》 brought to you by me reminiscing on my period. NOT PROOFREAD
“Baby hmfh—shit, wait…! I-I'm gonna break!” You screamed, weakly pushing at his chest as your legs quaked violently from where it was pressed against his shoulder blades.
There was something off with Michael tonight. You had simply told him of your decision to go off birth control before the gala and all of a sudden, he's pushing the blazer he had custom-made for this specific event off of his shoulders and hauling your ass back to the bedroom.
Like a switch being turned, gone was the Michael who'd worship your body with a careful reverence of a devoted follower. The man driving relentlessly on your pussy right now is feral, desperate, and so eager to breed you like it was his life's mission.
Not that you're complaining. You always loved it when he loses control and sheds the gentlemanly ways. You appreciate the soft, love making especially during hard days but being drilled into the mattress will always triumph anything.
Four orgasms in, two with his mouth and fingers, and the other around his dick, you could barely think with the fogginess caused by the condensation caused by the feverish fucking that lit your body up like molten lava.
But you seriously don't think you can handle anymore, limbs electric and your muscles felt static as you continued to take every inch of him inside, feeling it slide against your tight walls and curve up to hit that very spot he's been abusing since he started.
“You can take more of me, baby. I know you can do it.” He panted out, an almost manic glint in his eyes as he draws his hips out before thrusting back in with one swift motion, burying himself so deep you feel him in your stomach and you scream, legs shaking from the sheer ecstasy he's wringing out of you.
The loud squelching of your joined arousal and the slapping as skin meets skin echoed lewdly in the large space of your room as your head lolled listlessly by the edge of the bed, eyes red rimmed with tears as it found permanent residence in the back of your skull.
You feel lightheaded—rather, just light in general, fucked out of your head to even process what is happening anymore except the feeling of his dick ramming relentlessly into your sopping cunt.
“You're so pretty, baby…”
His hands cupped your cheek and forced you to look at him as he slowed, letting you feel every drag of his dick and you whined. A wicked, sadistic grin stretched his lips wide as he delighted in the fucked-out look on your face.
“Focus on me, angel. Don't go anywhere else, stay here with me.”
“I-I can't… Baby, I-I really—hng!—can't anymore.”
He hushes you. “You can, silly. A couple more f'me, mama. ‘Wanna breed you a little more, you always love gettin’ filled by me, why are you tappin’ out already when we're getting somewhere?”
Then he's returning with a fervor, still holding your face as he jackhammered back into your battered cunt, pushing his cum out with every thrust and letting it drip on the soiled mattress beneath you.
You latched onto his back, nails digging painfully into his skin as your mind fogs up again, kiss-bruised lips whimpering his name out like it was the only word you know. Your legs burn from being stretched beyond its limit for an hour but the pain only adds to the intoxicating heat of your building orgasm like a convoluted mix of two contrasting agents bound to explode.
“I'm gonna die, I-I'm gonna die—shit…!”
Mortification burned through lust throughout your body as a breathy chuckle left his lips, no doubt entertained by your mindless mewling and the fact that your walls are already tightening around him.
“Y’not dying, mama. Just let it go, make me proud, hm?”
Then he reached down with one hand and began rolling your clit in leisurely circles, and that was all it takes.
You gush around him as you scream, full body convulsing as he buries himself with a finality into your cunt with an animalistic growl, the sensation of his dick hitting the deepest part of your body sending you into overdrive and your mind blanks. Feeling you pulse and greedily swallow him in, Michael empties himself inside you again and he stills, relishing in the feeling of your joined orgasm.
Weakly with a whimper, you push at him again and he relents.
You let your legs fall lifelessly on one side of the bed and rolled away, sobbing into the sheets as your body trembled from the might of your orgasm. Pulling yourself a little further from Michael to let yourself process the intensity the two of you were going but a firm hand on your waist stops you.
“Oh no no, where are you going, angel? We're not done yet.”
Then with surprising strength, he's pulling you back by the hips and he's mounting you again.
“Mikey…” You groaned out, fighting his hands off as it drifts down to the swell of your ass and then your hips, squeezing them appreciatively before he's leaning down, slotting his already hard dick against your ass.
“Don't ‘Mikey’ me, sweet thing. We're not stopping until I'm sure I put a baby in you. Nobody's leavin’ this room tonight.”
Summary: Randy saw a sneak diss in your TikTok reposts after an argument, and he wanted you to stand on that.
“Repeat it back to me.” Randy had your curls in his hand, deeply stroking you from the back. “I—I” your stomach was in knots, shakily holding the phone in your hand.
You should’ve known better. You knew how strict Randy was, and you know how easily ticked off he gets. The TikTok just seemed so accurate to your anger towards him, how could you not repost?
Unfortunately, the moment led to him having you bent over the kitchen counter while you attempted to read the repost from your phone.
“Don’t fuckin’ play with me.” His hand popped your ass sending a strike of electricity through you. You could barely think with his dick stretching you out. He was on the tip of touching 6,0 so of course he’s large everywhere.
And I do mean everywhere.
His dick sat deep inside of you, giving you a chance to gather yourself. “I’m being real patient right now, hurry the hell up.” He was so mean when you made him mad.
But boy, did that turn you on.
“G-glad I’m single—shit,” you tried to slightly ease up off of his dick, but he just grasped your waist and pulled you back. “Don't be runnin' take that shit." He gave a sharp thrust, hips clapping against your ass.
"Now read it."
You panted, clenching around him while you stood on your tippy toes. "G-glad I'm single and can d-do whatever I w-want." You dropped your phone onto the counter after reading it.
"So, you can do whatever you want?" He still hadn't moved inside you, letting you feel the pulsing length inside of you.
"Nooo, I was just talking, I swear." Your forehead met the cool surface of the table, in an attempt to catch your breath,
Randy just smacked his teeth before pulling out to where only his tip was inside. Your knuckles turned white as you gripped on to the edge of the table.
He fully slid inside of you, "FUCK!" Your hand flew back against his waist. "C-can't take it." Your cries went over his head as he bullied his dick inside of you, brushing against your G-spot and cervix.
"You takin' it right now, ma, what's the problem?" He continued at his hard pace, watching your ass ripple against him. The kitchen floor felt cold against your bare toes, the opposite from your body heat.
Your nipples rubbed against the counter as every stroke he gave sent you jerking forward. "Do you like irritating me?" He tugged at your hair and made you look at him.
"N-no, Ran, I'm sorry." Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes as you stared into his. His thick eyebrows were knitted together watching as you lost your mind on his dick.
He leaned down to tongue kiss you, making you moan into his mouth. All of these sensations at once, only stirred more arousal in your stomach.
You struggled to kiss him back as he pounded into you, pushing you towards your orgasm. "R-Ran, I'm close." You warned.
"Hold that shit." He pulled out and filled your hole with two of his long fingers. He didn't waste any time pumping them inside of you causing your legs to shake.
"Randy, please!" Your hand smacked against the table, feeling your orgasm on the teetering edge. You did not want to make Randy more upset than he already was.
But once he began to curl his fingers, all hell broke loose. Your legs shook as you let out a cry, squirting around his fingers. He watched as your essence splattered against the floor, and his hand.
He smacked his teeth as he withdrew his hand from your sopping entrance. He laid a gentle smack against your folds making you jolt.
"Since you can't follow directions" Smack "let's see how many times you cum," Smack "while I watch a movie."
⊱ summary - due to michael’s diet of pussy, you convinced him to not shave his beard this time.
⊱ content - just a pussy drunk michael!! beard michael for the win!!! im trying to break this writers block so if its ass please dont be mad!!
for as long as you can remember, michael ate the fuck outta you. when you first met him, he wasn’t like them other niggas you used date, who claimed that they ate no kind of pussy. i mean how hard was it? they wanted you to suck them off and have the nerve to not be able to make you cum during sex. well not until michael.
the first time the two decided to have sex, you practically had to beg that man to let you suck it. its only fair after he snatched your soul not once but twice in a very short span of time. then he had the nerve to give you an earth shattering orgasm while fucking you deep into the mattress. after you complained about not him not letting you. he simply explained that pleasing you was a whole lot better than any blowjob.
you vowed next time you would.
and that you did, leaving your then boyfriend teary eyed and trembling. from then on he allowed you no question asked.
now, you both years into marriage. those mind bending, breath taking orgasm never ended.
you both decided to take a weekend at your second home. away from responsibilities and your children.
now lounging in your robe after a nice bath, with michael of course. flicking through channels stopping when you see michael on the screen. he just so happens to be walking into the room.
“baby. now i know thats not you.” you giggled.
“oh its thats me… my beards grown so much.” his glasses on his nose, looking closely into the tv. gently stroking his beard.
you scoffed out a laugh remembering something your sister would say: ’you know a man's beard grows faster if he eats pussy every day.’ boy did mikes grow.. every morning you would hear him complaining about it, as if he wasnt face first in between your legs the night before.
“y’know i like it mikey..” you voice teasing.
