears. “I didn’t make those cookies just so you could bake me something as well,” his brows knitted.
“Well, consider it as a thank you for helping me out yesterday.”
He sighed softly. “Thank you,” with his classic, shy smile.
Then it continued. Always using the “I cooked too much” as a reason.
You’d give him your signature pasta recipe, and he’d return it the next day with a pan of freshly baked pie. He’d give you some homemade chicken dish he told you he learned to make from his Ma, you’d return it with a pint full of ice cream you made (just for him).
Though it went on and didn’t stop with the both of you casually exchanging meals.
Your kitchen pipes weren’t working? He’d be there in seconds with a wrench in his hand after you asked for help. Your eyes zeroed the moment his shirt went damp, making it practically transparent. You gulped as you stared at how his back muscles shifted with every move.
You didn’t know he could hear the way your breath hitched, though. His own body reacting the same as he could feel that you were also being affected by the closeness of the moment.
“Just need it to be tightened up,” he hummed, looking up at you from his knees just before the under-sink cabinet.
“Oh–” you straightened up, his voice breaking the trance you were in. “All fixed then?”
“Yeah…” he murmured as he stood up, his tall figure towering over you.
You felt your neck straining. “Thank you, Clark.”
“No worries. I’m open to help you with whatever, okay?”
Whatever, huh?
You almost choked at your own spit with the thought of him helping you with whatever. Immediately pushing those… thoughts down.
“Okay,” you managed to rasp out.
He smiled again before he continued with his day.
“Fuck…” you muttered to yourself the moment you closed your door, your forehead thudded against the wood.
More happened.
You were cooking, realized you were out of some ingredients, and went to him.
“Hey, sorry to bother you… but I’m cooking something, and I just realized that I’m out of onions. Do you potentially have any spare ones?” you asked him sheepishly.
Clark cursed to himself because he didn’t have any. He wanted to keep being the one you go to with every struggle you have; he wanted to keep being your lifeline and salvation, so what did he do?
“I’m sorry I don’t… though I’m gonna go out,” a lie. “Soap’s running short,” another lie. Clark literally just bought a full bottle yesterday.
“Really? Would you help me get some onions then?” your eyes gleaming with anticipation, but not wanting to burden him.
“Of course,” he smiled. “I’ll go get some for you.”
He returned less than 30 minutes later with a bag of onions and some snacks you mentioned you liked weeks ago.
You flushed, thanked him, and he nodded before leaving.
Week after week, it kept happening. It was like the both of you were trying to make excuses to see each other even more.
Purposefully switching up your mails with each other. When he saw your balcony railing wobbled just below an inch, he’d offer to fix it immediately. He heard you struggling with your shopping bags after a day out? He would take it from your hands, letting you carry nothing in your hands.
The both of you started to get closer. Unprompted movie nights in his unit, baking and cooking together, even doing nothing but enjoying a warm cup of tea as you both sit on the lounge chairs on your balcony, sharing childhood stories and laughing together.
Oh, both of you were falling deep.
The gaze held longer, smile now softer—deeper in a way—nothing like you ever shared with other people. You told him about your day, your stressful work, your family—and he told you about his life.
It was sweet, really. Clark Kent was sweet.
At this point, he knew everything about you. How you take your coffee, how your nose scrunched before you let out his favorite free laugh every time he made one of his stupid jokes, how sweet you smell whenever his touch lingered just on your thighs whenever you whispered a secret to him, how your pulse thrummed so evidently the moment he tucked a stray hair behind your ear.
And you knew everything about him as well. How his eyes would crinkle with amusement when you rolled your eyes and acted all annoyed, how his hand would linger around you as you both worked around the kitchen, how his body would tense, how his breath would hitch every time you told him something about yourself. Every time you draped yourself on his lap while watching one of the romcoms you forced him to see.
You felt it. The palpable tension, so thick you could cut it with a dull knife, through the not-so-innocent touches, the whispered words—He felt it too. The problem was, Clark Kent is too much of a gentleman to break those boundaries first, and there’s no way you’re the one who’d tear the bandaid off.
So the both of you didn’t advance into anything more than his arm around your shoulder as you both relaxed, or your arms around him as you let out your stress through the feeling of his warmth and scent wrapped around you.
Until one day.
You told him you were buying a couch, and even made him help you pick the color and measure your space. So the moment it arrived, he was at his feet instantly. Going down to carry the box filled with the parts.
It should be normal now; he’s helping you make furniture and fixing around your place, though he usually didn’t use this thin, figure-hugging compression shirt that made all of his muscles look swollen.
He made you stay out of it completely, just like always, not wanting you to do the work at all—yet you can’t help but linger.
You can’t help but ogle him—practically sexualizing him inside of your head.
The way his bicep would flex with every twist of the screwdriver, his veins popping under his sleeves through his forearm, making you wonder if those blood vessels would also look this enticing around his cock.
Your thighs clench the moment he lay under the couch as he tightened the bolts there. His shirt was riding up to reveal a patch of his skin, covered with soft hairs leading down to his crotch.
And he knew. He could practically smell the heavy, sweet smell of your arousal. He could hear the soft breaths you didn’t even know you let out every time he shifted, and his shirt went up even more.
His own body starts to heat up, flushing even though all of his blood was going south. He was thankful that he opted to wear his baggy sweats rather than his tight jeans.
Nevertheless, you saw his bulge start to thicken under the grey fabric. Eyes widening, you immediately looked away.
Clearing your throat. “Do you want some water?”
He looked up, noting the way that you were more fidgety than usual. “Yeah. Sure, thanks.”
You gave him a tight-lipped smile before walking through the kitchen.
Clark couldn’t help but fixate his eyes on your form. Your soft curves swaying with every step, ass peeking out of those short shorts that—the fact that it was always shorter than the last made it obvious that you want him to see. But he can’t. He can’t lose his control–
Gods, you were bending over the freezer now.
He shut his eyes, sucking a deep breath and letting it out shakily. He felt it wavering—his self-control thinning with every quiet hum you let out of your lips.
His fingers tightened around the whatever tool he was holding instantly. His cock throbbing inside his boxers, wanting—needing to be freed from the confinement and the pressure.
You knelt beside him, handing him the cold water. “All good?”
He cleared his throat, hand brushing over the couch’s fresh cushion to distract himself. “All good.”
You then helped him, fingers brushing his palm, lingering on his forearms whenever he asked you for a tool, and you’d give it. You also made it more obvious now that you saw him get hard.
You would blatantly eye him up and down, bare thighs brushing against his hands– you were horny.
Clark Kent made you horny, and he was the only one who could fix it.
His fingers would tighten around the wooden foot, and you imagined it was you instead. He’d let out grunts, and you imagined that it was you pulling it out of him, how he would probably praise you instead of dirty talking just because he was so respectful—too respectful.
He gulped as he watched how your breath starts to quicken, mirroring it unconsciously.
Then– Click.
The last bolt—the last piece of the couch was put in place. Dragging you back into reality.
“You’re done?” you asked.
He nodded, and you immediately sank down onto the new couch. Shifting around to feel the soft padding underneath you.
He joins, and your thighs grazed immediately, making you almost jolt—the neediness heightening back up inside you.
“It feels solid…” he murmured.
You finally glance at him, eyes low and half-lidded with lust. “Wanna test it?”
He eyed you, the way your chest heaved, pupils blown out before rushing forward and kissing the life out of you.
You stumbled with your lips, before wrapping your arms around him and pulling him flush on top of you as you sank against the armrest. Lips parting, swiping your tongue along his lower lip before nipping it, making him groan out your name.
His fingers brushed along the hem of your shirt, lips separating from yours so he could kiss down your jaw and neck.
“Ask me to stop and I will, sweetheart,” he whispered against your skin.
You shook your head profusely.
“I need words…” as he pulled away to study your face, the way your eyes glossed with want.
“Please– I need you, Clark, please…” You whined.
“Of course,” giving a soft kiss on your cheek. “Anything for you, sweet girl,” another on your lips. The nicknames and his gentleness burned you inside out, making you fall deeply towards him more and more.
He finally lifted your shirt off gently, kissing every inch of your skin revealed. Unclasping your bra, groaning at the sight of your breasts bare before him.
You squirmed underneath him the moment he wrapped his soft pink lips around your hardened nipple. Back arching as your hands found his shoulder and squeezed it.
“You’re so beautiful…” he murmured, kissing further down till his lips made contact with the waistband of your shorts. “Can I?”
“Yes– Clark, yes…” his hips lifting instantly as he hooked his fingers around it, pulling it and your panties with such softness and gentleness that no other man could give other than him.
He let out a shuddered breath as he spread your thighs open. The delicious scent of you hits all of his senses immediately.
He hummed as he saw how your folds glistened—borderline dripping. “Don’t wanna make a mess on the new couch, don’t we, sweetheart?” he whispered, before hooking your legs over your shoulder and diving right into it. Collecting all of your wetness—dragging his tongue on your hole up to your clit, making you let out a quiet cry.
“Clark–!” fingers snaking through his curls, tugging them as you held yourself back from grinding your hips against his mouth.
He looped his arms around your thighs, mouth expertly working you out—all the while his gaze stayed on you. Watching every bit of your reactions, the way you threw your head back against the armrest, eyes rolled, lower lip stuck between your teeth as you hold back your sounds.
It was a sight he could never forget now. He was sure to etch it into the deepest crook of his brain.
You whined out his name the moment he pulled back, though. “I know… I’m gonna give you something better, okay?”
You nodded reluctantly, too weak, too drunk with pleasure to deny and fight him over it. You kept your eyes as he stripped out of his clothes. Hole fluttering and tightening around nothing the moment he was bare before you.
His cock—full of girth and length, was straining and slapping against his stomach. His tip red, glistening with his pre. “You’re– huge, holy shit…”
He let out a soft chuckle. “I’ll make it fit. Don’t worry,” as his fingers brushed your hair back, grazing along your cheekbones.
You hummed softly, parting your legs even more to accommodate his broad figure.
Clark lets out a moan as he begins to slowly slide his tip against your folds. “So wet… you’ve been wanting this, hm?”
The silent nod in your response made his heart bloom, because he had wanted this too. He imagined this happening too many times before—whether when he was with you or alone in his bedroom whispering your name as he stroked himself to the thoughts of you—and really, the reality was so much better for him.
The moment he finally pushed himself inside you? He broke. Letting out a deep guttural sound to the feeling of your velvet walls wrapped so perfectly around him—it was as if you were made for him, no– he was made for you.
And you felt the burn, the stretch, splitting you open from your inside. Your hands find his arms immediately. Making imprints of your nails as you dug into his skin from the feeling of the pleasurable pain.
“Clark–”
“Shh… open up for me, sweetheart. I know you can.”
He stayed still the moment he was buried deep inside you, fingers softly brushing along your bare skin as you began to relax.
You nodded, eyes looking up at him with adoration the moment the burn dissipates.
“All ready?” he asked softly.
“Yeah…”
The both of you let out choruses of moans as he began moving, slowly at first. He pulled your arms so you could wrap them around his neck, his own snaking around your back just to keep you close to him.
His forehead pressed against yours. “You feel so good…” he whispered, pulling you into a deep kiss filled with passion. He kept his easy pace, but it was like he was holding back.
“More…” you moaned against his lips.
Who was he to deny you, his sweet, sweet girl, from pleasure?
He picked up his pace. Still deep, reaching to every inch of your walls, but it was more punishing now.
The couch starts to squeak underneath you—but you both didn’t care. Too captivated by the feeling of each other’s bodies to even notice the foot of the couch.
“Fuck–!” you moaned the moment he angled your hips. Your fingers now sprawled on the span of his back, raking it. Your walls began to clench around him tightly, making him fuck you deeper and faster.
“More!” you cried. And he served. His thrusts now punishing, both your chests panting. Your gasps and his moans echo around your apartment.
Clark swore that you were like an angel before him. With your body wrapped around a thin sheet of sweat that made it seem like you're glowing, hair messily draped everywhere yet still beautiful, your breasts bouncing like an invitation, and your face… gods, your face. He could die peacefully thinking about it alone.
So utterly beautiful and broken, and he was the one who did it.
His hips are working like an animal now, brutal, feral.
You finally realized that the couch underneath you was shaking, but you didn’t care. All you could think about was him, him, and him.
He noticed the way the couch was groaning in protest with the amount of pressure it was being given, but the way your cunt was tightening around him meant that he couldn’t stop. “Gonna break this–” before your walls gripped his cock even further.
“Gonna come–!” you cried.
“Give it to me, sweetheart. Come on.”
And you obeyed. Letting out a sharp cry of his name as your body jolts—convulsing as the waves after waves of orgasm hit your senses—burning your body with the amount of pleasure.
“Fuck–” he cursed, fucking you deeper as he chased his own climax. At last, with a final and intense thrust–
Craaack.
The foot snapped completely, making you yelp out and scrambling to hold onto him.
Clark didn’t even realize that he had already came and spilled inside you, too stunned, too focused on making sure you’re not hurt.
“Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?” his eyes widened, doing a one-overlook look at you to make sure no blood came out of you.
Your arms tightened, before you burst out laughing. “I am–” you wheezed. “The couch though…”
He blinked, then huffing out a small and relieved chuckle. “Guess it’s not strong enough, huh?”
Before pulling you onto his lap, shifting you on the floor carefully—still seethed deep inside you, and tugging you closer into a soft kiss. Fingers cuping your cheeks gently.
People dancing, singing, swaying their hips to the music everywhere you looked. Bottles of tempting liquor and cigarette butts coated the floor more so than the confetti that had once rained from the ceiling.
Everyone was enjoying themselves — grinding back onto a stranger they wouldn’t remember in the morning, wincing as a shot burnt down their throat, or belting the lyrics to a well-known song. All cooped up in their own personal satisfaction in the thriving club.
Not Michael.
His attention was demanded by people all day everyday, especially since his new release album Thriller, he was the name on everyone’s lips. Constantly needed, constantly wanted — commanded to speak or dance or put on a show.
But, right now the only show he cared about was the one you were putting on.
All of his attention failed to place on anyone surrounding him. Their faux, fame-hungry interest in his personal life went on deaf ears despite the booming music that sent shockwaves through his body — it was on you.
Watching from a private VIP booth, separated from the rest of the public club-goers, his eyes locked on the way your body moved with practiced precision with the music. Moving like every song took over your body, every beat co-ordinating your hips like a puppet-master — hands gliding over your frame in slow, subtly teasing movements that had his bottom lip suckled between his teeth.
You were ethereal — motions so practiced he was certain you were crafted straight from a musician and a dancer, a talent handed to you from birth. Alas, not — your tactical dancing crafted from pure adoration for music.
Lucky your boyfriend was a singer then, huh?
You’d been dating Michael for a few months and not once had he seen you so enchanting. Sure, when he played you his demo’s you’d groove, not caring who saw — something that always made him smile. You had a definite talent for dance rooted deep in your bones that Michael admired — often playing his songs for you just to see you move.
But, this. This was different.
The way you were moving, like fresh waves gliding against the soft of the sand, like light enveloping over the shadows of skin, cascading over sun-kissed flesh in bright colours — it had him stuck. Stuck watching through the dark of his aviators, head lolled to the side ever so slightly, as if bending his vision to deepen his entranced glare.
He loved letting you do your thing when you went out — you were his girl, loud and proud, but you were also your own individual. Someone who could have fun without being told no — he loved that about you. How you weren’t intimidated by a man, especially someone of his popularity, and allowed yourself to still be you and have your fun despite who you affiliated with.
“Y’girl’s got moves, brother.” Even the sound of Quincy Jones’ voice, his beloved producer to his biggest album to date, couldn’t pull him from his transfixion.
Michael hummed in response, index finger laid gently on his bottom lip, thumb resting on the underside of his chin, eyes never leaving your frame as your hands raked through the length of your hair, brushing it from your shoulders to reveal the bare of your back, on show promiscuously by your open-backed top.
It didn’t help that the leather shorts that clad your plump behind left little to the imagination — the curve of your ass barely visible to a passerby, but the full focus of Michael’s vision. That specific attribute that adorned your perfect body Michael loved so much — one he’d grip every chance he got, needing the plush skin in his large palms as you rode his cock, revelling in the recoil that every thrust he bucked up into your sopping cunt gave to your roundness.
And that plumpness that he adored so much was poked out behind you, one hand on your knee, the other in the air, fingers curling around the tune that blessed your ears, hips swivelling from side to side methodically.
“You got real lucky, Mike.” Quincy added, a laugh breathed out of him as they both watched you.
“Sure did.” Michael finally spoke, voice low and soft, like he always did, despite the sensual activity he was indulging in by watching you dance so fluidly.
“Who taught her to dance like that? Dangerous thing.”
Michael smiled, “She jus’ a natural.” Suddenly feeling smug at the fact that he had you all to himself — the sensual dancer, Michael Jackson’s girl, he was a cocky little bastard right now.
“Well, shit.” Quincy breathed, “Can see why you wrote all those lovey-dovey songs now, boy.” Quincy’s loud laugh hit Michael’s ears, not once moving to react, “Next album’s gonna go crazy if she keeps that up. Better get ya in the studio quick before someone snatches her up.”
Michael stayed silent — the thought of anyone threatening to take you away from him had him tensing up. A thought that forced his jaw into a tight clench.
You only stopped your sensuality at the sound of a whistle — head turning behind you to see Quincy Jones beckoning you over, four fingers curling in the air. You huffed, body warm, before making your way over to the booth situated at the back of the room — smiling at the security who guarded the entrance. They already knew exactly who you were.
“Tell your man to answer me.” Quincy teased, smiling next to your man in question, “Y’got him mute with those moves, girl.”
You laughed, wiping a bead of sweat that trickled down your temple, “Feelin’ quiet tonight, baby?”
Michael, attempting to suppress it but failing miserably at the sight of you up close and the sound of your pretty voice, let the corner of his mouth twitch up into a smirk.
“Maybe.” His voice slow, “Just enjoyin’ what I’m watching.”
“And what’s that?”
“You.”
The sexual tension that arose sent a shockwave of silence within everyone in the small booth — side glances exchanged as they ogled at the way you eyed one another with desire unable to miss.