“you… do?” he quickly turns his head towards you.
you swiftly nod your head, giving him a sly smile. “i really do. it suits you well.. when its all shiny after your done eating me is my favorite.”
his hitches, scanning your face trying to gather his thoughts. you give him a coy smile. knowing exactly what your doing. he stalkes closer to you, sitting at the at your feet on the bed, caressing your ankles.
“now,you know—“michael started, before you quickly interrupted.
“oh.. i know baby.”
no more words needed to be said. positioning himself, he grips both ankles and flings them over his shoulders. kissing your inner knees, while his hand strokes your plump hips.
lower himself down and lifting the bottom of your robe. kissing you lower belly, sucking your soft skin lightly. you let out soft gasps as he kissed you. even after all these years, the feeling you could never get used to.
making his way down to your glistening cunt. his breath glazing over it.
“shes always so pretty f’me.” he says in awe. your breathing labored as kisses your bikini line. his face slowly lowered, tongue lightly tracing your sensitive clit. lifting his face looking at you, your pussy glossy and puffy.
he was already gone, the only thought in his head was eating you. his tongue working sloppy, filthy circles around your clit, then licking and slurping you from top to bottom. letting out a low, broken sound each time you pulsed on his tongue. rutting his hips slightly against the mattress, his cock leaking.
you gripping his temples, crying out. it took everything in you to keep you legs open. his hand under you propping you up to his face. the other hand toying with your entrance before sticking his middle and pointer finger in. the pads hitting that sensitive spot deep inside. he ate you like it was the only thing keeping him alive.
“yes.. mikey.” you moaned his name so prettily, rocking you hips gently against his mouth. he presses his face closer, quickly glancing up at you before continuing. the sounds wetter and louder, the drunk his getting of you.
michael’s mind is spinning, only thoughts of how you are coating his tongue and fingers so good, the way you taste and smell. he uses his whole face, nose, mouth, and chin.
your cheeks wet with tears from the pure pleasure michael is giving you. legs trembling feeling his nose brushing against you. the pleasure climbing in tight, dizzying waves. his and fingers never stopping never slowing. your legs tightening around his head and completely arching off the bed. every muscle in your body tenses, your at the edge. and michael knows it.
“oh my gosh.. yes! im so fucking close!” you moans getting louder, he whines pathetically against your cunt. picking up speed if that even was possible. your hands now gripping the pillow behind you as you come in sharp whiny gasps, completely tore up from michael devouring you.
he looks up at you, that pretty beard, nose and chin totally soaked in your essence.
“my mikey.. so pretty.” bringing your hands down stroked his pussy soaked beard. his doe eyes glossed over, barely coherent to what you were saying. he groans, hes so ruined from you. he presses his face back into. you gasp, claiming you cant take it anymore. michael shaking his head at your words. but you did take it, plenty more times.
when michael was finally done, you layed face pressed in his chest, slowly drifting to sleep, thoughts completely gone.
“ hmm, i think ill stop shaving.” he muttered in your hair.
to my black writers, your voice matters!! dont let anyone steal your joy!! i love each nd everyone of yall!!
warnings/notes: 18+ mdni, sub drunk reader, dom horny jobe, fingering, squirting
summary: after a night out drinking, you come home needy and desperate for Jobe, and he’s got the perfect remedy for you
a/n: hi lovelies !! lowkey I’ve been getting a little bit of writers fatigue from writing about jude all the time so I’m going back to my original husband 😆 enjoy xxx
masterlist
You stumble through the front door of Jobe’s apartment a little after midnight, the city lights still twinkling beyond the windows.
The match you went to watch had ended hours ago, but the after-party with the girls had left you pleasantly buzzed - giggly, warm, and increasingly needy.
The whole night your mind kept drifting back to him: those long, strong hands that had gripped your thigh in the car last week, the way his fingers flexed when he drove.
By the time you kicked off your heels in the entryway, heat was already pooling low in your belly.
You pad down the hallway in your short dress, the fabric brushing your thighs with every step.
His bedroom door is ajar, the low blue glow of the TV flickering across the walls.
Jobe is sprawled on the bed, shirtless, grey sweatpants slung low on his hips, one arm tucked behind his head as he watches highlights.
The sight of him hits you hard, his smooth, toned chest, the cut of his abs, those veined forearms and big hands resting casually on his stomach.
Your mouth goes dry.
“Baby,” you breathe, pushing the door open wider.
Jobe’s dark eyes lift to you instantly. A slow, knowing smirk tugs at his lips when he sees the tiny pout on your lips and the way you’re swaying slightly.
“Look at you. Come here, drunk girl.”
You don’t need telling twice.
You climb onto the bed on all fours, crawling straight into his lap and straddling his thighs. Your dress rides up as you settle over the growing bulge in his sweats, hands roaming greedily over his bare chest, tracing every ridge of muscle.
He feels so warm, so solid. You lean down and press open-mouthed kisses along his collarbone, grinding down against him with a needy little whimper.
“Missed you,” you mumble against his skin, fingers sliding down to map the lines of his abs. “Your hands… fuck, Jobe, I kept thinking about your hands all night.”
He lets out a low, breathy chuckle that vibrates through his chest, but his gaze has gone heavy-lidded and hungry, pupils blown wide as he watches you grind on him.
One big hand comes up to grip your hip, steadying you, while the other rests on your thigh, thumb stroking dangerously close to where you’re aching.
“Yeah? That why you’re this fucking needy already?”
You nod frantically, rolling your hips again, chasing friction.
Your hands won’t stop exploring, palming his pecs, dragging nails lightly down his stomach, feeling him twitch beneath you.
Jobe’s jaw flexes, that hungry stare never leaving your face as you whimper and rock against the hard line of his cock through his sweats.
But then his patience snaps in the best way.
With a smooth, powerful movement he flips you onto your back, caging you beneath him for a moment before he sits back on his knees between your spread thighs.
The TV is forgotten. He yanks your dress up to your waist and hooks his fingers into your soaked panties, dragging them down your legs and tossing them away.
“Look at this pretty pussy,” he murmurs, voice low and rough but still soft around the edges. “Already dripping for me.”
You’re panting, drunk and desperate, hips lifting off the bed.
Jobe settles back on his heels, knees spread wide, giving himself the perfect view.
He runs two thick fingers through your folds, coating them in your slick before pressing them deep inside you in one slow, deliberate thrust.
A broken moan tears from your throat.
“That’s it,” he coaches quietly, dominant but velvet-soft. “Relax for me, baby. Let me in.”
He curls his fingers, stroking that spongy spot inside you with devastating precision while his thumb finds your clit and starts slow, firm circles. His free hand presses down gently on your lower belly, holding you open for him.
“Good girl. Feel how deep I am?”
You’re already trembling, the alcohol and overwhelming need making everything sharper.
He pumps his fingers steadily, deep and purposeful, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet room. His eyes stay locked on your face, drinking in every gasp and whimper.
“Jobe…oh fuck- ”
“C’mon, first one. Give it to me.” His voice drops lower, commanding yet soothing. “Let go. I’ve got you. Cum on my fingers like a good girl.”
The orgasm crashes over you slowly, building from deep inside until it blooms outward in hot, pulsing waves.
Your walls clamp down around his fingers, thighs shaking as you cry out his name.
He doesn’t stop moving them, working you through every aftershock, murmuring praise the whole time.
“There she is… so fucking pretty when you cum for me.”
He slows but doesn’t pull out, letting you catch your breath for only a moment before his fingers start moving again - deeper this time, a little rougher, curling with intent.
The heel of his hand grinds against your clit on every thrust.
“Second one,” he says softly, eyes dark and hungry as he watches your face contort in pleasure. “You’re gonna give me another. Breathe through it, baby. I want to feel you squeeze me again.”
It builds slower this time, a deeper, heavier pressure.
You’re writhing on the bed, hands fisting the sheets, drunk whimpers spilling from your lips.
Jobe leans over you slightly, still on his knees, his free hand stroking your thigh, your hip, grounding you.
“Eyes on me,” he orders gently. “That’s my girl. Feel how wet you are? This pussy was made for my fingers tonight. Come on…cum again. Now.”
The second orgasm rips through you harder, longer, your back arching clean off the mattress as you moan loudly.
Your walls flutter and pulse violently around his thick fingers.
Jobe groans low in his throat, clearly affected, but keeps the steady, rough rhythm going, fucking you through it until you’re gasping and oversensitive.
He eases up for a few seconds, letting you float, pressing soft kisses to your inner thigh while his fingers stay buried deep, giving you the gentlest strokes.
Then that hunger returns.
“One more,” he murmurs, voice low and dominant. “You’re gonna squirt for me this time, baby. I can feel it. Let it happen. Don’t fight it.”
He starts again - fingers plunging deeper, faster, curling hard against that spot while his thumb presses firm circles on your swollen clit.
The pressure builds impossibly high, a different, almost overwhelming sensation flooding your core.