“Alright, fella’s, let’s leave the lovebirds be.” Quincy chuckled, sending a wink Michael’s way, before ushering everyone out of the booth.
And then there were two.
Just you, hot and teetering on spent, the dancing tiring your glistening body, and Michael, a pompous smirk on his face, large arm now resting on the ledge of the booth behind him.
“Enjoy the show, honey?” You were teasing, and Michael knew it. He could sense it in the way you spoke, your voice low and dark, tempting him, with a manicured hand on your hip.
“Close the curtain, please.” He called, voice loud enough for the security to hear. Your heart skipped a beat at the subtle insinuation of what was yet to come — swallowing thickly at the sound of the large curtains shutting you into the room.
At first, nobody moved. Just staring — his sunglasses clad eyes fixated on your own. Watching. Fixating. Tempting.
“C’mere, pretty.” The sound of his ring-clad fingers tapping against the meat of his thigh hit your ears, beckoning you to his lap.
You obeyed — heels clicking against the floor as you strutted over to him, placing yourself neatly in the comfort of his lap. Michael loved you like this — sitting all pretty on him, your ass pressed perfectly onto his crotch. Your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck, letting your legs dangle off the edge of his leg.
“Liked what’cha saw then, baby?” Your voice sickly sweet as you grinned up at him, eyes full of desperation for praise — your smile a subtle tease.
“Yeah, angel, sure did.” He spoke, a palm grazing over the soft of your thigh, the other pressed against the small of your back, “Looked so pretty out there dancin’.”
Your cheeks flushed red at the compliment, leaning over to press a loving kiss to his cheek, nose nudging his famous aviators. A soft gasp left your plump lips as his hand trailed further up your leg, dangerously close to where you throbbed due to his enticing touches.
“How ‘bout you show me what else you can look pretty doin’?”
Your heart hammered in your chest at the insinuation as his fingers grazed over your clothed cunt through your shorts — a needy whine ripping from your throat at the teasing sensation. Eager to please, you nodded quickly — gnawing on your lip as you awaited his command.
“Get on y’knees f’me, doll.”
You complied willingly without protest — falling to your knees between his spreading legs. The cold of the floor sent a chilling sensation throughout your burning body — still unable to cool the inflamed desire that thumped inside you.
Michael’s hand reached down to cup your flushed cheek — his vast hand covering majority of your face, thumb stroking the supple skin. His fingers trailed down your face, reaching your pouting lips, tugging your bottom one down with the pad of his thumb — before retracting his hand all together and leaning back comfortably in the chair.
“Get to work then, sweetheart,” He commanded, “Show me just how pretty y’can get.”
With a hum of appreciation at the endearing pet-name, your trembling hands flew to his trousers — the clink of his belt hitting the floor forced your thighs together in anticipation. Michael, cooperatively, lifted his hips just enough for you to shuffle his tight slacks and boxers, a painful restraint, down his legs, pooling at his ankles.
His cock, a pretty mauve colour, slapped against his clothed abdomen, a quiet hiss leaving his throat as the rush of air hit the warmth of him. Your eager hands wasted no time — spitting a lewd glob into your palm and enclosing around the shaft, revelling in the way Michael hummed in contentment.
Your nimble hands, looking awfully small in comparison to his thickness, worked him up and down — pumping him slowly, tightening your grip each time you’d slide to his cockend. Only when your thumb swiped the bead of pre-cum that oozed from his tip did Michael groan, peering over his sunglasses at you.
“Quit teasin’, doll.” His hand slid around your face, encasing the nape of your neck in his grasp, forcing your face closer to his twitching cock, “Open up, sweetheart.”
As your lips parted, Michael pushed the fat of tip between them — groaning lowly as you suckled around it, instantly swirling your tongue around the leaking end. The taste of his bitter, yet equally tasty, pre had you whining around him — the rumble sending shivers down his spine at the sensation. The feeling so great that it involuntarily forced his hips to buck — dick slotted down your throat so fast a gag ripped from you.
Still the gentlemen, Michael went to drag you from his length, prioritising your comfort — but, you stopped him. Hands gripping the fat of his thighs to signal him to leave you be, hands falling at his sides as he fell deeper into your mercy — a louder moan falling past his lips as you bobbed your head up and down him.
Michael knew he was blessed when you deliberately gagged around him — burying your nose into the dark curls of his pubic hair, basking in the way his head thumped against the back of the booth, hand cupping your cheek, holding you in place as he throbbed in your throat.
When you’d pull off, saliva connecting your plush lips to his drooling cock, coughing and spluttering as you caught your breath, did it really hit Michael how insanely pretty you really were.
He’d always known it, but watching you encase your lips around his tip, suckling it like a delicious lollipop, spit glistening on your chin, doe-eyes peering up at him as tears streamed down your beautiful face — he was certain he’d fallen in love all over again.
“That’s it,” He coaxed, hands following your fluid movements as he held your face, swallowing thickly as you slowly took more and more of him down your greedy throat, “Suckin’ my dick so pretty, dollface.”
And when you wrapped your delicate hand around the base of him, accompanied by hollowing your cheeks around the girth of him, did he really loose it. Hips bucking up without a care in the world, completely at your mercy as you worked your magic around him — curses and praises mumbled above you.
“Shit, angel, gonna cum.” He warned, “Wanna paint that pretty face white.”
He tugged you off him quickly, a frantic hand encasing around his manhood, pumping himself quickly, chasing the high as he sucked his lip between his teeth, eyebrows furrowed tightly together — focused on the way you slid your tongue out, lapping at the tip, awaiting his sweet release.
“Shut ya’ eyes baby.”
And when your eyes fluttered shut, you hummed in delight at the first spurt of his release landed straight on your twitching tongue, the tang of his cum settling on the muscle. Michael cursed loudly, eyes fixated, like they had been all night, on your gorgeous face as he pumped himself languidly — utterly aroused at the way his cum splattered over your cheeks, chin, and tongue, even so far as reaching above your eyebrow. Completely coating you in his milky white seed — now slowly dripping down your face as your eyes fluttered open.
Michael peered down at you, soaked with his release, large eyes peering up at him through your eyes like he hung the stars for you, a loving smile spreading across your face as you swallowed the remains of his seed that landed on your tongue.
“Most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.” He praised, shaking his head in disbelief at how he managed to pull a girl so captivating.
His fingers reached forwards, swiping up the stray dollop of cum that adorned your eyebrow, collecting the essence on digits, before presenting them before your spit-stained lips, “Don’t wanna miss any, right, doll?”
You shook your head as you wrapped your lips around his fingers, hands encasing around his wrist as you hummed at the taste of him — tongue swirling around his digits, sucking them clean. Michael repeated this with each area of your face that was coated with his cum — swiping each place and shoving his fingers into your eager mouth, letting you savour the taste of him.
Michael sat back, softening cock hanging free, as he watched you — smirking at the way you licked your lips, openly enjoying the flavours of him.
It was only when a strangled cry left his mouth, hips twitching violently as you wrapped your slutty mouth around the drooling head of his cock once more — lapping up the dribble of cum that rolled down him, did he realise you were fucking ravenous for his cock.
Michael pulled you off with a pop, chest heaving at the sudden overstimulation, face scrunching in surprise.
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.
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.
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.”
Summary: It’s been two long, excruciating weeks since you’ve seen your boyfriend, Michael. He’s been at the studio nonstop, working on his new album. The last time he was at your apartment, he accidentally left his jacket behind. Using that as an excuse, you decided to pay him a little visit…
Tags: Smut, P in V, teasing, thigh!humping, dom!Michael, sub!reader, established relationship, fingering, slight praise kink, overstimulation,
Word Count:
Authors Note: Hi!! This is my first time writing a one-shot on tumblr. I usually write full length fan fics on wattpad so this is new to me as is writing smut. LOL. I still have a lot to work on but I thought this was some what okay to post. If yall have any tips/tricks or suggestions plz comment!! Don’t be shy!
You lay across your stomach, your feet lazily kicking in the air at the edge of your queen sized bed. Your emerald silk robe draped loosely over your shoulders, slipping every so often as you absentmindedly flipped through the pages of a magazine you’d already read a hundred times before.
Across your bedroom, the CD player quietly filled the room with music. You’d turned the volume down minutes ago, leaving it as little more than a soft backdrop.
The emptiness of your bedroom, usually filled with the company of your boyfriend, Michael, made you want to scream in frustration.
You toyed with the sleeve of your silk robe between your fingers, lazily drawing shapes onto it. No matter how hard you tried to focus on anything else, your thoughts kept drifting back to Michael. His smile. The kind that seemed to linger in your mind long after it was gone. The dark curls that fell around his face. His presence that somehow managed to fill every room he walked into. The sound of his voice, soft and familiar. His hands. His touch.
Oh how much you missed his touch.
Every thought seemed to circle back to him no matter how many times you tried to focus on something else.
The past two weeks you hadn’t seen each other at all due to him being at the studio 24/7. Quincy was very strict on his schedule especially towards the end of the recording process of an album. You knew how much of a grueling process it was. You had of course been calling each other whenever he could, but it wasn’t the same as actually seeing him. Between recording sessions, rehearsals, and endless hours at the studio, Michael had practically been living there.
You had been together for two years now. By this point, you were used to it. Whenever Michael got busy at the studio, he practically lived there for days at a time.
Usually, though, he’d still find a way to see you. sometimes he’d come over to your apartment in the middle of the night when you were asleep, as he had a key to your apartment. He’d climb into your bed, just barely feeling him beside you as he would try his hardest not to wake you up. Or you’d turn over and find him sleeping next to you. Other times, you’d wake up just as he’s leaving early in the morning. Every time you thought he’d finally have a free evening, something else came up.
And as much as you understood it, you missed him.
Your eyes drift across the room toward the vanity chair tucked in the corner of your bedroom. Michael’s jacket still hung over the back of it exactly where he’d left it. You kept meaning to return it, but between your schedule and his practically living at the studio lately, you never got the chance.
Or at least, that’s what you keep telling yourself.
It still smelled like him, it begin to be the first thing you’d smell as soon as you stepped into the bedroom. Too embarrassed to admit this, but you smell it when you missed him the most.
The familiar scent had a way of pulling you backward in time, straight into some of your happiest memories together. You would catch yourself starting to day dream about him. His smile, specifically how the right side of his bottom lip would dip further down when he smiled. His laugh, you could still distinctively hear. His curls framing his face so perfectly. And his lips… god, his lips, the way he’d kiss you and you’d melt right into him.
The way he’d trail soft kisses down your body and leave marks all over you.
Everytime you think about it, you end up nearly breathless. Closing your thighs tightly as the ache for him hits you once again. You resist touching yourself to the thought of him. You couldn’t take it anymore. You couldn’t handle being away from him anymore.
You push yourself up, quickly walking to your walk in closet across the bedroom and flipping through the articles of clothing. Your eyes settled on the jacket draped over the chair once again.
You bite your lip, trying and failing, to suppress a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth as a thought slipped into your mind. You get dressed quickly, quicker than you ever had before.
As Bill arrived downstairs you quickly grabbed the jacket from the chair and slipped it on without a second thought. The moment it settled over your shoulders, the scent of his cologne immediately hit you. After two weeks, it was the closest thing you’d had to him. The closest thing to being wrapped in his arms, to leaning against him, to simply having him nearby.
The sleeves hung past your wrists, and the jacket was far too big for you, swallowing your frame in a way that should have looked ridiculous. Instead, it somehow worked. You glanced at yourself in the mirror as you headed for the door. The oversized jacket paired surprisingly well with your outfit, looking less like something you’d thrown on at the last minute and more like it was planned.
With a nervous giggle, you slipped into the backseat of the car. Bill shakes his head with a faint smile on his face. He knew you were up to no good.
The entire drive there, a strange mix of nervousness and excitement twisted in your stomach. Mostly because no one knew you were coming except Bill. You didn’t want to call the studio so they didn’t let Quincy know- then he wouldn’t let Michael come see you.
Instead you decided you were going to sneakily kidnap him from his recording session. Just for a bit… Two weeks was more than enough. Surely the world wouldn’t end if Michael stepped away from a recording session for five minutes.
Once you entered the building, most of your confidence had diminished and now you were a nervous wreck. The bold plan you’d spent the entire car ride building up in your head suddenly didn’t seem nearly as clever. But you were still sticking to the plan- you couldn’t do anything else. You needed to have at least 5 minutes alone with him.
“Here to see Michael?” The front desk receptionist, Jan, called out, pressing the receiver to her ear.
Too caught up in your thoughts, you didn’t quite hear her as you speed-walked through the hallway. This time, calling out your name louder. You blinked out of your thoughts and turned around, realizing she’d been trying to get your attention this entire time.
“Oh- yes sorry,” you laughed nervously. “I didn’t hear you.”
She nodded slowly, a crooked smile pulling at her lips as her eyes swept over your outfit. Her gaze lingered for a second too long. A knowing, slightly judgmental look crossed her face before her eyes landed on the oversized jacket draped over your shoulders. You look down at your outfit, tugging your skirt down a bit further. You hadn’t realized how short your skirt was until now. Michaels jacket had been covering most of your legs.
“He’s right down the hall, Hun. They’re about to take a break.”
With a quick nod, you crossed the hallway and made your way toward the recording studio, coming to a stop just outside the door. Suddenly you hear Quincy’s voice get louder as he starts approaching the door. His voice carried through the door, muffled enough that you couldn’t make out the words but you knew he was about to exit the room.
Swiftly, you glanced around the hallway before spotting an empty room directly across the studio. You slipped into the dark room, quietly pulling the door shut behind you. Not all the way, just enough to leave a small gap. You pressed yourself against the wall and peered through the crack. Your heart beating a little faster as you waited.
Quincy opens the door, his voice becoming louder now that he was standing in the hallway. “I’m gonna grab some coffee. Run that verse a few more times while I’m gone.” He said, pointing towards who you assume is Michael inside the studio. “Mess around with it a little. Sometimes the best stuff happens when nobody’s in the room.” He chuckles lightly, before turning around, nearly catching you staring at him through the door you’d left slightly a-jar.
You almost let out a sigh of relief as he walked away. “Alright. I think I’m getting closer.” Michael announced, before you hear his voice getting closer.
He stepped out of the studio, half his body still inside the room while the other half stood in the hallway. “Grab a glass of OJ for me, will you? Im getting thirsty.”
That was your que.
You slowly pushed the door open, peeking out into the hall to make sure Quincy was gone. Once you were sure he was gone, you quickly walked through the hall. Michael barely had time to register what was happening before you grabbed his arm and yanked him into the dark room. Quickly shutting the door behind you, before turning around.
For a moment all you could hear was his breathing. “Baby…?” His voice rang in your ear, so soft and sweet. “What’re you doing here?”
You shrug your shoulders despite it being pitch black in the room, your hands remained on the doorknob “I came to see you.” You whispered.
He didn’t speak for a few seconds, all you could hear was the sound of him shifting somewhere in the small room. Suddenly, the warm - yellow lights overhead flickered on, bathing the room in a soft glow. Your eyes frantically scanned the small room, until they land on Michael. He was standing only a few feet away, one hand still resting on the light switch, watching you with an expression you couldn’t quite read. A large wooden table sat in the center of the room, surrounded by a row of chairs that took up most of the space.
Michael slowly turned toward you, stepping in front of you until there was no avoiding his gaze.
His curls fell lazily around his eyes and face, his clothes polished and neat as always. His lips lightly parted, a hint of surprise lingered on his face as his eyes remained locked on yours
You could feel your heartbeat pounding in your chest so clearly, you almost could melt at the sight of him. Two weeks wasn’t that long, yet somehow the sight of him made it feel much longer. The urge to throw your arms around him was almost overwhelming.
A slight smirk creeps up his face, a breathy chuckle leaves his parted lips. He shook his head as he remained still infront of you, leaving only a few inches between the two of you.
“Couldn’t stay away any longer, huh?…” He murmured softly, taking a step closer, the amusement in his eyes only deepened as the distance between you disappeared little by little. He cups your jaw looking down at you with nothing short of delectation hidden deep beneath his black irises. “Wearing my jacket?” He added.
You nod your head slowly, barely registering a word he was saying. It was hard to focus on anything when your eyes are fixed on his. “You- uhm- forgot your jacket at my apartment. I was just stopping by and wanted to give it back.”
He let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head. “You came all this way…” He said slowly, one eyebrow lifting as he glanced down at the oversized jacket draped over your shoulders, toying with the buttons in his hand, before looking back at you, “to return my jacket?” He questioned. You nod, “Yeah..” Your response sounding more like a question rather than an answer.
“You sure about that?” He asked curiously, his hands had now found their way to your waist underneath the jacket. The contact sent shivers down your spine as his large hands kneaded the skin at your sides.
You swallow the lump in your throat as you look between his eyes. Nodding once again. No matter how long you’d been together, that familiar nervousness always seemed to creep in whenever he got this close. Especially when he touched you- in anyway. He’s so strikingly intimidating. The way he would tower over you and take control made you speechless.
“I don’t know… you look so sexy in it. I’m not sure I want it back anymore.” He hummed, his hands continue to caress your hips before making their way down to your backside.
He tugs at the bottom of your skirt lightly. “This for me too?”
Suddenly you find yourself not being able to express a single thought let alone a word. You stand there embarrassingly quiet.
He chuckled softly once again, his smile widening until it exposed a row of pearly whites. “Use your words for me, sweet girl. I wanna hear your voice.”
“Yes-“ you breathe out, nodding your head eagerly this time. His words were enough to make your stomach flutter. Your hands found the edges of his open flannel, gently tugging him closer. Now standing chest to chest, you tilted your head up to look at him. “I miss you so much. I just needed to see you.”
“Mmm,” He hummed softly. “I’m sorry I’ve been so distant lately.” The teasing amusement in his expression slightly faded. He softens for a moment, one of his hands lifted, gently cupping your jaw as his thumb brushed lightly against your cheek.. “Quincy has been working me like crazy. Once I’m done, I promise, I’ll be all yours again.”