You’re shaking, crying out, trying to close your thighs, but he holds them open with his body.
“Jobe- fuck, it’s too much- ”
“I know, sweetheart. But you’re gonna give it to me anyway. Relax… push into it. Good girl. Just like that.” His voice stays soft, steady, commanding. “Cum. Squirt all over me. Let go.”
The third orgasm explodes through you like a dam breaking.
Your whole body seizes, a raw cry tearing from your throat as you gush around his fingers.
Clear fluid sprays out, soaking his abs and the front of his sweatpants, dripping down his skin.
The sight makes Jobe’s eyes roll back for a second, a deep, guttural groan leaving him as he keeps fingering you through the longest, most intense release yet, drawing it out until you’re a trembling, soaked mess beneath him.
“Fuck…yes,” he breathes, voice thick with raw arousal, staring down at the mess you made on his toned stomach.
His cock strains visibly against his sweats, harder than ever. “That’s my girl. So fucking perfect.”
He finally slows his fingers, easing them out gently, and leans down to kiss you deeply, swallowing your exhausted whimpers.
His body is flushed, abs glistening with your release, and a look in his eyes that promises he’s nowhere near done with you tonight.
description: jude can’t stand arguing with you because he’s simply too weak to do so, but he can’t stand your attitude either– so he gives you a reason to huff at him. (18+)
author’s note: my heart breaks for silent treatment, but this one was kinda cute even if i did feel a lil sad here n there. he definitely is an acts of service kind of boyfriend.
you sat inside the car, arms folded as you stared out the window, tongue in cheek when you both pulled into the drive way. jude reaches in the back to grab the umbrella, sighing when you took your jacket off and covered the top of your head to walk into your shared flat alone.
“be mad, but i’m still your boyfriend,” he says, huffing softly as he catches up to you ensuring the umbrella is over your head. you go inside quietly, making sure you beat him to opening your own doors. your bag was slung over his shoulder, so when you made it inside you turn around to face him, gesturing to the bag.
yes, it seemed childish but you were adamant on not speaking until you could find a level head. the attitude was just you being petty and very optional, especially because you refused to admit that you were truly overreacting. he hands you the bag, his eyes searching your face for any sort of softness. you turn abruptly and go to your shared room.
jude throws his hands up, letting them drop to his sides. while you went to the room to go sulk and shower, he prepared a snack for you. jude started cutting up fruit to place in a bowl and hand to you when you finally settled in bed and on your phone. you were less angry after the shower, your thoughts melting into the water.
“you’re impossible, you know,” he regrets the words immediately, his approach to your soft demeanor was not the best seeing as you turned sour once again. he sits next to you but on the edge of the bed, holding the bowl for you to pick out of, which you reluctantly take from. the freshly cut kiwi gave him back some credit, your eyes narrowing at him suspiciously when he stood up to place to bowl down on the bedside table.
you watch as he removes his shirt, pretending to be amused by the reel on your phone. but he notices it replay multiple times and your eyes drag away from his torso immediately. this girl drives me nuts. he thought to himself, flipping the shirt properly to toss into a laundry bin before dropping his pants and tossing over his shoulder. you watched him walk to the bathroom with a towel in hand, biting the inside of your cheek.
pouting, you sat on the bed, waiting like a sick puppy as if you didn’t ignore jude the entire way home after a simple disagreement based off of a misunderstanding. but to be fair, jude was aware of how easily jealous you got, so you expected him not to speak to other girls who were especially interested in him in public. it sounded immature, but after getting cheated on in a three year long relationship, you realized nothing was impossible. it was slightly immature, and you were aware that this was only a burden for you to bear.
the guilt stung you slightly, your posture straightening when you heard the shower turn off. eager, your eyes trained on the corner of the room where he entered from. you watch as he dried the back of his neck, seemingly unbothered in your eyes while he simply chose to respect your silence. you were in between having an attitude simply for attention at this point. he walks over, towel hanging low to pick up a kiwi and take a bite himself.
you just stare at him, lip bitten in uncertainty. “do you want more?” he breaks the silence, lifting up the almost empty bowl. you nod, clearing your throat to finally speak.
“yeah– yes, please.”
he walks to the kitchen, his back flexed slightly as he walked out the room to bring you back a full bowl.
jude stands in the kitchen, cutting more fruit with his lips firmly pressed, deep in thought. he had a long day, and wanted nothing more than to just kiss and hold you. but this silent treatment was too much for him. he was losing it from not hearing your voice, even if you were both arguing. he returns to the room to see you in his team jacket, knees up to your chest as you continued to scroll about on your phone.
this was his breaking point. he walks over, placing the bowl down. he waits for his thanks, not expecting one as an opportunity to touch you. you grab a grape. his hand cups your jaw firmly but not harshly enough to hurt.
“have you forgotten your manners?”
before you can fix your mouth for an apology he grabs the grape, taking it for himself. “oh fuck off,” you say, your mood spoiled once again.
“be jealous, be mad at me, be pouty– by all means,” your glare remained fix on him as he leaned down, “but don’t be a brat.”
“or what?--”
a scoff slips past your lips. he presses a kiss to your lips, placing a knee on the bed. you retreat, eyes wide open but not in protest. his tongue pushes past your lips, blending your mouths with a hotness that was indescribable in the moment. it was sweet from the fruit, wet and burning with a need to establish dominance. it works. you fold, your stomach twisting as the smell of his dampened skin and body wash intoxicated you in a near instant. he pulls away, hand cupping the side of your face.
“this ends now. you have no reason to be mad at me. but you know this, yeah?”
his eyebrows raise, tilting his head to look for your gaze that you avert out of embarrassment. your head nods in agreement after a pause. he waits for an apology, one you haven’t seemed to consider yet for your behavior the entire night, assuming he would just understand your meekish state was from being flustered.
you couldn’t think much before, during, or after jude was kissing you. it was kind of impossible.
“open,” he says, your lips pliant in separation.
your boyfriend places a strawberry in your mouth for you to eat, and you do. but for some reason he was still looking at you for some sort of indication of manners--which you failed to do again-- his brows knitted in thought as he assumed you were still being silent out of pettiness. finally, you get it, starting with an apology but before you could fully form a word he begins tugging at your underwear until it’s down to your knees.
you shift, unable to do much without your underwear completely off. he hovers over you, towel still tightly draped around his waist. you had secretly hoped it would drop soon, but before you could ask him what he was doing, he placed a kiss on your lips before you felt the cool air on your clit become warm with a pressed set of fingers. you were already wet, giving away any sort of modest reservations you had for the night. you gasp, lips parting and closed onto his once more.
he pulls back, allowing your noses to caress but not fulfilling your desire to kiss again. he speaks low, his eyes hooded but focused. “you misunderstand me, we argue,” jude presses his fingers against your folds before dragging them up to your bud of pleasure. slowly, he rubs circles. he continues, making you gasp softly, breath hitched. “--we fix things, and you ignore me still.”
you apologize under your breath but clearly you were both past apologies at this point. he wanted to make himself clear.
“you throw a fit even when i bring you fruit,” the feeling of a single digit push past the resistance of your walls, which then allow entrance once your body recognized its purpose. your jaw slacks, breathy sounds exiting.
“and despite being so upset, you check me out.”
he is knuckle deep now, a second finger joining the first to stretch you open. another earned gasp gets caught in your throat.
“all while wearing my jacket and absolutely nothing else.”
jude was beyond trying to understand you completely. if you weren’t going to speak to him proper, he knew your body would.
“oh, jude..” you softly breathe, eyebrows knitted upwards as opposed to the frown you fixed earlier.
“i don’t think you’re even mad about her anymore.”
it was always him. you were always thinking about him. your eyes open slightly, looking up at him which reaffirmed exactly what he was saying. he knew you wanted something beyond reassurance from the interaction today. you wanted something physical. a reminder even. your fingers gripped onto his forearm, desperate for more as your hips slowly grind upwards.
“but still, i’ll remind you. i’m yours.”
he hooks his fingers into you, watching your face contort. his sly grin turned into a shared expression of faux sympathetic regards. you mew with his movements, letting out sounds so lewd and drawn out that he nearly forgot the level of restrain he was capable of. his fingers chased your first orgasm in joint with your hips that bucked against his hand.
jude admires your frame, holding the small of your back as it arched from the headboard you leaned onto. small chants of his name leave your lips, faint but clear with desperation.
“please..”
your furrowed brows intensify and you hold onto his arm entirely as he recognizes your body jolt to the spot he found. you refused to look up in this state so you hid your face into his shoulder. the tips of his fingers brush against your bundle of nerves repeatedly, pressing with a sensual pace aided by your hips. you tried to find the words, wanting him to go deeper and faster. but they all sounded like gasps and pleas, fragmented from sentences you wanted to say but couldn’t make out.
“so talkative now, hm?” he smiled, watching you cling to him and rut upwards.
he admires your need, finding it adorable at the very least. his other hand pats your head and brushes through your hair before running his fingertips over your back. he wanted to take you right there, his cold shower was absolutely useless in this moment. all he could think about was how much louder he could force your moans without being completely inside. you were so whiney, incoherent and practically– but only slightly- drooling onto his bicep.
jude leans in, kissing your temple and hushing you. your frustrated whines came from pride, feeling humiliated that you were chasing an orgasm and melting at the same time, unable to do it all on your own without feeling absolutely weak.
“you can cum like this. i’m all yours to use, so use me.”
he notices your small huffs of frustration, realizing how you wanted to keep going with extra help. the taller lays you down, lifting your legs over his shoulder with urgency before leaning down to make use of his mouth. his two fingers continue to pump in and out of you, hugged by your aroused walls. jude licks and sucks on the place you need it the most, earning messy, loud moans.
you sat up on your elbows, looking down at his handsome features half covered as he made himself busy. jude hums, looking up at you with a cocky glint. you pout, jolting when he flicked his tongue over and over. that’s it. you thought, gasping sharply with a hand on his head. your lover takes this as a sign, eagerly adding pressure from his tongue to your clit.
“oh my god,” this is the most you’ve spoken all night, he thought to himself. this made him grin, holding one of your thighs tightly as you bucked your hips against his mouth. he allowed it, letting out a sound of protest when you apologized and tried to take your hand off. he comes up for a moment, exhaling.
“don’t stop doing that. use my mouth darling, ‘m yours.”
you nod, biting your lip and taking advantage of his permission instantly. you wildly grind your hips down and against his face, loving the way his tongue and fingers worked in and outside of you. it felt overwhelming to the point that your orgasm threatened you without room to slow down. it came after two beats of a warning before forcing a wave of throbbing joy onto his tongue.
jude is quick with his fingers, using them urgently to get as much of your juices out onto his hand. he laps it up, your hand over your mouth in horror of the mess made. meanwhile, he smiled as if he’d open a pinata with little to no effort, still kissing and sucking your folds to get every single drop possible.
“you’re so fucking perfect,” his voice is hydrated, clear and low.
kisses from your lover plant themselves on your thigh, his tongue running back up to clean up his mess. “jude, that’s enough–” you heaved a sigh, embarrassed by your body’s betrayal but grinning like an idiot.
“i take it you’re not mad anymore?” you share a sweet kiss, smiling against his lips that taste like you. the tip of his nose is wet and you laugh softly, wiping your own nose after transferring drops of yourself.
“there’s that beautiful smile i missed so much.” he grinned a smile that you realized you missed just as much.
after practice you wait for jude, in his usual jersey with sunglasses on from the blaring rays. you saw her again, trying not to visibly frown. she speaks to some of the players momentarily, cheeks flushed when jude shakes her hand to evade another hug in your presence. their conversation continues for a bit and your boyfriend gestures to you before heading over.
you pretend you weren’t staring, looking around in hopes your shades were cover enough.
“that’s our new physical therapist, mckayla. she says hi,” he says teasingly.
you look up at him through your shades, crossing your arms. mckayla waves at you, her expression careful from your clear mean mug. jude pulls you in for a kiss on the forehead, speaking between the both of you lowly, “you’ve got a little something here..”
jude pulls back, gesturing discreetly to your neck that was lightly marked from last night. you remember, lightly pushing him back and turning your back quickly after waving to mckayla.
“aye, don’t be rude, at least smile at her!” his laugh is light despite your obvious aversion to being seen bitten up like this. he kisses the top of your head, smacking your ass before gesturing you both to the car. you flush, leaning your head on him after he takes your bag from your hands to put over his shoulder.
“idiot,” his fingers lace themselves into yours as you walk flushed next to him.
pairings: michael jackson x black!fem reader. genre: smut. warnings: oral (f!recieving) no p in v sex. soft dom michael.
wrote this at 12 am like two weeks ago and never got around to writing the full thing, sorry :( i've honestly been demotivated from writing in general. i still love michael, i just don't know if i can push out 3 fics a week like i was before. like even writing this, i kinda hate the way it came out. if anything i'll just redo it :)
michael’s tongue felt like it was everywhere at once. your back arched straight off the bed as he swirled around your clit, lips wrapping around it and taking your sensitive bud into the grasp of his mouth.
you pushed at his head, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as he sped up a bit. the pleasure was all too much. he peeked up at you, moaning into your cunt as he noticed how your eyes rolled back in bliss as he licked a long stripe upward.
you tried squirming away from him, from the overwhelming pleasure, but he was quick to wrap his arms around your legs and pull you back down. “where are you goin’, girl? i’m not done yet.” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice.
michael loved it when you squirmed or tried pushing him away from your pussy. he always knew when to pull back and make sure he didn’t go past your limit, but you made it clear multiple times that trying to squirm away didn’t exactly mean you wanted him to stop. you liked him chasing you just as much as he did too.
he just felt sooooo good to you. you let out a loud gasp as he flicked his tongue over your clit again, placing your hands on his shoulders and pushing him a bit. "please, 's too much." your words come out a bit breathless. "just-" you manage to peek down at him and unsurprisingly, he's smiling at you. "might have to hold you down..." he trails off, locking his arms around your legs and pulling you closer to him. "don't worry baby, i got you." michael's thumb soothes up and down from where it rests, and your head goes fuzzy at how soft he's being.
you're pulled back to reality as his tongue goes back to exploring your cunt. his grip is stronger this time, and you quickly realize it's much harder to squirm away from him right now. you grip the sheets instead of his hair, and let out an obscene moan as he quite literally "slurps" at you. again, you push at his shoulders. he doesn't budge of course, and you quickly feel yourself drawing closer and closer to another orgasm.
"mikey..." you trail off, quickly interrupted by his mouth pulling away from your clit with a loud pop. "you don't want me to stop now, do you?" he says, voice gentle as ever. you shake your head no, and he taps the side of your thigh a bit. "need to hear you say it. are you still with me?" you take a minute to breathe before answering him. "n-no. keep going, please." michael smiles at you and dips his head right back between your legs.
his mouth and tongue are relentless, michael is eating you like he'd been starving for days and your pussy was the only thing able to ease his hunger. your pretty moans get louder as he flattens his tongue against your clit and then drags it upward, catching it in his mouth and gently suckling at the end.
that was all it took for you to come completely undone. his grip on you loosened as your back arched straight off the bed, and michael's mouth still lapped at you as you shook through another mind-shattering orgasm. the fuzzy feeling in your head came back as you realized he was still going. you cry out a bit, completely overstimulated.
"mikey!" you whine, body still twitching from the orgasm. "i know you can give me another one, baby. don't worry." he says, placing a gentle kiss against your clit and going right back down.
he's so mean sometimes :( but you love it either way.
taglist!: @thabiddie23 @a-motherfcking-fish @melakonen @thebaddestfish @cc-ni @cheremj @anglfac (anyone can be added or removed just ask!)
Destiny tour Michael who is missing his girlfriend singer!reader. She goes to a show to surprise him. After it ends she’s backstage and he sees her excitedly pulling her to his dressing room. They talk and eventually start making out. One of his brothers comes in and Michael makes a gesture telling him to leave.
🍫summary: You decide to surprise your boyfriend and he shows just how much he misses you!
The bass of “Wanna be startin’ somethin’” shook the stadium. The beat vibrated against your feet, as you clapped your hands and sung along with Michael from backstage. After weeks of sweet talking on the phone, and him whining about how much he misses you, you finally booked a flight.
No one knows you were at their concert other than Marlon who begged you to fly down because Michael was getting on his last nerve bringing you up. You stood to the side, hair tucked in a baseball cap, black shades on, along with a grey hoodie. If anybody in the crowd even caught a glimpse of you, this would be all over the tabloids.
Being two upcoming singers that get a lot of traction came with its perks and cons. A con being once you get noticed, you have to attempt to make it out alive and survive the media.
Times where you expected a nice private outing with Michael sometimes ended with you being chased by paparazzi. Michael was constantly stressed about it while you were mainly worried about how the photos turned out.
As the show came to a close, you maneuvered your way through the staff. A smile was etched into your face, heart beating from finally getting to see him after so long. Their crew was scattered, speaking through headsets, and clearing a way for the boys.
Some of the staff greeted you as you walked towards the dressing room area. You waved back with a kind smile as you finally made it to his door. A large gold star on the front read “Michael” in black print.
You pushed the handle down, and luckily it was already unlocked—you need to bring that up later, that’s so dangerous. As you walked in, the AC hit you, covering your arms with goosebumps. The space was clean for the most part other than the vanity that was covered in makeup and hair products scattered around
You took a seat on the plush dark red couch, taking off the hoodie, baseball cap, and black shades. Laughter from outside of the door hit your ears along with the sound of multiple footsteps.
He’s here!
His familiar chuckle came loud through the door as the handle pushed down. You held your breath, jittering in excitement. He walked in, sweat rolling down his face and his curls were wet and slinky against his skin. Once his eyes landed on you, he stopped in his tracks, mouth dropping open.