Your hand lifted to rest over his, holding the one cupping your jaw. Without even thinking about it, you leaned into his touch. Your eyes drifted shut for a few brief moments as you simply stood there, letting yourself enjoy the feeling of having him close again. The warmth of his hand against your skin. The familiar comfort of his presence. “I know, it’s not your fault. I just needed to see you today. I’m so tired of missing you… and needing you.” You confessed, your eyes opening and drifting up to meet his.
Immediately you recognized the grin spreading across his face. The look that told you he’d noticed exactly how affected you were. His hand remained cupping your jaw as his thumb drifted upward, brushing lightly against your bottom lip. The gesture was absentminded, almost teasing. His eyes followed the movement for a moment before returning to yours, the smile on his face only growing by the second. “How about I make it up to you, mama?” He paused for a moment. “Right now.”
You felt your cheeks warm instantly, your grip on his flannel tightened. He noticed, of course he noticed. He loved watching the way you melted helplessly against him. The ache between your thighs growing increasingly sore as you contiune to squeeze your thighs together tightly. Your breathing grew steadily more uneven. And after two weeks apart, having him this close again was enough to make your mind completely forget how to behave.
“Please,” you breathe out “I need you so bad, Michael. You pleaded, your voice trembling slightly as you looked up at him.
He brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear before slowly leaning in. The distance between you slightly disappeared until your noses brushed, your eyes fluttered closed instinctively. A nervous breath caught in your throat as your fingers curled tighter around his flannel, gently pulling him closer, unwilling to let even an inch remain between you.
A teasing smile tugged at his lips as he leaned in the rest of the way. You instinctively parted your lips, expecting him to fully close the distance. Instead, he barely brushed his lips against yours before pulling back again, just enough to make your breath catch. The amused look in his eyes told you exactly what he was doing. He was teasing you, the realization sent a wave of nervous anticipation through you. You were convinced your knees might give out beneath you.
“Please, Mikey.” you whispered, your voice shaky with emotion, your eyes nearly rolling into the back of your head from desperation. “Don’t tease me. Not right now. I need you so bad.”
A smile tugged at his lips, and you could feel it even from this close, The look in his eyes told you he found your reaction far too amusing. If anything, your pleading only seemed to encourage him. A quiet laugh escaped him, warm and soft, and the sound alone sent another wave of nervousness through you. The tension between you only grew thicker.
He could have kept teasing you if he wanted to. Nobody knew that better than you. He always seemed to enjoy drawing out moments like this, watching your composure slowly unravel until you were completely at his mercy, unable to focus on anything except him. Until you were a crying, begging mess underneath him. But a quick glance toward the door was enough to remind him where he was. And as much as he might have enjoyed making you wait a little longer, the reality was that his break was running out.
After a few lingering seconds, his expression softened. He closed the remaining distance between you, your lips finally meeting in a clash of urgent recklessness. His lips were soft against yours, familiar in a way that immediately made your chest ache. The kiss lingered, neither of you wanted to be the first to pull away. All you could hear was the sound of your breathing and his, uneven and heavy after weeks apart.
He hums against your lips, he had been missing the feeling of touching you and being near you more than you could imagine. Lately, it felt like you were the only thing capable of pulling him out of the endless cycle of recording sessions and late nights at the studio. The sight of you standing there waiting for him, wrapped up in his oversized jacket, had completely caught him off guard. It was enough to make his head spin. Michael adored you, every stubborn, dramatic, impulsive part of you. And in moments like this, with you standing in front of him looking at him like he hung the moon, he was reminded all over again just how hopelessly gone he was for you.
He gently pulled your bottom lip between his. His groan echoed into your mind as he smiled against you, walking forward before your shoulders hit the door. You were now trapped against him.
He pulls back from the kiss as you moan from the sudden lack of contact. You immediately tried to pull him back toward you, unwilling to let the moment end so soon. A laugh escaped him, but before you could close the distance again, he planted both palms against the door on either side of your head, stopping you in your tracks. “Uh-uh,” he murmured, shaking his head. His eyes traveled over your face, clearly entertained by your determination.
“Patience, my love.” He whispered gently, a hint of breathlessness lingering in his voice as he fought back a smile. “I’m gonna make my girl feel good. But I need you to be patient, alright?” He caught his bottom lip between his teeth for a brief moment, and for a second you wished that was you. A quiet shake of his head followed as his eyes drifted over you once again, taking in the oversized jacket, the impatient look on your face, and everything in between. “Look at you…So desperate for me… so needy.”
“Please,” You whispered, the desperation in your tone was evident . “I need you, Mikey.” you admitted, your fingers tightening around his shirt.
“You came all this way just so I could fuck you, huh?” He teases, awaiting your answer before he spoke up again. “Use your words baby, cmon, I know you can.” he murmured, his voice warm with amusement.
At this point, any sense of shame or pride had gone out the door and you knew it. “Yes…” You admitted quietly.
A hungry smile spread across his face as he finally seemed to reach a decision. “Well,” He murmured. “If my baby wants me…who am I to say no?” The words hit you harder than they should have, you feel as if you could nearly collapse.
Before you could say another word, he closed the distance between you once again. His lips, soft and wet wrapped around yours like a present. Your arms slipped around his neck, holding him close as your fingers disappeared into the soft curls at the nape of his neck, pulling onto the roots.
A quiet whimper escaped him as your fingers continued to pull at his roots. In response, he slides his knee in between your thighs until it was pressed against the door.
A soft gasp escaped you against his lips, caught completely off guard by the sudden contact. He hikes up your skirt, and looks down at the pool of arousal staining your panties. His bottom lip sinks back in between his teeth. “Such a needy little thing, aren't you?" He exhales, before bringing his middle and ring fingers up to your heat, swiftly moving your panties to the side.
He smoothes past your clit and slides through your slick folds, gathering your arousal around his long and slender fingers.
The effect on you was immediate, the feeling causing your head to fall back onto the hard wooden door. He contoured the back and forth motion a few times, before he brings his fingers upwards to his lips. He slipped his fingers into his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut, his tongue swirling around his fingers and catching every drop of you.
His dick twitches in his pants, his hard-on was nearly painful but he didn’t care. You came first (literally). He always had to put you and your needs before his own. He needed to make sure you were being taken care of before he could even think about himself.
He slips his fingers out of his mouth, a mix of his saliva and your arousal coating them. Your eyes immediately followed the movement, watching his hands a little too closely, looking at them alone can make you come.
He tipped his chin upward in a silent gesture. You immediately understood what he wanted and parted your lips, your eyes never leaving his. He slips his fingers into your mouth. Your tongue immediately folding over them and swirling around them, collecting the taste of him mixed with your arousal. You grab onto his wrist, as your eyes burn into his.
His breath falters and his lips part open the slightest. “Fuck- baby.” He breathed, watching your plump pink lips as they wrapped around his fingers. Leaving messy strings of saliva as you pulled back. He started to imagine how you would look right now on your knees taking him into your mouth. The lewd sounds and the sloppy mess you cause choking on his cock, engulfed in the wet heat.
He pulls his fingers out while you continue sucking around them, your lips darkened and wet with saliva. The amusement that had been dancing in his eyes moments ago was gone, his eyes were dark and filled with lust. The look on his face said it all, he couldn’t get enough of you. No matter how much time the two of you spent together, he always looked at you like he’d been deprived of you for weeks.
You could now clearly see the print of his cock through his jeans, begging to be set free. He stepped backward, gently holding onto your wrists and guiding you with him. His eyes never left yours as he continued guiding you backward, he finally came to a stop just before reaching one of the chairs.
He lowered himself into the chair, slightly palming himself over the fabric of his jeans to relieve some pressure. Unbuckling his belt and then unzipping his jeans, he pulls them down and throws them to the side. Keeping his boxers on, he spreads his legs open even wider now, the hottest man-spread you’ve ever seen. He motions for you to come closer, his eyes briefly drifting over your heat and your legs.
“Closer.” He commands, his voice was deeper now- more focused. You take another step towards him, your knees brushed against his as you came to a stop,. “Take them off.” He gestured toward your skirt and panties. You do as he says, quickly pulling them down and throwing them to the side.
He leaned forward, his hands coming to rest on your knees. His grip was gentle, almost careful, as though he was afraid of holding you too tightly. He starts parting them, You followed every gentle adjustment he made, moving wherever he guided you without a second thought. Once your legs were parted, he helps you to rest your knees onto the chair underneath him, hovering over his thigh.
Hovering over him nervously, his hands creep up from your knees to the back of your thighs before he grips your ass firmly. Sending you a slap that made you jolt forward slightly, your hands instinctively reaching for his forearms.
His hands find their way back to your knees before sliding up and down your thighs and eventually resting on your waist. He moves one hand down, patting his own thigh. “Sit.”
You look down at him, your chest rising and falling embarrassingly heavy. You tuck a piece of hair behind your ear before swallowing the lump in your throat. You set your hands tightly on his forearms holding you up. If it wasn’t for him your knees would’ve given out underneath you seconds ago.
Slowly, you lean forward and set yourself onto his thigh. The immediate contact of your heat over the bare flesh of his thigh caused you to stiffen. A sharp breath escaped you as you leaned forward, your breathing faltering for a moment. You gripped onto his shoulder while the other hand grappled onto his wrist.
His dick twitched in his briefs as soon as he felt your wet pussy on his thigh. The feeling sending shocks of adrenaline through him. He bites back a moan, and his fingers begin to dig into your waist. Not enough to cause pain but enough to send shivers down your spine.
He urges you to move your hips and you automatically do. The feeling of finally getting some relief after so long kicks a breathy moan out of you.
“That's it, baby, just like that." He rasped, his eyes reverting back to the sticky mess you’ve already left on his thigh. The way you jerked your hips back against him and seeing your folds mold against his thigh nearly sent him into overdrive. The precum was desperately dripping from his tip, enough that it began to stain his briefs.
“Michael,” You whimpered while pressing your forehead down against his. Your brows knitted together as your eyes fluttered partially shut.
Your hips moved in quick, repetitive motions against him. The sound of your slick arousal brushing against him filled the room, blending with the steady rhythm of your movements. A quiet whine escaped you as you leaned forward, stealing a kiss from his lips. Your lips moved together effortlessly, and he melted into the kiss without hesitation.
He helped guide your hips, moving them back and forth in smooth, continuous motions without a pause. He brushed a trail of soft kisses from your lips to your cheek, lingering there for a moment before slowly moving down to your neck. One of his hands slid gently into your hair, guiding your head to the side to expose the gap of your neck to him.
His lips lingered at your neck, leaving slow, unhurried kisses against your skin. Each one was soft and deliberate, as though he was savoring the moment rather than rushing through it. Then started sucking on the delicate skin, sending shivers down your spine. In that moment you knew that he would be leaving marks all over you. You tremble at the overwhelming sensation. You could already feel the familiar fire pooling low in your abdomen. You were almost embarrassed at the thought of already coming just by grinding on his thigh.
You tried to slow the movement of your hips but Michael wouldn’t let you. His hand tightened around your hip and guiding you more firmly against him as he kept the motion steady. The sensation churned through you even more intensely than before.
He pulls his head back from your neck, pressing his forehead against yours once again. “Sweet girl, you know you can’t stop until I say so. Isn’t that right?” You nod.
“Mikey I’m- I’m gonna-” You whine, not being able to find the right words. One of his hands leave your hair, and finds its way to your heat. His thumb circles your clit and you lose your train of thought completely. You gasp and whatever you were going to say was cut off by a curse of pleasure.
“Try to keep quiet, baby.” He whispered, “Don’t want anyone to hear you.” Michael is very possessive about what’s his. He can’t have others hear how good he makes you feel. Your sweet voice whining out in pleasure was only for him to hear, no one else. Your moaning alone was a turn on for him.
You shudder underneath him. Unable to keep the steady rhythm of your hips going. You rock back and forth messily, you feel the fire build up low inside your abdomen. Your grip tightens on his shoulder and wrist.
His dazed eyes trail down your chest and slowly to your pussy. The way your clit and your folds rubbed against him desperately. Your arousal leaving trails of the warm liquid dripping down his thigh left him nearly breathless. He could feel every part of you on him, the sounds of your wetness becoming louder and louder with every rock of your hips.
“Cmon, mama. Show me how good you feel.” He encouraged, low and close to your ear.
You grab onto his wrist, his thumb still circling your clit without a break. In response, he takes your hand and pins it to your back. One of his hands tightly held yours behind your back while the other continued to rub your clit helplessly.
You throw your head back, unable to contain the breathy moans leaving your lips.
“Shh,” He shushes softly and quietly, “Only I can hear those pretty moans. No one else.” He grunted.
He lets go of your wrist pinned behind your back and re directs it to his shoulder. He moves his hand up to your chest, cupping your breasts in his hand giving them a squeeze. He lifts your shirt up, exposing your breasts, he swiftly unclips your bra and slides it off your shoulders.
Your breasts spill out and he wastes no time finding one of your nipples with his lips and gently sucking on the sensitive skin. His tongue begins to swirl around the sensitive nub before taking it in between his lips once again. Your back arches against him, and your hands found their way to the back of his neck, your fingers threading through his curls as you held him close.
“Michael, I can’t-,” You whimpered as you try to slow the roll of your hips.
He immediately grabs on to your waist with one hand, again continuing the steady rhythm. “Did I say you can stop?” He questioned.
You let out a soft, frustrated whine against him, your fingers buried in his curls as you gave them a slight pull. He groans louder than before. “Shit- pull harder.” You do as he says, your knuckles turn white as you fist his hair into your hand. “That’s it- Fuck, you’re doing so good for me, baby”
His praise broke whatever composure you had left, completely undoing you. Your body shuddered and you instinctively grabbed onto him, your body slightly lunged forward. He catches you immediately.
For a few moments, you couldn’t move at all, simply sinking into the feeling and letting it wash over you.
Michael’s hands moved from your waist to your back, gently soothing the tense muscles along your spine. Your head found its place on his shoulder as you tried to catch your breath.
After a few moments, you pull back, You hiss at the overstimulating sensation now of your clit rubbing against his skin.
“Look at the mess you made.” He coos, his eyes moving towards his thigh coated with your come. Your face lights up with embarrassment. You could almost feel the red as it invaded your cheeks.
He shushes you before you could start apologizing, he wastes no time pulling your legs toward him once again. His hands roaming the back of your thighs before grabbing your ass and placing another smack on your cheek. He picks you up and wraps your legs around him.
You wrap your arms around his neck, leaning in for another breathless kiss. He reaches the large wooden table and sets you down onto it carefully, his hand resting on your lower back.
He pulls back slightly once you were laid out onto the edge of the table. He pushes your thighs apart so he could take a better look at you. “So pretty, mama.” He coos, “This is what you get for being so patient f’me, isn’t that right?
You palm his hard dick over his boxers, rubbing over his tip before he twitches underneath you. Seeing him so hard like this for you makes your stomach twist. You never fully understood the effect you had on him. He always told you, but seeing it now is different.
You dip your finger tips into the waistband of his boxers pulling it down, his dick sprang free as it hit his stomach. The sight made your breath catch in your throat.
You’ve seen him multiple times like this but never got used to it. He was huge, one of the biggest you’ve ever seen. His cock throbbed, veiny and dark as it leaked pre-cum from the tip. So big, your whole hand couldn’t fully wrap around it. He was probably around 8 inches. Maybe bigger, you could never really tell. Your hand palming it always made the difference impossible to ignore.
You swallowed the lump in your throat, unable to tear your eyes away. You licked your lips in a terrible attempt to hide just how you were basically salivating at the sight.
You could see the excitement in his eyes along with the familiar look of lust he always wore in the bedroom. Michael was usually the one to be in control but you wanted to take a little bit of that control right now.
You wrapped your hand around his cock and nearly whined at how heavy it was. The weight of it caught you off guard, sending a small shiver through you as you adjusted your grip. You dragged his length slowly through the folds of your wet pussy, threading your sticky come through the narrow space that separated your lips.
He hisses at the contact, his grip on your waist couldn’t get tighter. It was taking everything in him to not take control and fuck you senseless right then and there. If it was up to him he would have had you gripping on for dear life while you screamed his name at the top of your lungs.
You feel the overwhelming sensation climb through your abdomen as you drag his tip across your clit and back. His cock glided between your folds with each slow roll of his hip. Teasing yourself, you brought his tip to your entrance before slowly dragging it through your folds and back to your clit. He breathes out a light chuckle, “You love when I tease you, don’t you mama?”
He was right and you hated admitting it. You slowly shook your head “No”, The word came out weak as you struggled to keep your eyes open.
Your hand rested on top of his length as he rocked his hips slightly, his tip smoothing through your folds, past your entrance and to you clit all at once.
His pre crum dripped down your stomach, gathering in the small dip of your navel.
He pulls himself away, and without further notice his fingers enter you. You clench around them as they curl inside of you. Slightly stretching you in preparation for him. “No-” You whine, your voice quiet. “I need-”
“What do you need, baby? Tell me.” He urges, his fingers continued to drive into you the thick layer of arousal allowing him to move smoothly. Each stroke spread you closer, leaving behind a glossy coating that settled into every curve and crevice.
“Need you… I need you.” You cried out, the words falling apart before you could finish them.
“That’s not good enough, I need you to be more specific.” He muttered, now adding a third finger inside you as his thumb began slowly circling your clit.
You could feel tears beginning to gather behind your closed eyelids. Your back desperately arching against the table. “Your cock- need it. Please, Mikey.” You strangle the words out.
“Mmm,” he hummed, spreading one of his hands up and down your abdomen, his precum spreading on you from earlier. “I know mama, but you have to be patient. You won’t be able to take all of me right now.”
“I will- I will, please I can’t take it anymore.” You begged, feeling the tears as they begin to drip down your face and to your ears. “Fuck me, Michael please.”
Usually, he had far more self-control than this. But with those words still echoing in his ears, he couldn’t bring himself to deny you anymore. Hearing them leave your lips nearly unraveled him. For a moment, all he could do was shut his eyes and tip his head back, trying… and failing to regain his composure.