You gave him a smile, standing from the couch. As if he finally snapped out of his trance, “MAMA!” He ran towards you, arms wrapping around your figure while he lifted you. “Hi Mikey.” You giggled as he spun you around.
“What are you doing here?” He set you down, “I missed you so much.” His arms were glued to you, refusing to be removed from your body.
“I missed you too, duh! That’s why I’m here.” You told him. “What about your performances?” He asked eyebrows furrowed. Even in the midst of his excitement, he’ll find a way to check in on you.
“All of that is handled Mikey, I promise.” You reassured. His lips met yours in a passionate, loving kiss. Soft and gentle. You melted into his arms finally feeling him after what felt like years.
He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, wet tongue gliding across your lips. God, you missed this. His hands brought you closer trying to mesh you both into one.
You felt your calves hit the couch and he slowly laid you down, not taking his lips off of yours. Too caught up in his hand roaming your waist, and his tongue sweeping against yours, you didn’t notice the door crack open. But Michael did.
Not removing his lips from yours, still keeping an intimate, nasty rhythm, he opened his eyes. Jermaine stood in the doorway with his eyes wide and a smirk forming on his face.
Any other time he may have pulled away but finally seeing his girl after all these years—it’s only been weeks—and the erection stirring in his pants, he didn’t have time for all that.
As one hand continued rubbing up your body, he used the hand closest to Jermaine to shoo him away. A small waving motion for him to get out.
Jermaine shot two thumbs up, proud of his brother who he secretly thought was going to be a shy, nervous man all his life. Finally making his way out of the door, Jermaine quietly shut the door.
Hearing the small click, you pulled away from Michael, eyebrow raised. “You heard that?” You asked. Michael shook his head, “probably just the staff outside.” Before you could respond, Michael’s lips found yours again and a small gasp left your mouth.
His hands trailed under your shirt, brushing against your warm skin. He pressed his body further into you and you felt his stiff length against your thigh.
“I need you so bad.” He mumbled against your lips. His kisses trailed down your neck, trying his best to not leave hickeys.
“Have me, Mikey.” You breathed out.
•••
“O-oh my God.” You panted, doing your best to be quiet. The vanity shook with every thrust from Michael who stood behind you. “Look at my pretty mama.” He cooed, grasping and squeezing your face with one hand.
You stared at yourself in the mirror, black mascara running down your plump cheeks. “You takin’ it so good.” His dick stretched you out, making your legs quiver and you struggled to hold yourself up.
“I missed you so much, mama.” Soft, gentle kisses pressed against your back. The warm embrace of Michael’s arms wrapped around you along with the deliberate, slow strokes he delivered was absolute bliss.
“I-I missed you too.”
Products from the vanity rattled and you would’ve cared about them falling but all you could focus on was the friction of his dick inside of you. One of his hands moved towards your sensitive nipple, and gently rolled it between his thumb and index.
Your legs quivered, tippy toes against the floor as he angled his hips. “M-Michael, slow down,” your hand reached back to press against his hip. “I need you to cum, mama.”
The skin slapping filled the room, no secret to whoever was passing by. Fingers pressing firmly into your waist, he tugged you back to meet his thrust.
“Oh, fuck.” You cried, palms flat on his vanity as you slightly shifted forward from the pressure. “Mama, please stop running. I need this pussy.” He mumbled, bringing you back towards him.
One thing about dating Michael is you found out how filthy he truly was. Just as everyone else, you also believed the facade he put on was true. And to some extent it was.
He’s sensitive, caring, kind and loving but naive, innocent, and scary wasn’t on the list. He never hesitated to tell you just how badly he needs to feel you wrapped around him.
Those weeks of phone calls contained sounds of him panting and moaning, telling you what he’s going to do the next time he saw you.
And clearly his words remained true.
“Y-you have to go soon.” You whimpered, holding yourself up with all the strength you had left. “I know, mama.” He grasped your throat with one hand, bringing the back of your head to rest on his shoulder. “That’s why I gotta fill you up as much as I can.”
A small photo frame of you and Michael embracing each other shook next to you on the vanity. The sweet smiles on your faces, both wearing Minnie and Mickey ears were a complete contrast to both of you in the moment.
Drool ran down your chin, his shirt was halfway off, and his grip was so tight he’d probably leave bruises on your dark skin.
“I feel you clenching, mama.”
Wet, dripping arousal rolled down your thighs, and your pussy squeezed around him in a consistent rhythm. The tight knot in your stomach snapped as you creamed around him. Every drag of Michael's hips pulled out more of your cum.
"Mhm, good girl." He bit his bottom lip, throwing his head back. He was so deep in you, he never wanted to pull out. Hearing your pretty moans has been nothing but heaven for him, a treat after a hard working show.
“Oh my goodness.” He whispered. His breathing became labored, eyes tightly closed as his dick pulsed from his orgasm.
“I-I’m ‘bout to cum, mama. Where you want it?”
You looked at him through the mirror, hooded eyes watching the pleasure form on his face. “In me, Mikey.” You lifted your leg onto the vanity, spreading yourself open more for him.
Once he glanced down to see a clear view of him pumping in you, white cream sliding down his dick, he lost it. “Yes, yes, yes, fuck.” He groaned. As he sped up, products on the vanity began to fall.
Tubes of eyeliner, foundation, even the photo frame. It all fell to background noise for Michael as he focused on the warmth of your pussy. His hips stilled inside of you as he let out a low groan.
"Nnngh, mama, you feel so good."
Heavy breathing filled the room, and a light giggle left his mouth seeing both of you in the mirror, disheveled and dazed. A rapid knock was heard from the door, "Are y'all done? It's time to wrap it up." Jermaine yelled.
You groaned, placing your forehead on the vanity. "I can't believe I was that loud."
“What I just tell you?” Jermajesty grunts, pulling your hips flush against his, hands squeezing your flesh tightly. “If you wake somebody up, and they see how I got you, that’s your ass.”
Whoever told you and Jer it was a good idea to be fucking at the sleepover when yall don’t even like each other was lying to ya’ll face.
“I’m not—shit—m’not trying to, damn..” you whimper with annoyance.
You hated Jermajesty full heartedly. Why? Because he always has something to say when no one asks for his input. Or, he ruins his homeboys relationships or chances by giving them the worst fucking advice they’ve ever heard. He was a total dumbass.
Now, Jer hated you for two reasons and two reasons only. One, every time he tries to get at any girl your friends with, you’re quick to cockblock, giving them a full rundown on his history about the girls he’s fumbled. And two, he wholeheartedly thinks you’re the sexiest girl he’s ever laid his eyes upon, and often makes himself mad again just thinking about how the two of you will never happen because you don’t fuck with him as a person.
Now that dick though? Mmh, that was another story. Because being sexy as fuck and an asshole can be true all at once.
And he just so happens to be both.
Hence why you’re positioned here on the side of your mutual friends bed, gripping the edge of the mattress while getting your shit beat in.
“Mmf- fuck mama,” he groans, finger tips digging into your skin as he thrust into you. “wish I could smack this ass right now..” he mumbles, licking his lips.
You whimper softly, tears pricking your eyes as his force pushes your arch impossibly deeper, constantly hitting your cervix.
It’s almost too much to bear, but with the way he’s hitting your shit? Oh, you couldn’t care less.
“D-don’t…fucking call me that.” You huff as a moan slips past your lips, your bottom lip instantly folding between your teeth, as your eyes close tightly.
He scoffs, his chest pressing heavily against your back as a smirk of disbelief forms on his face. “Call you what? Mama? You got a problem with me calling you mama, but you don’t got a problem with me beating this pussy up while our friends are asleep?”
He snickers quietly into your ear. “Okay, mami.”
You moan, this close to letting out a cry as you bite the edge of the mattress, the nickname making you clench around him. “I can’t fucking stand you,” you mutter against the cushion.
“Mhm,” Jermajesty hums, ignoring you as he watches the way your ass ripples against his lower half, entranced. “Can’t stand my guts...” he trails off.
“But I’m all in yours, huh pretty?” He taunts, tilting his head as if you can see him.
You want to look back to scold him, to tell him to shut the fuck up. But you know if you do that, you’ll most likely cum on the spot just looking at him. And he doesn’t need to experience the pleasure in that.
He rolls his hips once again, the pace intoxicatingly addictive as the air gets knocked out your lungs.
And that’s the crazy thing about it—he isn’t going too fast or too slow, he’s fucking you just right. Putting enough momentum into his thrusts to ruin the both of you.
“Fuck jer,” you gasp breathlessly, hand suddenly scrambling to grab at his forearm, grounding yourself.
“Oh fuck, yes..yes, right there maj,” your voice getting whinier as you whimper pathetically into the bedding. “M-mmmmh!”
He grins, internally patting himself on the back for being able to push you over the edge like this. Why, you ask? Well, just a few months ago, you two were talking and you told him his dick game was probably weak as hell.