He reaches down to grab his cock, your hand dropping and reaching for the table instead. He strokes himself, running his thumb over his tip before setting himself near your entrance. “I’m gonna need you to be very quiet for me, baby, okay?” he said, nearly breathless, the urgency in his voice was impossible to miss.
You nod your head eagerly, barely opening your glossy eyes to meet his. “Use your words.” He demands urgently. “Yes… yes okay.” You breathe out, nearly panting.
Almost immediately he pushed into you. You gasp as you feel yourself stretch around him, the familiar burning sensation hits you like a train. He hisses at the sudden warmth engulfing his length.
Instinctively, your hand flies down to his lower abdomen trying to slow his movement and ease the pressure building inside of you, as you were struggling to adjust to the sheer size of him.
He caught your hand almost immediately and gently pulled it away, guiding it back to your side “I know, baby. I know. I’ve got you.”
He stops pushing into you midway down his length, knowing that’s all you can take right now. Instead, he switched to slow, steady strokes. You were already overwhelmed, but you craved the feeling of him inside you, so much it was impossible to ignore.
You watched his brows pull together and his teeth catch his bottom lip. For a moment, he shut his eyes, a strained sound escaping him before he slowly exhaled. His hips drive into you, stretching you out some more.
He pushed in again with the an urgent buck of his hips and your eyes shot open, his pace was brutal.
“Fuck- baby you’re so tight.” He rasped. Whimpering quietly as sweat was beginning to form at his hair line.
You clenched around him, your gummy walls coating him, you could feel every vein as he pounded into you relentlessly. Which only earned another whimper from him. He never hid how good he felt while he was inside you. He praised you, your body and everything he felt or thought of in that moment would spill out of him like a loose canon.
“More-,” You breathe out. “Michael I want more.” As you gripped onto the sides of the table.
His curls nearly dripped in sweat, as they stuck to his forehead. His bottom lip almost a bright red from how much he was biting it to suppress the moans daring to leave.
He ignored your protests, fully aware you wouldn’t be able to handle much more. Continuing his relentless pace, a white circle of your come was left on his length everytime he pulled back.
He hooks his arms underneath your legs and pulls them up to rest on his shoulders he leaned forward, your thighs now resting on your chest. The shift in position sent a wave of pleasure through you, catching you completely off guard.
That was his way of shutting you up, but that only made you want more.
“Michael?” A loud voice called out from behind the wooden door. Michael’s head immediately turned toward toward the sound. Quincy was back.
Completely oblivious to the calls coming from the other side of the door, you continue. “Michael…” You whispered.
“Shh, baby. I need you to be quiet.” He urged, trying to focus on two things at once.
“Michael! Where’d he go?” The muffled voice was getting closer.
He shakes his head and leans down to kiss you, his wet lips inviting yours in, you hungrily accept. Clenching around his length and he grunts against you.
“Michael… is that you in there?” A knock on the door can be heard.
“Baby please, I want mo-,” You began to cry out, but before the sound could fully leave your lips, Michael moved with a force, sudden and swift, he bottoms out into you. A scream erupted from your throat at the instant fullness, before his hand reached over your mouth and cupped it. Suppressing you from making any further sound.
He paused inside of you for a moment, giving both of you a chance to catch your breath. Looking down at you, he shook his head in frustration. There was a hint of annoyance in his expression because he gave in and gave you what you wanted in order to keep you quiet so the two of you wouldn’t get caught.
You clench around him, adjusting to the fullness as the burning sensation can be felt as you stretch around him. His breathing coming out staggered, as he shakes his head. “Yes, just- One second!” He yells out to Quincy on the other side of the door.
A few muttered complaints can be heard through the door but your head was so wrapped up in what was going on in this room that you didn’t even notice what had just happened.
It seems as if Michael didn’t care, he continued his torturous slow pace inside of you. Each thrust came with a slight wave of pain, and he seemed to notice it almost immediately. “What did I say, huh? This is why I tell you to be patient, baby.”
He pulls out so he was halfway inside of you, readjusting to him and eventually the pleasure overrides the pain once again. He moved quickly and relentlessly inside of you.
The second his eyes met yours, the air seemed to leave your lungs.
The look on his face was nothing short of pleasure. Your chest tightened at the sight, and your breathing turned uneven as that familiar fire began to spread through your abdomen. Your legs beginning to slightly tremble on top of you.
He noticed the change in your breathing and the way you clenched around him and knew you were approaching your climax.
“Cmon baby. Let go f’me.” He breathes out, his hand trailing down your back side and up to your knee.
Eyes squeezed shut, and unable to speak, your hand now grasping Michaels while the other grasped the edge of the table
Your thighs trembled on top of you and for a brief moment, everything else faded into the background. Your moans muffled against Michael’s hand, you whimper quietly against him as the waves of pleasure shot through you. You laid there, mind completely empty, panting heavily, eyelids fluttering.
After a few unrhythmic thrusts, Michael follows right behind you. His mind exploded, white hot pleasure like lightning bolts right behind his eyes, and he came, moaning quietly. Thick, hot strands of come pulsing inside your pussy. He closed his eyes as the orgasm surged through him, tidal waves at first, turning into ripples that slowly ebbed out, leaving every muscle of his body absolutely exhausted.
His head fell lazily on your shoulder, both of you still catching your breath. He traced his fingers soothingly across your side. Leaving soft kisses along your shoulder and collar bone.
“Don’t wear that jacket around me again.” He whispered, smiling through his teeth.
You giggle, brushing his hair back and out of his face. “I just might have to if that means I can get you all to myself.”
summary: michael is tired, reader is desperate, thigh riding and belt grinding ensue. that’s it. that’s the plot.
word count: 1590
content warning: mdni. this one is dirty. no sex, but the reader goes a little bit out of her mind and does the aforementioned thigh riding and belt grinding. there’s also the tiniest bit of name calling if you squint but not really bc i can’t imagine michael calling anyone names, even in this context.
author’s note: ugh i can’t believe i wrote this. i could barely proofread it i’m so embarrassed by how filthy it is lmao. dedicated to @justalocalloser and everyone else in the comments of my last post, ily ♡
but for the love of god someone, anyone, send me a request for something sweet as a palate cleanser
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
“‘m too tired, baby.” Michael murmured as he felt your hands fussing with his complicated belt buckle, trying to get it undone.
He’d just gotten back to the hotel after a concert, totally exhausted from the two-hour performance, but you were needy.
You’d been alone for the last eleven weeks while Michael toured Japan and Australia.
77 days.
1,848 hours.
110,880 minutes.
Now, finally, finally, the first leg of the tour was over, and you had him all to yourself. So naturally, you’d pounced on him the moment you made it back to your hotel room.
He’d let you push him into the armchair beside the bed, and he’d let you crawl into his lap to kiss him, but when you started trying to get his clothes off, he’d stopped you.
Too tired.
The words made you let out a desperate, pathetic whine.
“Please, Michael. We can be so, so quick. I promise, just give me ten minutes, and—”
He tutted, shaking his head. “No.”
It wasn’t like Michael to tell you no, and it honestly threw you for a loop.
Your eyes instantly started to well up, and for a moment, it looked like you might actually burst into tears.
They weren’t tears of sadness, but of frustration. It had been so long since you’d gotten off. Seventy-seven days, to be exact.
That wasn’t to say that he had ignored you while he was away. Michael had always been so good to you, even when he was on another continent. He’d stay up until two or three in the morning just to call you, and he’d let you talk for hours, even if it meant sacrificing his sleep. And he loved having phone sex. But even when he was talking you through it, you never could quite get off without him there in person.
Not that you’d ever told him that. Because this was Michael you were talking about, and you knew that the thought of you desperate and alone and unable to do anything about it while he was halfway across the world would drive him crazy.
“Hey.” His voice softened, and he lifted a hand to your face, ghosting his thumb over your cheek. “Don’t cry.”
“I’m not crying.” You sniffed indignantly.
“Y’re about to.”
You frowned, willing the tears to go back where they came from. This was ridiculous. You were acting like a spoiled brat, and you knew it. He’d just performed a sixteen-song set in front of tens of thousands of people. Of course he was tired.
And now you had him looking at you all concerned, like he was worried you were going to have a mental breakdown over him exercising his right to say no to you.
“Talk to me, baby. What’s really goin’ on?”
“I just missed you.” You shrugged, looking down and fiddling with the metallic belt buckle—no longer to try and get it off, but to give yourself something to do besides watching him peer directly into your soul.
“I missed you too. But y’re not usually this…” He trailed off, grasping for the word. “Impatient.”
“I couldn’t get off while you were gone.” You mumbled so quietly that he didn’t catch it the first time.
“What?”
“I couldn’t get off while you were gone.” You repeated yourself more clearly, your face growing hot.
“Oh, baby.”
There it was. The sympathy.
You didn’t say anything back. You regretted saying anything at all.
“You coulda just told me that.” Michael grabbed your chin gently, forcing you to look at him. “You need this real bad, huh?”
That was a rhetorical question at this point.
“Tell you what… get up.”
You stared at him like he’d just asked you to jump off a bridge. “What?”
“Get up. Go on.” He nudged you off his lap, and you reluctantly obliged, feeling humiliated.
“Take off your clothes for me.”
You looked confused, like you must not have heard him correctly. “I thought you said you were too tired to—”
Michael shook his head, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“‘m not gonna touch you. Not tonight. But if you need to get off… y’re gonna get off. Now get rid of those clothes.”
You weren’t sure what was going through his head, but he was missing the whole point. You needed him to touch you. If he wasn’t going to do that, then having you undress in front of him seemed like an unnecessary cruelty.
“‘m gettin’ a little impatient here, pretty girl.” He yawned—he seriously had the audacity to yawn—stretching back in the chair and putting his hands behind his head. He was working a piece of gum with his jaw while he watched you, looking so casual that you wanted to scream. But you didn’t.
Instead, you took off your shoes one at a time, tossing them aside. Then you reached behind yourself and unzipped your dress. Michael just watched you, not offering to help. It was very unlike him, but something about the way he was looking at you made your stomach flutter with anticipation.
The dress pooled at the ground by your feet, and you reached back to unclasp your bra, but Michael shook his head. “Leave it on. Underwear too.”
You dropped your hand and stood there, half naked, goosebumps rising on your skin from the cold in the room while you waited for his next instruction.
“C’mere.” He moved one hand to pat his leg, and you stepped forward like a marionette pulled by some invisible string, straddling his thigh.
“Now.” He put his hand back behind his head. “‘m gonna sit here just like this, and y’re gonna use my leg to make yourself come. Do you understand me?”
You understood the words coming out of his mouth, sure. But the concept of Michael sitting back and making you do everything yourself without laying a finger on you was so foreign that all you could do was look at him, dumbfounded.
He raised his knee slightly, right between your legs, and you let out a sharp gasp. “Answer me when I ask you a question, baby.”
“Y-yes. Yes. I understand.” You nodded.
Besides the big belt around his waist, he was wearing another, thinner one that wrapped around his thigh, the smaller metal buckles pressing right against your core. And when he bounced his leg like that, you suddenly understood exactly what he wanted you to do.
“Go on, then. Don’t got all day.” Michael nodded towards his thigh, and you blushed furiously.
This was so embarrassing. This was so—
You tentatively rolled your hips once and groaned.
Oh, this was so good.
The cold, hard metal of Michael’s belt buckles and the lace fabric of your underwear created the most delicious friction as you ground against him, grabbing onto the other belt, the one around his waist, to use as leverage.
It felt so dirty—filthy, even—compared to what you and Michael usually did, but your baser instincts quickly took over as you alternated between short, quick jerks and long drags of your hips against him. Desperate, desperate movements that made your head tip back and your eyes fall closed, completely lost to the pleasure after months of nothing.
Then Michael bounced his knee again and sent your eyes flying back open.
“Ah, ah. Keep those eyes on me, pretty girl. Wanna watch you work for it.”
His eyes were dark, nearly blacked out by his pupils, and the eye contact was so intense that you almost couldn’t stand it. But you forced yourself to keep looking at him, working your poor, sensitive clit against the rough of his belt.
“Michael, please. I need you to touch me. Please—”
“You really are desperate, aren’t you?” He sighed, but this time, his sympathy didn’t feel genuine. He was toying with you now, reveling in your frustration. “I already told you, this is what y’re getting tonight. You come like this, or you don’t come at all.”
You whimpered, but didn’t argue, jerking your hips more frantically now, chasing some kind of release.
“There you go. Make y’rself feel good, baby. You can do it.” He cooed, his sweet, familiar side peeking back out. If you hadn’t been so out of your mind, you might have noticed his hands twitching behind his head, straining with the effort it took not to touch you.
Almost subconsciously, he started to bounce his leg to meet your hips, helping you without meaning to, mumbling all sorts of sweet nothings about how pretty you were and what a good job you were doing.
“That’s my girl. Getting close, aren’t you?”
You nodded, grinding against his leg until it was almost painful, the coil in your stomach growing tighter and tighter until it finally shattered into a million pieces. You came moaning his name, your head falling forward onto his shoulder as you made a mess on his thigh.
The second your hips went still, Michael moved his hands from behind his head and wrapped his arms around you tight, burying his face in your hair.
“Hey, hey.” He whispered, rubbing soothing circles on your back. “You did such a good job, pretty girl. Such a good job.”
Your eyes were teary when you pulled away, but you weren’t sure you’d ever felt so much relief in your life.
“‘m gonna take such good care of you in the morning. I promise.” He cupped your face in both hands, kissing you tenderly.
⤷ warnings; f!reader, smut, praise, pinv, reader is in a headlock, size kink, unprotected sex
⤷ word count; 350~
inspired by this blurb
plap plap plap
the sound of wet skin echoes throughout the room, your moans shamelessly muffled by the fat of his bicep as he continues to fuck you.
you hadn’t even made it to the bed, instead, your back is pressed against his wide chest, his left arm wrapped loosely around your neck where your slobber dribbles on the meat of his bicep.
you're barely touching the ground, toes just barely grazing the cool floor as he carries your weight like it’s nothing. his mouth pressed to the crown of your head, switching between praises and kissing your scalp.
“my good girl” “taking me so well” “that feel good angel?” “doing such a good job f’me m’so proud of you” he whispers in your ear, voice cracking and horse as he chases his own pleasure.
his breath tickles your hair before his right hand moves from pressing on your lower belly to your folds, parting them before rubbing tight circles into your clit. “i know you’re close baby just a little longer, can you do that for me?” he whimpers, circles only growing tighter and harder as he realizes he’s closer than be thought.
your jaw tightens on his arm as the heat in your stomach grows closer. your spit coats his arm and your chin and you can’t control it. you love how big he is, every part of him.
you love that his frame swallows yours, you love how strong he is and how his bicep is as big as your head, you love the thickness of his thighs, his fingers, his chest, his… everywhere. he was perfect and what better way to show appreciation for that then literally drool all over him.
“yeah? yeah, baby” he mumbles, thrusting into you for the last time before your both cumming. your thighs shake and his finger continues to move as his thrusts stop.
his kissing your neck and your shoulders when he gently puts you down and despite the shake in your legs you’re still somehow standing. “my perfect girl” he grabs your chin to kiss you before laying you down on the bed and crawling on top of you.
synopsis: you had been a brat towards michael all day and he finally decided to fuck the attitude out of you.
warnings: bratty reader, use of princess, good girl, oral (f!recieving,) back shots, slapping, restraints, choking, rough sex, aftercare.
a/n: this is based on this request and this one. also this is lowkey dominant asf so if you’re a snowflake and only like sub michael, then i wouldn’t read this at all.
the bedroom was dimly lit, only the soft glow of lamplight casting shadows across the silk sheets. you were lounging on the bed, wearing one of michael’s oversized white shirts that slips off one shoulder, pouting as you flip through a magazine with exaggerated disinterest.
michael enters the room, his tall frame filling the doorway as he closes it softly behind him. he’s impeccably dressed in a black leather jacket and matching pants, his hair styled into a perfect wave. he notices your attitude that you had been giving him all day immediately and his expression darkens, the corners of his mouth turning down slightly.
“baby,” michael says, his voice smooth but carrying an edge of warning as he loosens his tie, “i’ve been patient with you all day. the eye-rolling, the snapping at me, the way you ignored me at dinner…” he walks closer, removing his jacket and draping it over a chair. “that’s enough.”
you huff dramatically, flipping a page in your magazine with unnecessary force, refusing to look at him. “i don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mutter, your tone dripping with sarcasm. you kick your leg out, letting the oversized shirt ride up higher on your thigh, testing his patience. knowing exactly what buttons to push.
michael’s jaw clenches as he watched the shirt ride up your leg. he knows this game all too well—the bratty behaviour, the teasing, the testing of boundaries. he unbuttons the first button of his white shirts, his voice lowering. “come here.”
you scoff, not moving an inch, instead turning a page in your magazine with exaggerated slowness. “no,” you reply, your voice dripping with defiance. you deliberately cross your legs, the hem of the shirt riding up even higher, revealing more of your smooth, bare legs.
the warning vibe in the room thickens instantly. michael doesn’t repeat himself; he simply moves, his long strides eating up the distance between the chair and the bed. he grips the magazine, yanking it from your hands and tossing it carelessly onto the floor, leaving you with nothing to distract you. he cages you in with his arms, hair dark eyes boring into yours.
“let’s get something straight, princess,” michael says, his voice low and firm, his face inches from yours. “you’ve been pushing me all day, and i’ve let it slide because i love you. but this attitude? it ends now.”
you open your mouth to fire back another bratty remark, but before you could michael grips your ankles, his large hands wrapping around them easily. with one smooth motion, he yanks you down the bed until you’re in front of him.
you let out a surprised yelp as your back slides down the mattress and michael looks over you, his expression stern and commanding. he’s no longer the patient, indulgent boyfriend; he’s now the dominant man who knows exactly how to handle a bratty woman. “you’re testing me.”
“maybe i am,” you challenge back, but your voice wavers slightly now, heart racing as his dark eyes lock onto yours. you reach up to touch his face, but he catches your wrist in an instant, pinning it beside your head. “nice try,” he murmurs, a dangerous smirk on his face.
he releases your wrist suddenly, only to grab both of your hands and pin them above your head with one hand, his other hand quickly moving to hold down both of your legs. he’s effectively trapped you beneath him, his body pressing against yours.
“stay quiet,” he orders firmly, before disappearing between your legs, lifting the oversized shirt up to your stomach. he doesn’t start slow or gentle; he immediately attacks your clit with his tongue, eating you out roughly and dominantly to punish your attitude.
you gasp sharply, your hands immediately flying to his hair but he growls against your skin, a warning that makes you freeze. his tongue works you ruthlessly, no sweet exploration, just pure domination—flicking your clit hard, plunging deep, sucking insistently. there’s no tenderness here, only calculated punishment that makes your back arch off the bed.
you bite down on your lip hard, trying to obey, but he immediately pulls back, his dark eyes meeting yours with a sharp look. “i said be quiet.” his voice is a low command before he dives back in, his tongue pressing flat against your clit and holding it there, then flicking rapidly in a punishing rhythm that makes your thighs tremble violently around his head.
your hips buck upward, seeking friction, but he pushes your thighs back down with one strong hand, keeping you pinned. his other hand grips your hip bone hard enough to leave marks as he devours you relentlessly. the wet, sloppy sounds of his tongue working you fill the room, punctuated by your muffled whimpers. he sucks your clit into his mouth hard, tugging insistently.
your resolve crumbles completely as he hits that spot relentlessly, your walls clenching around nothing as your orgasm crashed through you. you sob into the pillow, body shaking violently beneath him. michael doesn’t stop—he keeps eating you out through your climax, his tongue working harder, punishing even as you peak. finally, he pulls back, a string of saliva connecting his lips to you.
michael is still on his knees in front of the bed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction and dominance. he watches your chest heave, your body trembling in the aftermath, as he leans down to press a kiss against your stomach, then climbs back up your body to cage your face between his hands. “attitude gone?” he asks, his voice low and rough.
you blink up at him through hazy eyes, still catching your breath, your body still humming from the intense orgasm. but the fire isn’t extinguished yet—it’s just buried shallowly. before you can stop yourself, the bratty remark slips out, “not even close. you’re gonna have to try harder than that.”
michael’s expression darkens instantly at your bratty response. a dangerous smirk plays on his lips as he leans down closer, his breath ghosting over your ear. “is that so? you want me to try harder?”
you lift your chin defiantly, meeting his glare despite your trembling limbs. “yes,” you whisper, challenging him openly. michael’s jaw tightens visibly, the playful dominance evaporating into pure authority. without a word, he flips you over onto your stomach in one swift motion, pulling your hips up sharply so your ass is in the air. “brave choice,”
he smacks your ass hard, the sharp crack echoing in the room. you let out a moan, hands curling into the sheets. but before you can react, he grabs both of your wrists and pins them at the small of your back with one hand, keeping you bent over helplessly.
he leans down over you, his suit jacket brushing against your back. “you really want more?” his other hand moves to unbuckle his belt, the sound of metal clicking loudly as he pulls it through the loops.
he expertly loops the belt around your wrists, pulling it tight to secure your hands behind your back. the position arches your spine, pushing your ass higher in the air. he runs his hand over the roundness before smacking it again hard enough that it stings throughly.
you gasp into the mattress, your face buried in the sheets to muffle your cries. with your wrists secured tightly against your lower back, you are completely helpless and exposed. you hear the rustle of fabric behind you—michael is undoing his pants, pushing them down along with his boxers, freeing his heavy erection.
he trails one finger slowly down your spine, stopping teasingly at your entrance. “still want an attitude with me?” he asks, his voice thick with lust and command. you feel his thumb press against your clit briefly before he pulls away, denying you. every second of touch is agonisingly slow, a punishment for your defiance.
without warning, he grips your hips and slams into you, burying himself to the hilt in one ruthless thrust. you scream into the mattress, your body arching violently as he stretches you instantly. he doesn’t give you time to adjust, setting a punishing pace immediately, withdrawing almost completely before driving back in deep and hard. your wrists strain against the belt helplessly.
he fucks you brutally, using your bent over position to his advantage, his powerful hips snapping against your ass with wet smacks. his free hand reaches around to choke your neck gently, adding another layer of dominance and control.
“is that attitude still there?” he smirks against your neck, punctuating his words with particularly deep thrusts. “or are you realising who’s in charge here?” his hand squeezes your throat lightly, making you lightheaded and even more aroused.
you try to form words, but all that comes out is a choked moan. your body is completely under his control—wrists tied, throat threatened, pussy impaled and stretched by his relentless cock. “that’s what i thought,” he growls, his thrusts becoming even more merciless, hitting spots you didn’t know existed.
your walls clench around him desperately, your body betraying your earlier defiance completely. michael notices immediately, his grip tightening on your throat as he leans over your back. “look at you,” he breathes hotly against your ear. “so bratty all day, and now you’re begging for it without even saying a word.” he hits your deepest spot hard, making you cry out.
your second orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave. michael doesn’t slow down—he keeps pounding through it, drawing out your pleasure until you are sobbing into the pillow. only then does he pull out abruptly, his hot seed shooting across your back and add in thick stripes.
he stands there for a moment, panting, watching his cum drip down your trembling body. then he unties the belt from your wrists, flipping you over roughly so you’re on your back again. his eyes drill into yours. “now,” he says, his voice raw. “are we done with the backtalk?”
your lips part, your chest still heaving, your body trembling and slick with sweat. the words form on your tongue—another challenge, another spark of that damn defiance—but something in his eyes made you pause. that dangerous glint, the absolute authority, the promise of more punishment if you dare.
you swallow hard, your gaze dripping first. “…yes.”
a satisfied smirk plays on his lips as he sees the submission in your eyes. he leans down, kissing you roughly—a claim, a punishment, a reward all rolled into one. when he pulls back, his thumb brushes over your swollen bottom lip. “good girl.”
he helps you sit up, his touch gentler now as he checks the red marks on your wrists from the belt. his expression softens imperceptibly. “you pushed it,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. “but you took it well.” he kisses your forehead, a silent apology for the roughness, though his eyes still hold that edge.
he grabs a tissue from the nightstand and begins cleaning you up, his movements efficient but surprisingly careful. the air between you feels heavy, charged with the lingering electricity of the punishment. once he’s wiped away his release, he pulls his pants back up, buckling his belt with a definitive click. “next time you want to act bratty,” he warns softly, smoothing your hair back.
“i’ll remember this,” you murmur back, half joking but also completely serious. your body aches in the best way, your ass stinging gently with every movement. he just smirks knowingly, clearly pleased that the lesson has sunken in. “good,” he says firmly.
aftercare if a non-negotiable for him. he’s dominant as hell in the bedroom, but he always takes care of you afterward—no matter how bratty or demanding you’ve been. he pulls you into his side, wrapping those strong arms around you lovingly. “come here,”
he gathers you against his chest, your face pressed to his rapidly beating heart. one hand strokes your hair soothingly while the other massages your back in slow, deliberate circles. he smells like expensive cologne and sex, and his body heat seeps into your chilled skin. “you okay?” his voice is softer now, genuinely concerned.
you hum softly in real, shifting so you’re wrapped tighter around him. your legs tangle together, your back pressed to his chest. his large hands splay over your stomach, one thumb rubbing soothing circles over your lower belly.
“you did good,” he murmurs, kissing the top of your head. “for a brat.” the playful insult is said with such tenderness it barely registers as teasing. he reaches over to the nightstand and pulls out a bottle of water, unscrewing the cap and bringing it to your lips. “drink.”
you take slow sips, feeling utterly cared for.
he pulls the plush duvet over both of you, tucking you in securely. you’re nestled completely against him—from your chest to your thighs, every inch of you is pressed to his. his lips find your ear, his voice dropping to that intimate, vulnerable tone he only uses when it’s just the two of you. “i love you so much.”
you turn in his arms, pressing your lips to his softly. “i love you more,” you whisper against his mouth, tasting him lingering on your tongue. he kisses you deeply, tenderly this time—no dominance, just pure affection. when you finally drift off, his arms are wrapped tightly around you.
a/n: i know that this didn’t happen in michael’s thriller era, but for my mental health and ovulation, it did.
the sun had set over disneyland, casting a warm glow over the magical kingdom as you and michael—now husband and wife—had made your way back to your luxurious hotel room. the day had been filled with laughter, cotton candy, and endless rides.
michael had kicked his shoes off by the door, letting out a contented sigh as he loosened his tie. the suite was breathtaking—floor-to-floor ceiling windows overlooking the sparking lights of the city, a king sized bed draped in silk sheets, and rose petals scattered across the marble bathroom floor. he turned to you with that boyish grin, his dark eyes sparking with mischief.
michael approached you slowly, his hands reaching out to gently frame your face as he leaned in for a soft kiss, his lips were warm and tender. pulling back slightly, he whispered against your lips, “mrs. jackson…”
you couldn’t help but smile at the way his voice wrapped around your new title. it was surreal to be married to michael jackson, but in moments like this, he was just your husband—your loving, playful husband. you playfully bit his bottom lip softly, “mr. jackson,” you teased back.
he chucked softly at that, the sound sending familiar shivers down your spine. “come here,” he murmured, guiding you backward toward the bed. his fingers deftly worked at the zip of your dress as he backed you up, until you both landed on the plush mattress.
you giggled breathlessly, “michael, you’re so impatient.”
“i’ve been patient all day!” he protested with a laugh, nuzzling into your neck. “we’ve been surrounded by kids and mickey mouse all day. i just want to be alone with my wife.” his hands slid up your thighs, pushing your dress higher.
you gasped as his fingers brushed against against the lace of your panties, your head falling back against the pillows. “well, you have me all to yourself now,” you breathed out, your fingers tangling in his curly hair. the room filled with the sound of your hushed whispers and gentle touches.
michael wasted no time in shedding his shirt, revealing his soft skin that you knew so well. he hovered over you, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone and down the valley between your breasts. the atmosphere shifted from playful to heavy with desire, the scent of roses and your mingled colognes filling the air.
you arched your back, pulling him closer to you. his breath was hot against your skin as he unclasped your bra, his lips immediately finding your nipple. you moaned softly, threading your fingers through his thick curls while he lavished attention on each breast, his tongue making lazy circles around your hardened peaks.
michael’s hands trailed down your sides, gripping your hips as he moved down your body, pulling your panties off with a swift tug. he spread your legs wide, settling his broad shoulders between them. his first languid lick had you gripping the sheets, your hips lifting off the bed.
“michael…” you whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders as his tongue worked expertly between your thighs. he looked up at you through those dark lashes, a wicked glint in his eyes. “you taste so sweet, baby,” he murmured against your slick folds before diving back in, his tongue swirling around your clit. your breath hitched, your thighs trembling against his head.
unable to take the teasing any longer, you reached down and tugged at his waistband, freeing his length. he groaned appreciatively at your eager touch, stroking himself slowly as he watched you writhe beneath him. “i need you inside me, please,” you pleaded, your voice thick with desires michael smirked, positioning himself between your trembling thighs. “patience, mrs. jackson.”
he teased your entrance with the head of his cock, rubbing himself against you but not pushing in. he lovers how you squirmed and whimpered beneath him, your nails scratching his back. “say please again,” he whispered with a smirk, loving how desperate you sounded for him.
“please, baby,” you gasped out, your legs spreading wider to give him better access. “i need you so bad…please.” michael finally granted your wish, pushing into your tight heat with one slow, torturously delicious stroke. both of you cried out as you became one, the intimacy of the moment washing over you even more than the pleasure.
he began moving then, slow at first, deep thrusts made the bed springs squeak with each one. his forehead pressed against yours, eyes closed as he lost himself in the rhythm. “you feel so good,” he groaned against yours lips, his pace quickening as your walls clenched around him. “my wife…”
you clawed at his back, urging him on. michael obliged, his movements becoming more intense and passionate as he clung to you. the headboard of the bed began to hit the wall with a rhythmic thudding sound that matched their hurried breathing and muffled moans. he shifted his angle slightly, hitting that spot inside you that made your eyes roll back.
“right there, right fucking there,” you cried out, your voice getting louder with each thrust. michael covered your mouth with his to muffle the sounds, kissing you deeply as he drove into you harder, the bed breaking loudly beneath you both.
the sounds of your passionate lovemaking filled the room—skin slapping against skin, the wet sounds of his cock thrusting into your dripping pussy, the loud squeaks of the bed springs—michael reached down and grabbed your leg, throwing it over his shoulder to go even deeper.
you arched your back as he hit that spot inside you repeatedly, your nails digging into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks. the bed was now shaking violently against the wall with each powerful thrust. michael’s breath came in ragged gasps against your neck as he whispered dirty words only you could hear.
“i’m close,” you whimpered, your walls clenching around him tightly. michael groaned deeply, his pace becoming erratic as he felt your orgasm approaching. “come for me, baby,” he commanded, his voice rough with desire. “let me feel you.” his thrusts became harder, faster, completely losing control as the bed grained under your combined weight.
you shattered beneath him, your back arching off the bed as waves of pleasure crashed through you. your scream was muffled by his shoulder as you clenched around him uncontrollably. the climax triggered something in michael—he buried himself deep, his thrusts becoming brutal.
a sound then echoed through the suite like a gunshot. both of you froze mid-thrust as the wooden bed frame splintered beneath you, the middle collapsing inward. you both tumbled to the floor in a tangle of limbs, michael landing on top of you with a startled yelp.
silence stretched between you for a heartbeat before michael burst into surprised laughter against your neck.
“i can’t believe—“ he laughed between gasps, still inside you despite now being on the floor. “did we just break the bed?” his eyes were bright with amusement, dimples appearing as he grinned down at you. you were too breathless to scold him, still trembling from your orgasm as he lazily thrust just once more.
you burst into laughter despite still being in complete shock from what just happened, your chest heaving with spent breaths “that’s because you lost control completely, michael!” you managed to say, running your fingers along his jaw. michael kissed you softly, not moving from where he was buried inside you. “worth it,” he murmured against your lips, flexing his hips slowly as sparks ignited between you again.
you both looked over at the broken bed frame and started giggling like teenagers. michael slowly pulled out of me, both of you wincing slightly at the sensitivity. he lay on his back on the carpet, pulling you against his chest.
“you know,” he said thoughtfully, running his fingers through your hair as you curled up on his chest, “they say your honeymoon is supposed to be romantic and perfect. but i think i prefer our version—broken bed and great sex.”
you giggled against his skin, tracing lazy patterns on his chest. “most couples just break a glass of something. we took out the whole damn bed frame.” michael chuckled, the sound vibrating against your cheek. “that’s because you’re fully mine now. i can be as wild as i want.” he pressed a kiss to your forehead, his arm tightening around you.
the laughter eventually died down, replaced by comfortable silence as you both lay tangled on the floor. michael traced lazy patterns on your hip, his breathing slowly returned to normal.
“so…” you murmured, looking up at him with a tired smile. “do you think we should call the front desk orrr?”
michael groaned dramatically, covering his face with one hand. “we’re definitely getting charged for that,” he muttered, though he couldn’t keep the laugh out of his voice. “though i’m not complaining.” he pressed a kiss to your temple, his hand sliding down to squeeze your ass. “worth every penny.”
you snorted, poking his ribs. “you’re the one with the money, mr. jackson.” you joked.
summary — what starts as hurt and neglect becomes a raw reminder of how deeply he needs you.
warnings — smut, profanity, implied relationship neglect, slight angst, make up sex, oral (reader receiving), p in v, pet names ( baby, sweetheart, good girl, princess, angelface, babygirl, sweet thing), praise kink, soft dom!michael, sub!reader, reader is a bit bratty, emotional vulnerability, yearning + his vitiligo is briefly mentioned (LOTS OF I LOVE YOU’S!)
a/n — whew im so obsessed with michael i just had to whip something up im down bad also feedback is appreciated thank you and pls drop ideas in my ask box my requests are open i def wanna write more of him :)
You were sprawled across the bed irritated. You had known his concert would run late this life came with waiting.
Your phone was in your hand as you scrolled with sharp, restless movements, the kind that said everything your silence didn’t.
You heard the keycard slide into the lock. The door opened. Closed. The soft pad of his expensive loafers tapped against the floor.
“Baby?” came his voice, softer than the stage version of him you knew the world worshipped. Tired. Careful. Almost searching.
"I know I'm late. The concert ran over, and then there was the afterparty, and i couldn't get away.”
You looked up from your phone. He was at the edge of the bed already, just standing there like he wasn’t sure if you were going to talk to him or ignore him.
“I don’t care about the afterparty, Michael,” you said, meeting him at the edge of the bed.
He sighed, long and deep. "Don't do this. Not tonight. I've had a long day. The crowd was insane, and I gave everything I had on that stage, and all I could think about was getting back to you."
You looked up at him, letting him see the frustration in your eyes.
“I’ve been in this suite for hours. I chose not to go to the show tonight. I watched you perform live from here, and then I just… waited. I’ve reorganized the minibar, counted bathroom tiles, watched like three soap operas I don’t even understand.”
He stood there in a all black tailored jacket, fitted shirt underneath slim trousers that clung to him so well.
He looked so good in black too good, honestly.
"I'm here now," he said softly.
"Are you?" You sat up, tossing your phone aside. "Because it feels like I'm dating a ghost. A very busy ghost who forgets I exist”
His jaw tightened, a flicker of frustration in his face before it softened. “You know that’s not true. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I wasn’t here.”
“Then why does it feel like that every time?” Your voice came out quieter now, less angry and more tired. “I know you don’t mean it, Michael… but I’m still the one sitting here feeling it.”
His eyes met yours again, softer now. “It gets chaotic out there and I come off stage and it’s just… people pulling me in every direction. Interviews, crew, everyone needing something from me.” He shook his head slightly. “And then I get back here and I realize I didn’t even check in with you properly.”
He ran a hand over his face, exhaling slowly. “I’m not trying to make you feel like that.” A pause. “I swear I’m not.”
"Then prove it." You said smirking.
He took a step closer then another, not breaking eye contact.
"You want me to prove it?" His voice dropped, losing that soft edge and gaining something darker. "Is that what this is about?."
That was exactly what you wanted. You were angry with him, but underneath it all, the need was there.