Next time you’ll just shut up on the topic of Jermajesty’s meat.
“Jer, m’gonna cum—“ you whine suddenly, turning dickdrunk.
He groans, big hand flying against your mouth to muffle your cries. “Then cum mami,” he encourages, pressing kisses to your neck. “gimme that shit..” he grumbles into your ear, sending two more mean thrust into your throbbing pussy before your cumming around him with a choked out gasp.
“Ngh- fuck..” Jermajesty hisses, grabbing your ass as you coat him in white.
He bites his lips as your hole continues to suck him in, making him follow right behind you with a groan, burying his face into the crook of your neck as his thrust become sloppy.
You two stay there for a second, trying to silently catch your breath before he pulls out.
You go limp, falling back against the pillow you were originally lying on against the ground as you come to your senses.
Wow, you really just let Jermajesty Jackson fuck you at a sleepover.
🪽- It’s almost 8 in the morning… I started writing this at midnight…🧍🏽♀️
kissmyglxck — don’t copy my work, ask to translate, & if you recreate anything pls tag me <3
، summary𓈒 he’s the golden boy of the collegiate track team- a beloved teammate, the coach’s favorite, and the guy everyone loves. but when the stadium empties and the doors lock, the mask slips. he turns into an absolute nightmare, pushing you to your breaking point. the worst part? nobody believes you. they just think you're cracking under the pressure of losing your top spot.
، pairing𓈒 track runner!randy jackson jr x track runner! black!fem!reader
، warnings𓈒 no use of y/n, mean!randy, psychological manipulation, gaslighting, power dynamics, eventual smut, choking, slapping, kissing, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it b4 you tap it), dirty talk.
، notes𓈒 (really little to no plot honestly, the whole track/college shit is just for decoration✨) ik i said i would get back to jermaine, and i have it but I wanted to post this first, bc I’ve taken a liking to randy jr…this is...questionable, enjoy.
، taglist𓈒 @uh444
It was 6:15 AM, the sun barely cutting through the thick morning fog over the bleachers, but you were already on your third lap, spikes digging into lane one, breathing locked into that rhythmic click clack you’d perfected since high school.
You were the star of the women’s 200m and 400m sprint squad. Three time conference champion, national qualifier, and the queen of the athletic department. Coaches used your tape to teach freshmen how to drive out of the blocks. The girls on the team walked around you like you were made of glass and lightning. You had the endorsements, the crisp uniform, the slicked back edges, and an undefeated record that stretched back twenty two months.
Until Randy Jackson Jr. transferred in.
He wasn't even supposed to be a threat to your peace. He was on the men’s 400m hurdles and relay squad- a tall, golden skinned motherfucker with dark brown eyes, a sharp jawline, and these thick, ridiculously bushy eyebrows that framed a face that looked like it belonged on a 90s rnb album cover. He was soft spoken. He smiled at the lunch ladies. He held the gym doors open for the athletic trainers. Everyone on the team loved him. Coach Miller practically drooled over his stride length.
"He's just so polite," your roommate, your girl, and fellow sprinter, Maya, had gushed during week two of fall training. "And he's so fine, girl. Like...respectfully fine."
Respectfully my entire ass.
Nobody saw what happened when the crowd cleared out. Nobody saw the slick, psychological warfare he waged the second the locker room doors swung shut or when you two were left alone waiting for the athletic bus.
To the public, Randy was the golden boy. To you? He was a localized, concentrated nightmare designed specifically to test your sanity.
It started at the mid season intra squad scrimmage. You had just run a season best 22.84 in the 200m, cooling down near the high jump mats, taking slow gulps from your water bottle while the rest of the team clapped.
Randy had walked over, towel draped over his broad shoulders, sweat glistening on his collarbones. He offered a warm, blindingly white smile, bowing his head slightly as Coach Miller passed by.
"Great run, man," Coach had yelled out, patting Randy’s back. "Look at her form! That's what I want from you on the curve!"
"Yes sir, Coach," Randy had said, his voice smooth, warm, and modest. "She’s incredible. I’m just trying to get on her level."
Coach walked away, beaming.
The second Miller was out of earshot, Randy’s smile didn't drop, but the warmth completely evaporated from his eyes. He stepped closer, leaning down under the guise of grabbing his track bag from the bench right beside yours. His shoulder brushed yours, all hot and heavy.
"Look at you," he murmured, his voice dropping into a low, raspy whisper that barely registered over the sound of the stadium speakers. "Breathing all heavy. Pussy probably throbbing right through them tight ass spandex."
Your jaw locked. You snapped your head around to glare at him, your blood boiling instantly. "Excuse me?"
Randy straightened up instantly, his face a picture of wholesome concern, his thick, bushy eyebrows pulling together like he was deeply worried about your health.
"Whoa, you okay?" he said, loud enough for two girls on the distance team to turn around and look. "I just asked if you needed some ice for your shins. You look a little hot."
The distance girls frowned at you, like you were the bitch for snapping at the team sweetheart.
"Don't do that," you gritted out between your teeth, stepping into his personal space, pointing a manicured finger right at his chest. "Don't fucking play with me, Randy."
Randy held his hands up in gentle surrender, offering a warm, apologetic laugh to the onlookers. "My bad! My bad, boss lady. Just trying to be helpful." But as he bent back down to pick up his bag, his face dipped near your ear, his breath hot and smelling faintly of peppermint and a little bit of weed. "You look real pretty when you look like you wanna kill me," he breathed, tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip. "Makes me wanna take you behind the bleachers, throw that little leg over my shoulder, and fuck that cocky attitude right out of you."
Before you could smack the shit out of him, he straightened up, gave you a soft wave, and jogged off toward the weight room like he was a goddamn saint.
It had been like that for three straight months. A slow descent into madness. In front of the team, he was the humble transfer who constantly praised your times. Alone? He was a filthy mouthed menace who seemed to know exactly which words made your pulse race, your jaw tighten, and your pussy react in ways that made you hate yourself every time you showered.
He was fucking with your head. He’d stare at your ass while you got into your starting blocks, making a faint clicking sound with his tongue that only you could hear. He’d leave little anonymous notes in your locker with foul, explicit descriptions of what he wanted to do to you, only to walk by ten minutes later asking if you wanted him to save you a seat at the dining hall.
You hated him. You hated his stride, you hated his polite lil "Yes, ma'am" to the women coaches, and you especially hated those thick ass bushy eyebrows that twitched every time he said something that made your throat go dry.
By the time the conference championship meet rolled around in Atlanta, you were a ticking time bomb.
The team was put up at an old, sprawling Marriott near the track complex. The carpets were faded floral patterns, the hallway lights flickered with a faint, low hum, and the air conditioning in the rooms smelled vaguely of stale ice and bleach.
It was 11:45 PM. Curfew had been enforced by Coach Miller at 10:00 PM flat; anyone caught in the hallways or in the opposite sex’s room was getting pulled from the meet, no questions asked.
You were sprawled across your queen bed in Room 412, wearing a tiny grey sports bra and a pair of black cotton boy shorts, staring at the textured ceiling. Maya was already fast asleep on the other bed, snoring softly, her face buried in a pillow.
Your stomach growled. You hadn't eaten since 6:00 PM, a tiny bowl of grilled chicken and brown rice, and your brain was hyperactive, buzzing with pre meet nerves and frustration.
You needed a bag of chippssuhh and a sweet tea from the vending machine on the third floor.
Sliding out of bed, you pulled a grey hoodie over your top, leaving it unzipped over your shorts, slipped your feet into a pair of slides, and grabbed your room key card.
The fourth floor hallway was quiet, lit by pale bulbs overhead. You walked down the carpeted corridor toward the elevator, your slides squeaking softly against the floor.
When you reached the third floor, you padded down the hall toward the recessed alcove where the ice and vending machines sat.
As you turned the corner, you froze.
Leaning against the glass of the snack machine, holding a bag of peanut m&ms, was Randy.
Because of course it was.
He was wearing a pair of low slung dark grey sweatpants, so low you could see the dark waistband of his boxers and the sharp, v line of his hips, and a tight white sleeveless compression shirt that hugged every ridge of his chest and abs. He had a pair of bulky headphones resting around his neck, his dark curls slightly messy from bed.
He looked up when he heard your slides.
That stupid, infuriating smile spread slowly across his face, his thick eyebrows lifting in mock surprise.
"Well, well, well," he murmured, his voice sounding like warm honey poured over gravel in the quiet hallway. "Look who’s breaking curfew. Coach catch you out here, he’s gonna make you run 800s until you throw up."
"Shut the fuck up, Randy," you hissed, walking past him to grab the edge of the soda machine. "I’m getting a drink."
"Why you always so mean?" He stepped closer, sliding his hands deep into the pockets of his sweats. The heavy scent of him filled the tiny alcove instantly. "I'm just standing here, minding my business, watching the track star sneak around in her little panties."
Your eyes snapped up to his. "They're shorts."