It had been a while since you two had sex his busy schedule had kept him away from you.
“Well-”
"Don't." He held up a hand, and your mouth snapped shut. "Don't lie to me sweetheart . I know you. I know that look in your eyes. That challenge. Like you're daring me to do something about it."
You met his gaze, refusing to back down. "Well maybe i do want you to do something about it."
He was standing too close. Looking too good. Smelling like that familiar cologne that made your focus slip.
“Mm.”
“Talk to me. Tell me what you need right now.”
A small breath left you. “You,” you said quietly. “I need you. Right now.”
A long pause and then, slowly, he reached up and unbuttoned his jacket.
He shrugged it off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor without looking at it.
Then he tugged his shirt over his head.
You couldn't help but let your eyes trail over his lean torso, the smooth skin, the subtle definition of muscles built by years of dancing.
He took your face in his hands, his thumbs tracing your cheekbones.
"Baby," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Look at me please."
You did. Oh, you always did. Those eyes of his pulled you in like gravity.
"I know I'm gone too much. I know it's hard. Harder than you thought it would be when you signed up for this." His thumb brushed your lower lip. "But I need you to understand something. When I'm out there, in those lights... a part of me is always here. With you. You're the only real thing in my life, do you understand?"
"Yes but why do I feel so invisible?" The words came out cracked, vulnerable.
"Because I'm an idiot." He smiled his smile was so pretty. "Because I get so caught up in trying to be perfect for everyone else that I forget to be perfect for the one person who actually matters."
He leaned in and kissed you your hands came up to grip his shoulders, as the kiss deepened instantly, turning messy and heated. His mouth moving against yours with desperation.
“Fuck…” he muttered when he finally pulled back for air, eyes dropping to your lips he was addicted to your lips.
“Your mouth is so sweet.”
He kissed you again his tongue sliding against yours, slower this time, savoring it, and the soft sound that escaped your throat only seemed to make him melt further into you. One of his hands tightened at your waist while the other moved up your neck, holding you close like he couldn’t get enough.
“M’gonna take care of you,” he whispered against your mouth.
“How?” you asked softly, tilting your head just enough to look up at him through your lashes like you didn’t already know exactly what that tone in his voice meant.
His fingers slid slowly along your waist beneath the thin fabric of your nightgown. "I’m about to show you."
He undressed you slowly each piece like he was unwrapping a gift he'd been waiting years to open. When you were bare beneath him, your skin prickling in the cool hotel air, he just looked at you. His gaze traveled over every curve, every dip, every shadow.
"God, you're beautiful," he breathed. "Do you know that? Do you know how many nights I've thought about this? About you? When I'm out there, dancing, singing, giving myself to thousands of people... all I can think about is coming back here and being inside you."
He pressed you back against the pillows, his body covering yours. He kissed down your neck, your collarbone, the swell of your breasts. His tongue circled your nipple, and you arched into him, your fingers tangling in his hair.
"You like that?" he murmured against your skin.
"You know I do."
"I want to hear you say it."
His mouth moved lower, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your stomach, your hips. Your breath hitched as he headed further down your body.
"Baby?"
"Hmm?" He looked up at you, his lips inches from where you wanted him most. His nose traced along your inner thigh, and you felt his breath hot against your core. "Something you want to say?"
"Stop teasing."
He laughed, low and dark. "Always demanding." His hands pressed your thighs apart, spreading you open to his gaze you were so wet.
"But I know how to shut you up, don't I?"
He lowered his head.
The first touch of his tongue against your clit was electric. You gasped, your hips bucking, but his big hands held you in place. He licked you slowly like he was savoring you. Like you were a delicacy he'd been denied for too long.
"Oh, fuck..."
The words slipped out before you could stop them.
Your fingers grabbed the sheets your thoughts scattered as heat blurred everything you were trying to stay mad about.
He hummed against you, the vibration alone sending a ripple straight through your whole body.
His tongue circled your clit dipping lower against your entrance. He fucked you with his tongue, and you clutched the sheets even tighter, your mind going blank.
“That’s it,” he said, pulling back just enough to speak. “There she is.”
“Couldn’t wait to get back here and put my mouth on you."
"Oh, please"
“Please, what?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.
“Please don’t stop,” you said, barely above a whisper.
He didn't his tongue worked you with skill that made your toes curl and your eyes roll. He found every sensitive spot, every place that made you gasp and moan. His fingers joined the party, sliding inside you, curling in that perfect come here motion that hit your g-spot dead on.
"You're so wet for me," he said, his voice muffled against your flesh. "So perfect. All mine. I can just taste how much you need me."
"Yes, yes, all yours-"
"Who do you belong to?" He looked up at you, his chin glistening, his eyes dark with hunger.
"You. Only you, Michael. I promise."
"That's right." He went back to work, his tongue lapping at your clit while his fingers pumped inside you.
The pressure was building, coiling in your belly like a spring being wound tighter and tighter. Your hips moved against his face, chasing the pleasure, and he let you. He let you ride his mouth, his tongue, his fingers.
"Come for me sweet girl," he coaxed. "Please, baby, wanna taste it." He begged.
That was all it took. The wave crashed over you, and you screamed his name, your body convulsing as pleasure ripped through you. He didn't stop, lapping up every drop, drawing out your orgasm until you were a trembling, gasping mess. He groaned against you as you came, like he was drinking in your pleasure, needing it as much as you needed to give it.
He crawled up your body, kissing your stomach, your breasts, your neck, until he was hovering above you. You could taste yourself on his lips when he kissed you.
"See?" he whispered. “That's what you've been missing. I'm going to remind you, over and over, just how much you mean to me.”
He reached down, and you heard the sexy rustle of his belt, the zip of his pants.
"I've been thinking about being inside you all night. Every dance move. Every moment I was on that stage, I was imagining this."
He kicked his pants off, and you felt his dick, hard and thick, pressing against your thigh.
"And now I'm going to fuck you until there's nothing in your head but me."
"Promises, promises." You teased.
He laughed, but there was no humor in it. Just a raw, predatory intent. "Still smart-mouthing? Don't worry. I know exactly how to fix that."
He lined himself up at your entrance, the tip pressing against you, but he didn’t move. He just held there, teasing you with what was coming next.
"Keep your eyes on me."
You did.
"I love you," he said. "I know I don't say it enough. I know I don't show it enough. But I love you. And I'm going to spend the rest of this night proving it. I need you to understand that every time I'm out there you're all I can think about."
He pushed in slowly inch by inch. You felt yourself stretching around him, accommodating to his size. He filled you completely, deeper than you thought possible, and when he was fully sheathed inside you, he paused.
His gaze dropped to where your bodies were joined a low breath leaving him.
“Oh, what a sight…” he said his hands tightening against your waist.
“Nothing between us. I need this. I need you.”
"Oh fuck..it feels so good."
"Tell me you love me."
"I love you."
"Again."
"I love you, Michael. I love you."
He began to move. Slow, deep strokes that hit places you didn't know existed. His hips rolled against yours, and the sound of skin slapping skin filled the room. He wasn't fucking you fast or hard. Not yet. He was making love to you, taking his time, worshipping you with every thrust.
"You feel so good," he breathed against your ear. "Taking me so well. So perfect. This pussy was made for me, wasn't it? Tell me it's mine."
"All mine. Come on say it."
"Yes, yes, it's yours-"
"It's all yours. Every part of me."
He kissed you, deep and demanding, his tongue fucking your mouth in time with his dick fucking your cunt. His hand found your clit, rubbing in circles, and you felt that coil tightening again.
"Already?" He smiled against your lips. "You're so sensitive tonight. Or did you miss me that much?"
"Shut up and fuck me."
"There she is." He laughed, but it turned into a groan as he picked up the pace. "There's my bratty girl. Always gotta have the last word, don't you?"
"Make me shut up then if you don’t like it.”
His eyes flashed. He pulled out, and before you could protest, he grabbed your legs and pushed them up, hooking your ankles over his shoulders. The position opened you up completely, and when he slammed back into you, he went deeper than ever before.
“I.. you’re so deep.” you mumbled not even able to finished what you were going to say fully.
"That's what I thought." He braced his hands on either side of your head, caging you in with his body. His face was inches from yours, his breath hot on your lips. "You wanted my attention? You've got it. All of it every drop i'm right here, baby. I'm not going anywhere.
The new angle was hitting that spot inside you that made you see stars. Your fingers clawed at his back, your moans turning into incoherent babbles. His skin was slick with sweat, the vitiligo patterns on his back glistened under the light.
“You drive me insane,” he grunted.
“Being so good for me now, after how angry you were minutes ago.”
“I was-I am-“
"I know." He leaned down, his forehead pressing against yours, his hips never stopping their relentless rhythm. "And I deserve it. I deserve every bit of your anger. But right now, I just want to make you feel good i need to feel your body come apart around me."
"Michael..." you babbled that was all you could say.
"Give in to me. I've got you. I'm not going anywhere. I love you so much it scares me sometimes."
He kissed you, sloppy and desperate, his tongue sliding against yours. His hand found yours, interlocking your fingers, pressing your palm into the mattress beside your head. He held your hand tight, like he was afraid you might disappear.
"I need you," he whispered against your lips. "I need you so bad sweet thing. You don't even know. When I'm out there, when the lights are blinding me and the crowd is screaming, I close my eyes and I see your face. That's what gets me through. That's what keeps me going."
His thrusts grew more urgent, even more desperate. "I can't do this without you. I don't want to do this without you. You're everything to me."
His other hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding your clit again. He rubbed you in frantic circles, matching the pace of his hips.
"Come for me," he commanded, but his voice was raw, pleading. "Please, baby."
Your orgasm ripped through you, so intense that you saw white. You screamed his name, your body convulsing, your inner walls clenching around him like a fist. He kept his forehead pressed to yours, his eyes locked on yours, watching you fall apart.
"That's it," he breathed. "That's my princess. I love you. I love you so much."
He didn't stop though. He kept fucking you through it, riding out every wave, every pulse. And then you felt him stiffen, heard his guttural groan as he spilled inside you, hot and thick, filling you up completely. His body shuddered above you, his grip on your hand tightening almost painfully as he rode out his orgasm.
"I love you," he gasped, the words falling from his lips like a prayer. "I love you, I love you, I love you." He didn’t care how many times he had to say it.
He collapsed on top of you his cock twitching inside you as he rode out the last of his orgasm. For a long moment, neither of you moved.
Finally, he shifted, pulling out slowly. But he didn't move away. He stayed close, his body still covering yours, his face buried in your neck.
"I'm sorry," he whispered against your skin. "I'm sorry I make you feel like you don't matter. I'm sorry I'm always gone. I'm sorry I'm not here when you need me."
“Michael, you-” your voice caught, breath uneven. “I’m sorry… I should’ve just-”
You looked away for half a second, guilt finally breaking through the frustration you’d been holding onto all night.
"No, let me say this." He lifted his head, and his eyes were wet. "I know I'm not easy to love. I know I'm complicated. I know I have all these walls and all these fears. But you... you break through all of them. You make me feel like I can be normal. Like I can just be a man in love with a woman."
“I know you’re tired,” you whispered. “I know you’ve been working nonstop and I just… I miss you so much sometimes it makes me angry.”
“Babygirl…” he breathed, forehead resting against yours. “You never have to apologize for wanting me.”
"Angelface." You said reaching up, cupping his face in your hands. "I'm not going anywhere. I love you. All of you. Every part of you."
"You mean that?"
"I mean it."
He kissed you, soft and sweet this time. Gentle. A promise.
"Let me show you again," he whispered.
"Ride me," he breathed. "I want to watch you.“
He shifted, rolling onto his back and pulling you with him until you were straddling his hips. His hands found your waist, guiding you as you sank down onto him, taking him deep inside you.
You moved on top of him, finding your rhythm. His hands slid up your thighs, your hips, your stomach, finally cupping your breasts. His thumbs circled your nipples, and you moaned, throwing your head back.
"You're so beautiful," he said, his voice full of awe. "How did I get so lucky? How did I find someone like you?"
“You’re so sweet” you muttered softly, almost shy now as if you weren’t currently riding him.
"I mean it." His hips bucked up into you, meeting your movements. "I don't deserve you. But I'm too selfish to let you go."
“You’re not selfish,” you murmured weakly, the words breaking apart as moans slipped from the both of you.
"I am. When it comes to you.”
He sat up, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you close. The position changed the angle, and you gasped as he hit that spot again. He held you tight, his face buried in your neck, his breath hot against your skin.
"I need you so much it hurts.“
"Tell me you're mine again."
"I'm yours. All yours Michael."
He kissed your neck, your collarbone, your shoulder. His hands gripped your hips, guiding your movements, setting the pace.
"Come for me again," he begged. "Please.”
You were close. So close. The pressure was building, coiling tight in your belly. He reached between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing in tight circles.
"That's it," he coaxed. "I've got you. I'll always have you."
You came with a cry, your body shuddering against his. He held you through it, his arms wrapped tight around you, his lips pressed to your skin.
He came too, his body tensing beneath you, his groan muffled against your neck. You felt him spill inside you again the sensation sent another wave of pleasure through your oversensitive body.
You stayed like that for a long moment, tangled together, breathing together. Finally, he pulled back, looking at you with those, beautiful eyes.
"You tired yet," he said.
"Never."
"Good."
He kissed the tip of your nose. "I'm going to spend the whole night showing you how much I love you. Every hour. Every minute.”
When you woke up the suite was quiet sunlight spilled through the curtains in soft streaks, warming the sheets tangled around your legs.
At some point during the night, you must’ve drifted off completely. You didn’t even remember when.
“Morning,” Michael murmured against your skin, his voice rough with sleep.
One of his arms tightened around your waist instinctively, pulling you a little closer against him beneath the sheets.
His hand slid down your side, over your hip, settling on your thigh.
"I love you," he said again, like he couldn't say it enough. Like he needed to fill every silence with those three words.
“And i love you more.”
"I don't deserve you," he whispered.
"Stop saying that."
"It's true."
“That’s not true.”
He kissed you softly. "I'm just not used to it. Not used to someone wanting me for me."
"I want you for you. Just you."
He held you close, his body pressed against yours, his heart beating against your chest.
And in that moment, you knew that everything was going to be okay.
After three long weeks of traveling, Michael finally returns home. You happen to notice he's a bit worked up.
-
word count: 3454
content: no use of y/n, creampie, fingering, mj calls you his pretty girl, breast sucking, ur lowkey compliant af, mj is really soft and sweet even when saying dirty things, p in v sex, use of pet names, mentions of stress, uhhh they do it in the living room, mj makes reader squirt <3, literally any era you want to imagine cus i'm not descriptive, i think that's it
-
"Michael?" Your voice came out softer than intended, though you could tell he'd heard you from the way his shoulders relaxed. He stood in front of the fireplace, the orange glow illuminating his lean body in a silent shadow. You chewed your bottom lip, hands snaking around your body to keep warm. The only thing adorning your frame was a thin silk nightgown, the one you liked to put on after shaving.
"Hey, baby," His smooth voice called out. You let out a breath, waiting for him to turn and face you, but he never did. His hands were tucked in the waistband of his pajama pants, and he was staring into the fire; for what, you didn't know.
"What are you doing out here?" You asked, bare feet daring to step closer. Though the living room was warm, the hallway behind you was cold, and your nipples peeked out beyond the thin fabric of your garment, making you shiver. "I couldn't sleep," He replied, voice still soft, still patient.
"Couldn't or wouldn't?" You asked. You inched closer, and at that, he turned to face you, sultry eyes taking in your shorter frame. "I think you know the answer."
"Mmm," You hummed, letting him pull you in front and wrap his arms around your waist. You stared into the very same fire, feeling his heartbeat against your back. He began to sway the two of you, and you closed your eyes, letting the warmth of his body and the fire whisk you away. After a second, you spoke, "You need to rest."
"I know," He simply replied, thumb rubbing up and down your belly over the nightgown. You focused on feeling the fabric bunch and unbunch, the simple gesture sending tingles to your core.
"Michael?"
"Yes, baby?"
"Are you stressed?"
Michael took a second to reply, taking a deep breath before moving his hand up your body, caressing your neck from behind. "Yes. I am. That's why I can't sleep."
"Are you worried about what your producers are going to say about the album?"
"More so, what they're not going to say, but yes."
"Oh."
He continued to caress your neck, up and down, before moving to your shoulders and gliding his fingers gently along the soft skin there. "Have I ever told you how much I love it when you ask me questions?"
You took in a sharp breath, eyes closed as his fingers moved across your body. It was sending tingles to your scalp, so much so that it was making you weak in the knees. You leaned against his solid frame for support. "Yes, you have." Your voice was a mere whisper.
He leaned down, soft lips pressed against your neck. The kisses were so light you had to focus on just him to feel them at all. His hands were cold, despite the fire, and you felt them snake down to the edge of your gown. It was a short thing, clearly meant for sleep and the intimacy of a partner. It stopped right below your ass, covering your panties but leaving the entirety of your legs exposed.
Suddenly, he paused, pulling away from you before walking across the living room. Your eyes snapped open, and you watched him, shocked, as he glided the loveseat across the hardwood floor and settled it right where he'd been standing moments before. He sat down, holding his hand out, and offered you a small, sensual smile. "Join me?"
You smiled in return, taking his hand and letting him pull you onto his lap. You faced away from him again, back against your chest, legs curled in his lap, and his firm hand massaging your feet. You both watched the fire for a while before desire started to crawl from within. You fidgeted in his lap, breath coming out slightly staggered as you tried to search for some friction without him knowing. But he knew, he always knew.
The hand massaging your foot crept up, softly squeezing your calf before making its way, ever so gently, to your thigh. You chewed on your bottom lip again, wanting more than anything for him to keep touching you, and to never stop.
He pushed his hips up, adjusting himself, before planting his hands on your hips and turning you to sit so that your legs dangled on either side of his. You relaxed, the back of your head nestled beside his. If you turned, you could kiss him.
"What do you want? Hm? Tell me." His voice was soft. It was always soft. You can't recall a time it was anything but. You couldn't answer, though, your words paralyzed in your throat as you focused on the way he caressed your thighs.
It's not like you and Michael had never had sex before; it was quite the opposite, in fact. But every time, he made you nervous. Every time, he made it feel like the first. With the innocent facade, the gentle teasing, the soft touches. It drove you insane. It was as if he knew what got you riled up, down to the number of kisses on your neck.
"Answer me, baby."
You shuddered, his breath tickling your ear. In the time he was waiting for your answer, his hands hadn't left your thighs. They were still circling and squeezing the exact same spots, over and over again.
"I...I want you to touch me. I miss...I miss it. I miss your touch."
"Mmm," He hummed, taking a deep breath as if he was considering your words. "Touch you where?" He finally asked, making your chest tighten.
"Anywhere, everywhere. Please."
You heard him chuckle behind you; nevertheless, he pulled his hands away from your thighs, hooking a finger under the waistband of your panties, and pulling the soaked material away from your core and down your legs, discarding them somewhere across the living room. Then, his hands found themselves under the bend of your knee, propping your feet on his thighs and leaving you exposed for the fire to see. You sighed, a sad, pathetic sound that was closer to a whine than anything.
"Oh, baby."
His middle finger gathered up the arousal that was leaking from your aching cunt, spreading it up and down, purposefully neglecting your clit until you whined, making him chuckle again. He was unbelievably hard underneath you, which is why these seemingly nonchalant chuckles weren't bothering you one bit. You knew he wanted you just as much as you wanted him.
After swirling firm, quick circles around your clit, he finally inserted a single finger inside of you. Letting your walls squeeze and tighten around his digit. You let out a quiet, gruff moan, bucking your hips into the feeling and closing your eyes. You were already overstimulated, and nothing had even really happened yet. But Michael always had that effect on you, since day one.
He pulled his finger out, and when you opened your eyes, you were able to see that it was already coated in a thin, creamy film. Your face grew hot with embarrassment, and your bottom lip found purchase between your teeth once more. Michael used his finger to swipe across your clit, making your hips buck and your core tighten. "Ohh," You let out, blood threatening to spill from your swollen lip. He inserted his finger again, this time with a companion, and you could tell from the tight squeeze just how long it'd been since you two had had sex.
"I want you to cum for me, darling. Do you think you can do that?" You nodded, eagerly, chest heavy with anticipation as his two fingers sat still inside of you. "And who knows, if you do a good job, maybe I'll fuck you."
Your eyes had just started to flutter closed before they flew open again, jerking your head to the side to see him already looking at you. A smirk adorned his pretty lips, but you were focused on his eyes. Soft, brown, and adorned with the most beautiful eyelashes a man could have. When Michael said 'do a good job', he was almost always referring to you making a mess. He loved to see and make you squirt. You could tell he felt accomplished when you did so. You nodded, your own big eyes staring back at him, before you leaned in for a kiss. The moment your lips collided, his fingers began to move.
Your walls had had enough time to adjust, so his pace was relentless. Fast, piercing, but oh so good. At some points, he slows down, curling his fingers up just to hear you moan. His tongue licked the inside of your mouth, tasting every inch of you while you were a moaning, groaning mess. The position was giving you an ache in your side, from being turnt around to kiss him while your legs were still propped on his thighs, but you didn't care, because everything felt amazing. Michael pulled away, eyes still focused on your lips but having something to say.
"You hear yourself, girl? Sounds filthy."
And he was right. Wet, squelchy sounds filled the expanse of the living room. Your juices flowed down his hand, leaving his palm and wrist drenched, and the crotch of his pajama pants soaked as well. "All for you," You managed to moan out, your face inching closer to his as you longed for another kiss. He granted it to you, his other, unoccupied hand coming up to cup your chin.
Suddenly, your core tightened, and you pulled away, unable to breathe. Your orgasm was right there, right there, you could feel it bubbling. "Oh, oh fuck. Oh, Mike..." Michael pushed deep inside of you then, eliciting a loud moan from you. Your legs fell from his lap, and he used the hand that was on your chin to keep you propped open for him. "Come on. I know it's there. I can feel it. Come on, baby." His words were encouraging, as trying to win a race; he always said just what you needed to hear.
Your head was thrown back against his shoulder, your chin pointed to the ceiling, and your mouth stuck in a permanent 'o' as you finally came. Making a mess of his fingers, the floor, his pants, and the cashmere rug before the hearth.
"Yess, 'atta girl. I got you, I got you. Oh, I'm so proud of you, baby."
You whimpered weakly, your body limp from the exhaustion of your orgasm. You knew it wasn't over, but Michael always gave you time to recuperate after something like this. As your breathing started to steady, he placed delicate kisses along your neck, nibbling on your ear, and rubbing the inside of your thigh.
"You did a good job," He said, a bit muffled since your earlobe was in his mouth. Instead of a 'thank you', you turned around in his lap, your naked cunt making contact with his clothed cock. He hissed, biting his lip, before placing his hands on your hips. He began to rock, back and forth, back and forth, making you more overstimulated than you already were.
"You gonna let me fuck you?" How he managed to ask such a dirty question in the gentlest, most innocent voice was beyond you. So you smiled shyly, nodding as you ducked away from his eyes. Michael was usually more romantic, much more patient. He usually wouldn't say 'fuck'; he'd say 'make love'. And he much preferred the bedroom over anything as scandalous as the living room. But alas, it'd been over three weeks since you'd seen him, with him just arriving from traveling yesterday afternoon, and you knew how restless he got when he was pent up without you for so long. He became unpredictable.
"Will you lie on your back for me then, love?"
You nodded, moving your weak legs from the sides of his hips and moving across the small loveseat. He stood, watching you intently as you lay comfortably on your back, head lying on the armrest, and thighs stuck together from arousal. His eyes admired you, but for once, you weren't focused on his face. Your attention had found its way to his pants. At the large bulge in his pants that seemed to gravitate towards you.
"You wanna know what I was stressed about?" He said your name gently, making you nod. He sighed, fingers curling under the waistband of his pants and pulling them down, letting them pool at his ankles before stepping out of them and throwing them about, probably near where your panties landed.
"My label..." He started, now working on his underwear. You watched with intent eyes. "Was trying to get me to trim the new album down by three songs. Saying it was too long– wouldn't sell, according to them. Now granted," He finally released himself from the suffocating chambers of his underwear. He pumped himself a few times, a hiss leaving his lips as his hand grazed the head of his cock.
"The album is nearly an hour and a half long, so I understand that part." He settled between your legs, peeling them apart and letting them settle on his hips. He rubbed the leaking tip across your clit, making you groan, "Mike–" You whimpered, your hand finding its way to his pelvis to push him away. "But you want to know what songs they wanted me to take off?"
You couldn't answer. Why was he doing this? Did he always tease this much? You could hardly focus on what he was saying or what he was trying to tell you. Why was his shirt still on? You wanted to see him; it'd been so long.
Just as you reached for his shirt, he broke the entrance of your cunt, making your eyes roll back and your back to arch. You gasped, grabbing a handful of the very shirt you were about to take off. "They were the ones about you," He strained, a whimper leaving his lips as he bottomed out. He sat still for a second, letting you, or maybe him, adjust.
"Can you believe that?" He breathed out, "My songs, about my girl. My pretty girl." He ducked down, planting his face in your neck and slowly starting to move his hips. "I'm crazy about you, girl. Crazy, baby. I love you." His words were so passionate, so calculated, so layered. Moans left your lips every time you tried to reply. 'I love you too,’ they were meant to say; 'I love you more than I could ever express'. However, only pathetic moans could leave your throat.
"Oh, baby." He whispered over and over again in your ear. His dick was long, as one might think it would be, given his stature. It was above average and so, so thick. It stretched you open with each stroke, reaching just deep enough inside you to make you want to run away. His hand held your hips down, preventing this, and he continued to fuck you, just as he said he would.
"I miss you when I'm gone. All I can think of is you. Always. All the time. You compel me."
"Oh, Michael, I missed you," You were finally able to sob out, finally letting the pleasure take over you. "I know," He kissed your jawline, over and over, dotting it with delicate kisses. "I know, I missed you too. More." He finally pulled his shirt off, and next, your nightgown, letting the sweaty clothes fall to the floor
Impossible. You thought. You were a wreck without him. Every time he ventured away, you wandered the huge house, wondering when he'd be back. The early morning and nightly phone calls were never enough. You always just wanted him. Of course, you had his animals, all flooding through and roaming freely in the backyard, and they were enough of a reminder of him to get you through, but it was never enough. Never.
Michael pulled away from the solace of your neck, hovering above you as his hips did most of the work of making you both feel good. He looked between your eyes, his breath washing over your lips as you stared back up at him, feeling loved. Feeling whole.
"Come on tour with me?" He finally asked, his words heavy with pleasure. You opened your mouth to respond, but still, only moans fell out. You were at your limit. Your brain was mush. You nodded, eagerly, a strained "Yes", finally croaking out of your lips.
"Yes?" He asked for confirmation. You nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him down to meet your lips. "Yes, yes, yes," You mumbled against him, before slipping your tongue in his mouth. You wanted to swallow him. Devour him even. You needed to, because you were hot, so, so hot. The fire, your pleasure, his body; it was all too much for you.
Just then, your core started to tighten again, your belly bubbling with heat. "You gonna cum again?" He asked against your lips, of course, your response was a fistful of his hair, your legs tightening against his waist, and your head thrown back so that your throat was exposed.
"Go ahead," He grunted, in between thrusts, "Cum for me, my pretty girl."
He licked your throat, collecting your sweat on his tongue and suckling on the skin there while his thrusts became sloppy. He moved down to your breasts, taking a nipple in his mouth while twisting the other between his index finger and thumb, and then swapping, making sure to give the same attention to each one.
You tightened your grip on his hair, making him groan. He loved it when you did that; it was enough to send him over. But he needed you to finish first; he always did that. You secretly think he loved delaying his own orgasm.
He bit down ever so slightly on your nipple, and you came with a loud groan, your legs tightening impossibly around his waist as your thighs shook. He guided you through it, but then his strokes became just as sloppy, just as rough as before. He wrapped his arms around your body, lifting you from the loveseat ever so slightly and fucking into you with force he'd never had before. You held onto his hair, your other hand wrapped securely around his neck, but the rest of your body was limp against his as he chased his own finish.
"Oh– oh baby– I'm almost– I'm going to cum," He moaned, fucking into you like a rabid man. "Inside," You managed to force out, eyes closed and breaths heavy. You were exhausted.
"Inside?" He verified. He was close, you could tell. His voice was so strained. "Yes, please, Michael. Inside, please. Please." Your begging is what sent him overboard.
He thrust inside of you once more, before groaning loudly into your ear. You felt his warm seed spurt inside of you, making you moan softly in his ear as you both came down from your orgasms.
Lying you gently back onto the cushions, he cupped your head so that it didn't thud against the armrest. He pulled his softened member out of your sore cunt, letting his seed leak out onto the couch and resting his sweaty, sticky body against yours.
Usually, he'd be quick with aftercare, a cold towel wiping you down, and a warm bath running soon after. But you knew he was exhausted, and you weren't even sure you had the energy to walk upstairs to the bathroom.
You both lie in silence for a moment, listening to the firewood crackle and pop. The fire danced shadows on his naked body, and you played with his hair, massaging his scalp as he lay his head on your stomach, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on your hip.
After a moment: "Did you mean it when you said you'd tour with me?"
You sucked in a breath, meeting his eyes as he pulled his sweaty face away from your sweaty stomach. You smiled weakly, nodding, and moving a strand of hair from his face. "Of course."
He returned your weak smile, planting a kiss on your belly button. "I'm glad," He started, lying back down. "It's not only because I miss you, but I just think it'd be safer. Bill can protect you as well, plus I'm so worried someone will break in with just you here. I want you close to me."
Your fingers danced in his hair once more, polished nails caressing his scalp. A small smile made its way to your lips.
"And I want to be close to you."
-
yes i saw the Michael movie, and yes it raised me from the dead
I feel like mature!michael would definitely do this while taking you out shopping,
18+ mdni ₊ 𓂃 ౨ ৻ꪆ
You'd be browsing in a perfume store as michael tagged along behind you, giving you space as he held all of your 6 shopping bags — 3 in each hand. He bought you anything you wanted, anything. You were absolutely spoilt dry with him, & you loved it, not to mention he made you feel like the sexiest girl in the world.
In the midst of browsing for your favourite perfume, you realised they didn't have it in stock today, immediately throwing you into a strop, not used to things not going your way. You'd huff & puff, walking faster around the store trying to find it. Michael placed a little hand on your bare shoulder from behind, trying to console you.
"Calm down baby, there's different ones–"
You spun around facing him, strands of hair sticking to the gloss on your lips. Your face was smitten with this bitchy attitude that he caught onto immediately; he's seen it before & he certainly knows how to deal with it.
"No! I don't want the other ones, okay? I came out here specifically for that one. All the others are crap."
Workers around the two of you start to look up at the commotion.
"You're making a scene, stop it right now." He presses, his face stern.
You flick his hand off your shoulder like it was dirt as you continue your search, rolling your eyes instinctively. This attitude wasn't a surprise to michael, he's had to deal with your fits countless times. This was just another occasion.
Before you could walk away any further, you recognised his large hand gripping the small of your shoulder, pulling you back.
"Michael! let go of me!" You squeal.
One thing you knew, when michael was irritated or wanted to get his point across to girls like you, he never shouted. He was too classy for that.
He ignored your pleas as he practically had to drag you out of the store like a child into a private corner, taking off his aviators in one swipe.
Once he had you to himself, he spun you around, placing his hands on your shoulders as he leaned down a little to get on your eye level. You had nowhere to go; if you tried to look away, he'd re-avert your gaze on him with his thumb.
"There's nothing there for you,” he shakes his head, “eyes on me, girl.'
You felt all your attitude evaporate out of your body all of a sudden, it doesn't take a lot. You just need to be checked.
"You don't do that, alright? Especially in public," he says pointing to the store, one hand still firm on your shoulder.
His eyes flicker back & fourth from your pouted lips. You look up at him through your thick lashes, trying to appear unaffected. He chuckles at your deamenour.
“You still ain’t satisfied huh? All that I’ve bought for you & you still ain’t happy?” He cooes, brining your attention to the 6 bags pooled on the floor around you.
You were stubborn as hell, wouldn't speak, wouldn't let up.
"I don't wanna have to do this again when we're outside. Makes our relationship look bad to the press. I don't need the stress, baby." He mewls, sliding his hands down your waist towards your plump ass.
He rides the back of your pink hot shorts up, cupping both of your cheeks with a gentle grab. He gives one cheek a rough slap, making you jump n' whine.
"Understand?" He questions, tilting his head down slightly.
You don’t answer at first, just look at a random wall to your left.
You feel his 2 fingers find your panties through the leg holes of your shorts; you’re embarrassingly wet, but you didn’t want him to know that. His mouth falls agape as he felt his fingers becoming covered in your arousal from your panties.
“Oh baby, you’re soaked.” He whispers, slipping one finger up your sopping cunt.
“Michael-“
“Understand?” He repeats.
You nod furiously, “Yes, yes”
“Yes yes, you like my finger in your pussy? Or yes yes you understand? Use those words.”
“I understand, yes I understand,” you have to stop yourself from almost crying out, your pussy fluttering around his singular finger as you squeeze your eyes shut.
Michael slides his finger out of you, the loss of sensation making you pout. He sucks his finger from bottom to top, humming at the sweet taste of your juices.
Reiner Braun loves hitting it from the back so he can see your curls bounce
Fingernails digging into your hips, Reiner slammed back into you from behind, watching your ass bounce against his hips– and, more importantly, your curls bounce against your upper back.
Reiner absolutely adored your curls. Whenever you would cuddle, he would twist your curls around his fingers, watching them spring back to normal once he let go.
Despite your protests and complaints about how he would cause frizz, Reiner didn’t stop. Your hair mesmerized him.
But above all, his favorite thing is getting to watch your curls bounce and splay around your shoulders whenever he fucks you from behind. In fact, it’s grown to be his favorite position purely because of your hair.
“Reinerrr…” you groaned, arms sore and tired from holding your lower half up in the air for him for so long.
He kept his brutal pace, fat tip hitting deep inside you with every thrust. Reiner had to hold himself back from reaching out to play with your curls mid-act. Watching them just wasn’t enough.
“So beautiful,” he whispered, breathing growing ragged and thrust becoming slower, “so fucking beautiful.”
Reiner slid one hand down to your pussy, rubbing your clit in gentle circles to make up for his slowed pace. He would drag his cock back out slow, and then slam back into without warning just to watch your hair bounce.
“O-oh god, Rei- nghhh I’m gonna cum!” Whimpers becoming pathetically loud, the coil in your tummy snapped, sending your orgasm crashing over you.
Reiner hissed, pulling out, giving his dick a few strokes before shooting a hot load of cum onto your lower back.
“I hope that didn’t get in my hair,” you mumbled, relaxing from your bent position, asleep arms finally coming back to life.
“I would never. Don’t you trust me not to mess with those perfect curls?” Reiner wiped your back off with a tissue off the nightstand, tossing it. He pulled you to his side, strong arms holding you close.
“I guess,” you murmured, voice muffled from your face in his chest. Reiner chuckled, already starting to play with your curls again, not stopping until you both fell asleep.
Finally wrote something specifically applicable to myself… I definitely enjoyed it.
The thought shifts somewhere in the back of your mind while you lie face-down in his bed.
The sheets smell like him, like smoke, sweat, and something else bitter, masculine, something that makes everything inside you tighten before Sukuna has even touched you.
The pillow under your hips tips your pelvis up so high your lower back aches, and you feel so exposed it makes heat crawl up your neck, humiliation burning hot under your skin.
Worse, it feels good.
So good your whole body throbs with anticipation.
You’re naked, and the air in the room is cool, biting at the wet skin between your thighs, making goosebumps race from the base of your spine to your shoulder blades, but under that chill, traitorous heat keeps spreading because Sukuna is still kneeling behind you.
You can hear his steady breathing.
And you can feel the way he’s just staring at you.
You crack first.