"They look like panties to me," he countered softly, his gaze dropping slowly down the front of your open hoodie, lingering on the curve of your waist, the smooth brown skin of your thighs, before dragging back up to your face. "Cute ones, too. You wear those so it's easier for me to get inside them?"
Your chest heaved. "You are literally the most disgusting person I have ever met."
"And you’re a terrible liar," he whispered, stepping even closer until the toe of his slide bumped yours. "You’ve been looking at me all day. On the bus. During walk throughs. You look like you wanna eat me alive."
"I want to break your jaw," you gritted out, slamming a dollar bill into the coin slot of the drink machine. It spat the bill right back out. You cursed under your breath, flattening the dollar against your thigh, and shoved it back in. It spat it out again.
Randy let out a low, mocking chuckle. "Machine knows a bad girl when it sees one."
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a crisp dollar bill, and reached right over your shoulder to slide it into the slot. His chest pressed against your back for a split second, all broad, and heavy, and hot. The smell of him flooded your nose, making your stomach drop through the floor.
The machine accepted his dollar with a loud mechanical groan. He pressed the button for sweet tea, the bottle dropping into the plastic slot with a heavy clunk.
"There you go, boss lady," he murmured, his mouth hovering right near the top of your ear. "Saved your life again."
You didn't reach down for the bottle. You turned around inside the tight space between him and the machine, trapping yourself against the plastic glass, looking up into his face.
"You think you're so slick," you rasped, your voice shaking slightly from the overload of anger and adrenaline. "You act like a goddamn puppy in front of Coach, and then you come around me talking like a dirty ass dog."
Randy’s eyes darkened. His playful smirk fading, replaced by that heavy, dangerous focus that always made your knees feel weak. He didn't step back. He leaned down, placing one big hand on the soda machine right beside your head, blocking you in.
"I talk to you like that because you're the only one here who actually wants it raw," he whispered, his thumb coming up to lightly trace the edge of your jaw. "All them other girls want polite. You? You want somebody to put their hands on you. You want somebody to ruin your little perfect reputation."
"I hate you," you breathed, staring directly into his dark brown eyes, watching those bushy eyebrows pull down into a sharp angle.
"No you don't," Randy said, his hand moving from your jaw down to your neck, his fingers resting lightly against your pulse point, feeling the rapid rhythm beneath your skin. "Room 314. Marcus and Trey are knocked out cold on melatonin and NyQuil. They wouldn't wake up if a bomb went off."
You stared at him, your heart hammering against your ribs like a caged beast. "You think I'm going to your room?"
"I know you are," he murmured, his thumb pressing just hard enough against your neck to make you swallow. "Or you can go back upstairs and keep staring at the ceiling, thinking about my mouth on you while you touch yourself under them sheets."
He pulled his hand away, bent down, grabbed the sweet tea from the plastic bin, and tossed it to you. You caught it against your chest.
Without another word, Randy turned around and walked down the hallway toward Room 314, leaving the door unlatched just an inch behind him.
You stood in the hallway for thirty seconds.
You told yourself to go upstairs. You told yourself that this was career suicide, that if Coach found out you were in Randy’s room at midnight before the biggest meet of the spring season, you’d be stripped of your captaincy, suspended from the team, and thrown off scholarship. You told yourself that Randy Jackson Jr. was an arrogant, manipulative prick who was trying to break your mental focus so he could be the sole star of the program.
And then you walked straight down the hallway and pushed open the door to Room 314.
The room was pitch black, save for the faint orange glow of the city streetlights bleeding through the heavy sheer curtains. On the left side of the room, two huge lumps under the blankets; Marcus, the team’s top long jumper, and Trey, the hurdles captain, were snoring in heavy, synchronized rhythms, completely knocked out.
To the right, Randy was sitting on the edge of the second queen bed, his dark silhouette illuminated by the streetlight glow. He had his hands on his knees, watching the door close behind you.
The lock clicked shut with a small sound.
"Look at that," Randy whispered, his voice cut with a low edge that made the little hairs on your arms stand up. "The little track star couldn't resist."
You didn't say a fucking word.
The months of subtle insults, the filthy whispers near the starting blocks, the slick comments, the constant mind games; it all rushed to the surface in a single, burning wave of rage…and desire.
You dropped the sweet tea onto the carpet, crossed the small room in three fast strides, and before he could even stand up to greet you, you raised your right hand and slapped him across the face.
The crack echoed through the room. Marcus snored heavily on the other bed, shifting slightly, but stayed completely under.
Randy’s head snapped to the left, the room going dead silent.
Slowly, Randy turned his face back toward you. A dark grin spread across his features, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek where your hand had landed.
"Oh," he breathed, his eyes flashing with something mean and completely unhinged. "So that's how we doing this?"
Before you could step back, Randy’s arm shot out like a whip. His big, heavy hand collided with your cheek in a sharp, blinding slap that sent a jolt of heat straight down your neck.
Your head snapped to the side, your jaw aching, vision swimming with tiny silver sparks for a fraction of a second.
"Bitch," you hissed through your teeth, lunging at him.
You grabbed him by the throat with both hands, your manicured nails digging into the tough muscle of his neck, shoving him backward onto the bed. Randy let out a rough, breathy grunt as his back hit the mattress, his hands immediately coming up to wrap around your throat, his long fingers squeezing with terrifying pressure.
You were both gasping, eyes locked in the dark, choking each other out on top of a creaky hotel mattress while two of your teammates slept five feet away.
His grip was like iron. He squeezed just hard enough to make your throat construct, cutting your breath down to a tiny, ragged whistle. You squeezed back with everything you had, digging your thumbs into his airway, trying to crush him, trying to make him hurt, trying to rip that arrogant smirk off his handsome fucking face.
Randy’s dark eyes narrowed, his bushy eyebrows furrowed in focus. He rolled his hips up, before slamming his other hand flat against your chest, shoving you down until you were straddling his lap, forced onto his thighs.
"You like that, huh?" Randy rasped, his voice barely a choke as your fingers stayed locked on his throat. "You wanna choke me out, little girl?"
"I want you...to die," you gasped out, your face hot, blood rushing to your ears as his fingers tightened on your neck.
Randy let out an uneven laugh. He released your neck with one hand, grabbed your hair at the nape of your neck, and yanked your head back, forcing your face up toward the ceiling.
"Look at you," he commanded softly, his voice a filthy, velvet threat. "Grinding on me while you strangle me, you crazy ass bitch."
You dragged your eyes down to look at him. He was breathing heavily, his chest heaving under his tight compression shirt, his mouth open, his throat red under your fingers. But his eyes, his fucking eyes were filled with a possessive hunger that made your stomach twist into tight, delicious knots.
You loosened your grip on his neck, sliding your hands down to his broad shoulders, breathing in ragged, heavy lungfuls of air.
Randy didn't let go of your neck. He kept his large palm cupped around your throat, his thumb resting right under your jawline, feeling the beat of your pulse.
"That's it," he whispered, his thumb pressing in lightly, reminding you who held the power. "Be good. You wanna ride this dick or you wanna keep fighting me?"
"Fuck you," you whispered, your lips brushing against his jaw.
"You about to," he smirked.
Without waiting for him, you reached down between your bodies, grabbing the hem of his tight compression shirt, dragging it up over his broad chest and pulling it off his arms, forcing him to release your neck, tossing it onto the floor. His bare skin was smooth, and warm, and mapped with hard muscle, sweat glistening over his collarbones.
Randy’s hands immediately went to your waist, his long fingers digging into the soft flesh above your shorts, dragging you forward until your clothed pussy was pressed against the bulge sleeping inside his sweatpants.
You gasped at the size of him; he was thick, and heavy, and completely rock hard, pressing right against your wet cunt through the thin cotton of your shorts.
"Damn," Randy groaned, his head falling back against the pillow as you rolled your hips against him once, testing the weight. "Sitting on my dick while my boys are asleep...you really are a dirty little freak, ain't you?"
"Shut the fuck up, Randy," you rasped, shrugging off your hoodie, dropping it onto the floor beside his shirt, leaving you in just your sports bra and shorts.
Randy’s eyes locked onto your chest, his hands sliding up your ribs, his thumbs tracing the underside of your sports bra before fully cupping both mounds, squeezing your breasts firmly through the fabric.
"Take 'em off," he commanded softly, "I wanna see everything."
You huffed, rolling your eyes before rolling off of him.
You reached down, hooking your fingers into the waistband of your black shorts and your panties, dragging them down your legs in one smooth motion, kicking them off the edge of the bed. You sat back up, completely bare from the waist down, straddling his waist in the dark.
Randy sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth.
His hands moved instantly, spreading your thighs wider, his long fingers sliding right up your wet inner skin until his thumb hit your slick, swollen center. He pressed down, rubbing a slow, heavy circle right over your clit.
You bit your bottom lip so hard you almost drew blood, a broken, high pitched whimper escaping your throat.
"Shhh," Randy hissed, his eyes flicking over toward Marcus’s bed. "Keep it quiet, baby. Unless you want them to wake up and see how wet you are for the guy you hate so much."