“Sukuna, quit dragging it out,” you mumble into the sheets, your voice coming out hoarse, annoyed, but the tips of your ears are burning so badly he could probably see it even in the half-dark.
Your knees are shaking from how long he’s been silent.
Sukuna doesn’t answer.
You twitch your hips from impatience and embarrassment all at once, and the movement makes your pussy open up even more, and he lets out a short, amused breath, laughter low in his chest.
“Baby, quit whining,” he finally says. Low, lazy, with that mocking edge that always makes the tips of your fingers go numb.
“I’m not whining,” you snap, even though you know damn well that’s a lie.
“You aaaare,” he drawls, mocking your tone. “Ask you to shut up for one second and you’re already bitching. ‘Hurry up,’ ‘just put it in already,’ ‘I want it.’ Tsk. And then when it’s actually time to take it...”
“Shut up!” you whine before he can start complaining about how you always struggle with his size.
You’re always like this.
You always get impatient first.
Then he gives you exactly what you asked for, and suddenly you’re whining like it’s his fault.
Sukuna laughs immediately. Low, rough, and your lower stomach clenches.
“I wasn’t done,” he continues calmly. “By the way, did I mention you’ve got a fucking insane ass?”
Usually, praise is enough to make you behave, but not today.
“I can still change my mind,” you mutter.
“Change your mind,” he repeats, his voice coated in so much poisonous sugar it makes your teeth ache. “Really? Go ahead. Lemme see.”
You try to push yourself up onto your elbows, but you barely get a few centimeters off the bed before his palm lands heavy between your shoulder blades and shoves you right back down, too hard to be gentle, but Sukuna knows you’ll fall into the mattress.
“Where d’you think you’re going?” he doesn’t ask, he states. Short, sharp. Your face presses into the sheets and you let out a muffled little “oh,” and he’s already leaning over you, his shadow swallowing you whole. “I told you to stay down.”
Sukuna doesn’t press hard, not yet. He’s just pinning you in place, and you hear his breathing closer now, feel the scent of his neck when he leans down near your temple.
“Stay still,” he whispers, his lips almost brushing your ear, and electricity shoots down your spine. “And stop squirming.”
“Sukuna!” you exhale, irritated, but your voice shakes.
He smirks, straightens up, and you hear him lick his lips. Then his hand settles over your ass, broad and possessive, fingers digging into the soft flesh, spreading you open, and you feel cool air brush over your cunt.
Sukuna parts your folds with his thumb, and you whimper because of how open you are, how indecent, how filthy you must look right now.
“Pretty,” he drawls, and your head spins. “Love it when you look like this...”
“Leave me alone,” you whine, twitching your hips, but he slaps you back down against the bed again, this time with his hand on your lower back, hard enough to keep you still.
With his other hand, he drags one finger slowly, from your clit, already swollen and slick, all the way down through your pussy to your entrance, gathering your wetness, and you jolt, clench up, let out a short, thin little sob.
Then he moves his finger higher again, but you jerk your hips immediately, instinctively, because it’s too much. Sukuna lets out a low laugh right away and shrugs like, fine, guess not today.
“Stop moving,” he orders calmly, pressing you harder into the mattress with his other hand until you can’t move at all. “I said stay down.”
“It tickles,” you whine into the pillow.
“It’s supposed to feel good,” he shoots back, and runs his finger over your pussy again, lazy little circles while you whimper and bury your face deeper into the sheets, drool slipping from your lips.
Sukuna stills and pulls his hand away, and you exhale in relief and disappointment all at once. You hear him spit into his palm, that filthy wet sound making everything inside you twist, and then his cock, hot and smooth, presses against your ass. He drags it through your slit, from your clit all the way down, slicking himself up, nudging at your entrance, but not pushing in.
Once. Twice. Three times.
“Ready?” he asks. Not even cruel about it, not really. Just a little.
“Yes,” you breathe out. “Yes, already, c’mon, faster...”
“Tch... Always this fucking needy when it’s me.” He clicks his tongue and lines himself up. You feel the head of his cock press right against your entrance, pushing, spreading you just a little, just a few millimeters, just enough to make sure you feel it.
You moan.
Long and pitiful, because it’s always like this.
“There you go, whining again, baby,” he murmurs, and for once, there’s something almost gentle in his voice. “Take it, good girl. I’m going slow.”
And then Sukuna pushes deeper.
You yelp at the sudden, sharp stretch when he forces your entrance open. Your hands clutch at the sheets so hard your nails leave marks, and Sukuna goes still, already halfway inside, and you can hear him breathing heavily above you, controlled, restrained.
“Fuck,” he exhales, and it sounds almost reverent. “Still so fucking tight. Pathetic.”
You make some broken, incoherent sound, trying to adjust, trying to relax, but your body only clamps down harder around him because panic, tiny and animal, is screaming too much.
“Always act surprised,” he mutters, hand tightening on your back, “like you don’t do this every fucking time.”
Sukuna’s huge body looms over you, and of course that only makes you squirm more.
“Relax your ass,” he orders, and presses hard on your lower back, pinning you to the bed so you can’t arch, can’t run, can’t escape. “And baby, breathe, fuck, deeper.”
You take a breath, deep and shaky, and on the exhale he pushes more of himself inside, slow and steady, stretching you wider around every inch.
You hear his breath catch above you the deeper his cock goes, like even he feels the way your body fights him before finally giving in.
Then one smooth, relentless thrust, and he drives in nearly to the base, forcing a sharp, burning stretch that makes your whole body tense.
“Ohhh—” it tears out of you, long and loud, and you bite the sheet so you don’t scream.
“Good girl,” Sukuna whispers. “Took almost all of it. Almost, hear me?”
Sukuna goes still like that again, giving you time to adjust, and you can feel his cock pulsing inside you. Then he starts moving again.
Slowly. He pulls out halfway, and you suck in a short, desperate breath, and then he drives back in with one sharp thrust, and you cry out because Sukuna hits that exact spot that makes your vision blur.
“Right there,” he hums, satisfied.
The next thrust lands harder, and the sharp slap of skin on skin cracks through the room, louder now, meaner, like he’s already losing patience with how much you’re squirming.
Sukuna slams into you again, and you scream into the pillow, biting down on it while he just laughs, rough and pleased. His hips smack against your ass with a wet, obscene sound.
“Easy, easy, mouthy little thing,” he purrs, even though he likes it when you’re loud, and you know it.
“Fuck you...” you try to snap back, but he pushes in deeper, and the words break apart into moans.
Sukuna speeds up.
“Cry about it,” he shoots back immediately, slamming into you again. “You begged for it.”
The mattress starts shifting under each thrust, creaking softly beneath you every time he drives you back into it.
His palm is still pressing down on your lower back, keeping you from lifting up...
His other hand clamps down on your hip, thumb digging little crescents into your skin every time he snaps forward.
You’re trapped between him and the bed, helpless, spread open, soaked in sweat and him.
You can feel your slick running down the insides of your thighs, the sheet under you going damp, the way his balls slap against your clit with every thrust.
A full-body tremor crashes over you when Sukuna buries himself all the way to the hilt.
“Fuuuck... you’re making a mess,” he groans through his nose, sounding downright delighted. “Your cunt’s making the prettiest sounds.”
Sukuna stills for a second, pulls out almost all the way, and in the silence of the room there’s that wet, obscene sucking sound when he thrusts back in.
You feel the wet drag of it, every inch of him sliding out slow and slick, enough to make your whole body tense before he drives back in.
You let out a choked moan.
“You hear that?” he repeats, driving into you again, and again, and again, every thrust punctuated by that filthy, wet slap.
“Shut... ah-ah... shut up,” you sob.
“Or what?”
Sukuna suddenly leans all the way down over your back, hovering over your ear, and his voice goes quiet, smooth, almost tender, and goosebumps race over your whole body.
“Gonna punish me? Tell me you’re not coming back? You will. You always do. Because nobody fucks you like I do. Nobody knows how deep you can take me.”
Sukuna lets out a rough hum while you try to protest, then straightens up and suddenly thrusts all the way in, fully, to the base, so deep you feel his pelvis press against your ass, the head of his cock nudging your cervix, and you cry out, high and thin, tears springing to your eyes from the strain, from how good it is.
“There,” Sukuna growls. “Took all of it. What were you whining for? You could do it. Knew you could take it,” he adds, almost smug, like he’d never doubted you for a second.
He stays buried inside you like that, breathing hard, and you can feel your cunt pulsing around him, your stomach muscles tightening and releasing, and you’re right there, so close one more movement would do it.
“What, you want it?” he whispers, his lips brushing your temple. His voice is calm, even, like he’s not buried balls-deep in your pussy. “Wanna come? Say it. C’mon, I’m listening.”
You can’t talk. Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth, and all you can do is shake your head, sniffling, trying to move your hips on your own, but he immediately presses you down again, chest to your back, hips flush to your ass, and you’re flattened under him all over again.
“There you go,” he murmurs, voice dropping lower. “That’s my girl.”
It’s heavy, almost impossible to breathe.
Sukuna wraps a hand around your throat, feeling how wildly your heart is pounding.
“Yes,” you gasp. “Yes, please, yes.”
“Oh, really?” His lips stretch into a wide, mocking grin.
“Sukuna...”
“How pathetic,” he drawls, and you can hear the predator’s smile in his voice. “Lying under me, dripping, shaking, and you can’t even say two words. Drooling again too, huh? Yeah...”
He laughs under his breath.
“That mouth on you... all that attitude, and look where it gets you.”
You want to hit him. Or bite him. Or scream something insulting at him. Instead, you just press your face harder into the sheets, and a choked, humiliated moan tears out of your throat.
He laughs and takes his hand off your neck.
“Wait!” you gasp, panicked, when he shifts his hips back.
“That’s it,” Sukuna says, and slams back into you so hard the shock shoots from your spine all the way to your fingertips.
You squeal, clawing at the sheets, trying to push back against him, meet him halfway, but he keeps you pinned to the bed, not letting you move, and all you can do is take it, take it, take it until the whole world collapses into one single point and you come, crying out, body seizing, clenching around him so hard he groans through his teeth.
And three thrusts later, Sukuna finally stills, coming deep inside you, hot and hard, with a growl that vibrates straight through your spine.
You stay like that. You’re breathing hard, face buried in the sheet, wet with tears and spit. He’s breathing hard too, collapsed over you with all his weight, his cock still inside you, slowly softening, and you can feel the warmth spreading low in your belly.
He doesn’t pull out. Just stays there, keeping you full while it starts to leak around him, warm and humiliating between your thighs.
Sukuna drags a hand along the line of your thigh, slow, soothing, almost gentle. Then he leans down and presses a lazy kiss to the nape of your neck, so casual it almost feels mean after everything else.
“Good girl,” he whispers against the back of your head.
You mumble something incoherent, and he chuckles, pleased, giving one lazy, reflexive roll of his hips that pulls another gasp from you and makes you instinctively try to wriggle out from under him.
“Quit it,” he murmurs, tightening his arm around you when you squirm. “You’re not going anywhere.”
He gives a low, satisfied hum against the back of your neck.
“Next time I’m tying you up,” he adds, like it’s nothing. “So you don’t squirm at all.”
You close your eyes and think that... he’s probably not joking.
And, honestly, you think you like that.
Do not repost, copy, plagiarize, translate, or feed my work into AI in any form!)
Divider credit: @dollywons
trying to make up for my disappearance with sukuna smut </3
"fuck!" you cry, throwing your head back and letting your jaw go slack. clark is pistoning his hips against yours relentlessly, the only sounds in the room being the lewd skin slapping and the heavy panting and moans emitting from both of you.
"i know, honey" he coos, trying his best to be sweet verbally despite how rough he's being with you physically. "m'sorry babygirl" he tries.
the stretch was borderline excruciating. he was just too big. the funny part is he doesn't even know he's that big! or atleast he didn't know it until you started screaming complaining about it.
"s'too big, clark!" you mewl, squirming under him, but you can't help but arch into him. it's almost instinctive.
"just breathe, baby... breathe" maybe he should take his own advice, because he's barely able to take in a full breath with just how tight your gummy walls are squeezing and fluttering around him.
"i- can't-" the pleasure becomes overwhelming when clark reaches in between the both of you to aimlessly rub at your clit, anything to get you to stop whining. he immediately notices your eyes roll back and your breath hitch. "s'that better honey?" he asks, "that feel a little better?" you nod frantically, barely able to compute his sweet words as you feel yourself growing closer and closer to coming undone. the sniveling and the cries coming from you morph into delighted moans as the stretch becomes euphoric, his praises egging you on impossibly.
"there she is" he purrs, a small, knowing smirk playing on his face. "there's my girl" he litters your face with small kisses in an effort to calm you down as he continues his thrusts, growing closer to the edge himself.
"g-gosh- baby," he groans, his big fingers still working at your clit. "feels s'good clark!" you moan, right at the edge. "yeah?" he moans right back at you. "that feels good, huh?" he speeds up his thrusts, making you squeal. "feel me so deep, yeah?" he looks down and sees himself poking through your lower belly. he reaches down and presses on the bulge, making you wince at the tightness. the bulge is disappearing and reappearing with every thrust. "shi- shoot, honey" he mutters.
you feel the white hot band in your tummy snap, pleasure shooting through your body as you cry out his name. that alone is enough to push him over the edge as well. he cums deep inside you, fucking into you a few last times. you both lay there, panting. he's heavy on top of you, all 6'3, 235lbs of him laying sweaty on top of you (not that you mind). and of course, clark is quick to comfort you.
he pushes some of the hair out of your face, off of your damp, flushed skin. "you did so good, baby... m'sorry i was so rough" he speaks gently, kissing your forehead.
cw: smut!, mean!Scott, degradation, car sex, rough oral (male receiving), spitting, slapping, angry sex
“That’s not going to happen again,” Scott had stated bluntly as he put his cock back in his jeans and buckled his belt, still smacking the same piece of gum he had been chewing before the two of you fucked for the first time in your hotel room. “I take my work very seriously. I’m not going to let some silly little girl get me fired. Now put some real clothes on, this tornado’s not going to chase itself.”
But anytime you tried your luck and pawed at his belt in the truck, he would roll his eyes while pulling over - taking his cock out and giving you what you wanted.
Scott had you bent over the passenger seat in the middle of nowhere Oklahoma, bullying his way into your cunt with his cock for the hundredth time this month. You would moan, your eyes rolling into the back of your head and he would scold you mid fuck for drooling on the head rest.
“You’re such a fucking mess, you know that, slut?” he’d demand, bringing his hand down hard on your ass when you were too fucked out to respond, “You’re dripping all over my cock and slobbering all over my fucking work truck like a bitch.”
You’d taken to leaving your hotel room door unlocked and Scott was growing accustomed to slinking through it whenever his cock got hard in the night or early morning. But some mornings he'd have to use this special privilege just to get you up on time - which always left a sour taste in his mouth.
“Lazy slut,” Scott spat, rolled his eyes as he came into your hotel room one morning after you had pressed “snooze” on your alarm one too many times. You groaned in protest as he yanked your blanket off of your already naked body - you loved sleeping naked, but especially when you knew you were likely to have a certain strict hottie visit you.
The cold air shocked your system but you were quickly warmed by Scott’s body hovering above you as he yanked you by your ankle to the edge of the bed where he was standing.
He threw your legs over his shoulders and shoved his cock inside you before landing a slap across your face and grabbing your jaw “This is all you're good for, huh?” he scoffed, shaking his head. “How many StormPar hours have you wasted sleeping in or taking so long to get fucking ready in the morning? Always making me wait for you. The only value you bring to this team is being my fuck doll. At least yo’ve got that going for you.”
All you could do was moan and nod your head in agreement, but that didn’t make Scott happy either. “Shut the fuck up,” he’d whisper harshly, bringing his hand down over your mouth as he plowed into you over and over. The hotel walls were thin, but he was satisfied enough to let you scream into his hand as he used your pussy.
He suddenly spat on your face, making your pussy tighten and gush on him, and he just let out a cold laugh. “Oh you were just made to be my little play thing, huh? They should just pay you to lay in my hotel room all day and wait for me to get back from chases to use so I can clear my head, it’d save them a lot of money - a far more practical use for you.”
As disgusted as Scott sounded as he rambled, he shattered - spraying his load deep inside you upon watching your eyes roll to the back of your head at his cruel words.
What would really make Scott’s blood boil was when you had the audacity to fall asleep in the passenger seat while he drove. Some days as the sun would set on the drive back to your hotel, your eyelids would get heavy - making yourself way too comfortable on the job for Scott’s liking.
“Let me help you make yourself more useful,” he scoffed while undoing his belt, causing you to stir awake before reaching over to grip your hair and pull your face down into his lap with one hand, the other hand safely on the wheel.
You immediately understood and got to work, sliding his already hard cock between your lips - sucking and slobbering and lathing your tongue across his veins.
He groaned and pushed your head down harder, forcing himself down your throat harshly. “Yeah, slut. I know you can take it all,” he grunted, using your hair to guide you up and down his length.
You sputtered and gagged as he used you down to the collarbone and pulled you to your tonsils before forcing you down again over and over. You;d never had your throat used so rough before and his mean inconsideration burned in your tummy and made you wet, your pussy jealous for the attention your mouth was receiving.
“All your worth is tied up in these holes, huh? Don’t think I’ve ever worked with someone more incompetent,” or as pretty as you, but Scott kept that part to himself.
Tears stung your eyes and you struggled to breathe as Scott expertly drove the car while simultaneously using your head to get himself off. “Just turn your dumb little brain off and open your throat for me, show me you can be useful” he encouraged.
Suddenly, to your relief, Scott groaned and came - holding your head down as deep as possible. You tried to keep your teeth from scraping his balls. “Fuck,” Scott grunted as his load shot down your throat and into your tummy.
He let go of your hair and you instinctively sat up and coughed, trying to clear your airway. He took his eyes off the road for a moment to glance at you, a smug smirk pulling on his mouth when he saw your red eyes, tear stained cheeks and slobbery chin.
“You’re always such a filthy mess,” he shook his head, fixing his belt and staring at the road in front of him before popping a fresh piece of gum into his mouth.