"Randy..." you warned, your back arching as his thumb kept working you, slick sounds filling the tiny space between your hips.
"Look at this," he whispered, bringing his hand up between your faces, showing you his long fingers glistening wet in the dim light. "Look how soaked you are. You was thinking about this all day, wasn't you? Sitting in them meetings, listening to Coach talk, just waiting to get my dick inside you."
“No.” You replied with a scowl, slapping his hand away.
He shook his head, “You’re such a liar, sweetheart.”
He reached down with his other hand, shoving his dark grey sweatpants and boxers down to his thighs, letting his thick thang spring free.
He was massive and veiny, and hot, and heavy, his pretty tip glistening with pre cum.
You stared down at him, licking your lips. Every instinct you had as an athlete, as a competitive, proud black woman, told you that giving in to this man was surrender. But as he grabbed your hip with one hand and guided his thick head right against the soaking entrance of your pussy, your body made the choice for you.
You lifted yourself up slightly, guiding his dick in.
Randy’s eyes locked onto yours, his bushy eyebrows twitching as he raised his hips, driving himself up into you as you slid down.
"Fuck- !" Randy grunted, his jaw locking hard as your tight, hot walls stretched completely around his thick head, swallowing him down to the middle in one agonizingly slow, deep stroke.
Your head fell back, a choked, silent scream tearing from your throat as he filled you so deeply you felt the pressure right in the center of your gut. Your pussy gripped him like a vice, pulsing furiously around him, completely overwhelmed by the size and warmth of him.
"Goddamn," Randy rasped, his hands digging into your ass, holding you pinned down on his dick, his chest heaving. "You...you feel so fuckin' tight...jesus christ..."
"Don't...don't talk," you whispered, tears of pleasure stinging the corners of your eyes as you began to lift your hips, sliding up his shaft before sliding back down, taking every inch.
Randy’s hands clamped down on your hips like steel bands, controlling your rhythm, pulling you down hard against his pelvis with a wet, heavy slap of skin against skin.
Slap. Slap. Slap.
The sound was filthy in the quiet hotel room. You clamped a hand over your own mouth, biting your skin, your hips rolling in tight, frantic motions while Randy thrust upward to meet you, his long stroke hitting that sweet, deep spot inside you over and over again.
"Yeah," Randy groaned in a harsh whisper, his eyes wild as he stared up at you. "Ride it. Ride this dick, you cocky ass bitch. Show me how fast you can go."
You leaned forward, clenching your jaw and biting your tongue so you wouldn’t make a sound as you placed your hands flat against his broad chest, your nails digging into his skin as you picked up the pace, bouncing on him with reckless, desperate energy. Every time you dropped down, his dick hit your cervix, sending waves of pleasure shooting straight up your spine, making your thighs tremble uncontrollably.
Randy reached up, his big hand wrapping around the front of your throat again, squeezing firmly, pulling your face down until your mouth was inches from his.
"You like this?" he hissed, his breath hot and ragged against your lips. "You like getting fucked by the guy who takes all your shine?"
"Shut up– unh– shut up, Randy!" you whimpered against his mouth, your hips going down faster, your body completely consumed by the overwhelming friction.
"Say it," he commanded, his hand tightening on your neck, cutting off your air just enough to send your nervous system into overdrive. "Say you love my dick."
"Fuck you–"
"Say it," he rasped, his hips bucking up violently, driving himself into you so hard the bed frame gave a low, dangerous squeak.
“No–”
On the other side of the room, Trey shifted under his covers, letting out a loud, grumbling groan in his sleep, turning over onto his stomach.
You froze, your entire body going rigid, your chest heaving, Randy’s thick dick buried deep inside you, pulsing against your wet walls making you clench around him.
Randy didn't move a muscle. He stared up at you, his hand still on your throat, a smirk slowly spreading across his face in the dark. He bent his head up, his tongue dragging slowly over your bottom lip, bringing your attention back to him.
"Don't stop now, boss lady. If you don’t keep going, I’m gonna yell…" he breathed against your mouth, his voice a ghost of a whisper. "You wanna wake them up? You want them to see you taking all this dick?"
You bit your lip so hard you felt the tang of copper on your tongue. The thrill of the danger, the risk of getting caught, the filth of his mouth, the feeling of him stretched so thick inside you, shattered whatever sanity you had left.
You began to move again.
Slower this time. Those torturous rolls of your hips that made Randy’s eyes roll back into his head, a low moan escaping his throat that he had to bury by biting down hard on your shoulder.
His teeth sank into your skin, hard enough to leave a deep, bruised mark before he licked and sucked over the ruined skin, his hands grabbing your ass cheeks, pulling you down into the hardest, deepest thrusts yet.
"Ah...fuck, girl..." Randy rasped, his composure completely dissolving, his fuckass persona cracking under the heat of your pussy. "You...you gripping me so tight...shit..."
Your walls were spasming violently around him, contracting in fast waves as your climax approached. You couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't hear anything over the sound of your own pulse roaring in your ears and the wet, filthy, squelching sounds of your pussy taking his long ass dick.
Randy felt it coming. He grabbed your waist, flipping you off him in one fast movement, throwing your back flat onto the mattress.
Before you could even process the shift, Randy was over you, hovering like a shadow, his dark face inches from yours. He grabbed your left leg, slinging your long, toned thigh right over his shoulder, opening you up completely to the room.
"Look at me," he gritted out, his voice thick and ruined.
The command forced your eyes to his, you blinked up at him, your heart hammering against your ribs.
He lined himself up and slammed back into you with a brutal thrust that made your back arch completely off the bed.
Slap! Slap! Slap!
He fucked you like he was trying to erase your name from the record books. Them deep, relentless strokes that knocked the air from your lungs every single time his hips met yours. His big hand slammed down over your mouth, muffling the high, broken cries that were tearing from your throat, while his other hand gripped your waist, leaving red prints in your skin.
"Take it," he said into your ear. "Take every inch of this dick."
Your eyes rolled back as the orgasm tore through you. It wasn't soft nor was it sweet, it was violent, it made your legs shake, your toes curl, and your pussy clamp down on his dick with crushing force. You bit down hard on his hand covering your mouth, tears streaming down your cheeks from the intensity of it.
Randy let out a low groan into your neck, his body going rigid as his own climax hit him. He shoved himself as deep as he could go, burying his tip right against your cervix, his hips shuddering as he filled your wet, contracting hole with spurt after spurt of his nut.
The heavy, ragged sound of two elite athletes trying to catch their breath in the dark filled the room; other than that, the room was dead silent.
Randy collapsed over you, his heavy, sweaty chest pressing you deep into the mattress, his head buried in the crook of your neck. You could feel his heart hammering wildly against your ribs, all fast and frantic, matching your own pulse.
For two full minutes, neither of you moved.
The smell of sex, and sweat hung thick in the air between you.
Randy slowly lifted his head. His dark curls were plastered to his forehead, his chest heaving a little. His eyebrows were slightly relaxed, his eyes looking down at you in a strange way that made your stomach flutter, in a way that scared you far more than his dirty talk ever did.
He didn't make a slick joke and he didn't smirk.
He reached up, his long, calloused fingers gently pushing a curl away from your face, his thumb softly tracing the swollen line of your bottom lip.
"You good?" he whispered, his voice surprisingly soft, and surprisingly sweet.
You stared up at him as though he were crazy, your chest still rising and falling fast, feeling his thick, softening dick still resting inside you.
You hated him. You hated how good he felt. You hated that he had shattered your armor in less than an hour.
Your palms slammed against his broad, sweaty shoulders, the sudden force catching Randy off guard just enough for his weight to shift. His dick dragged out of you with a wet, heavy slide that made your pussy twitch, his nut immediately spilling out over your inner thighs in a humiliating stream.
"Get the fuck off me," you snapped, your raspy voice a furious whisper in the dark.
Randy stumbled back onto his side, his eyes wide for a fraction of a second, his eyebrows pulling together as he watched you scramble off the edge of the mattress.
You didn't look at him. Your hands were literally shaking as you snatched your shorts and panties off the carpet, dragging them up your legs with zero grace. You grabbed your hoodie, shoving your arms through the sleeves, yanking the zipper up to your throat like armor.
"Look at you," Randy murmured from the bed, his voice dropping right back into that arrogant tone. He sat up slow, completely unbothered by his own nakedness, leaning his elbows on his knees as he watched you shove your feet into your slides. "Look how fast you running now. You wasn't moving that fast when you was choking me out."
"Shut the fuck up, Randy," you gritted out, snatching your sweet tea off the floor.
"You leaving my nut inside you, boss lady?" he whispered, a smirk spreading across his face as he gestured down at your legs. "That shit gonna leak all the way up to the fourth floor."
You glared at him with, your chest heaving under the heavy cotton of your hoodie. You didn't give him the satisfaction of another word. You turned on your heel, unlocked the door as quietly as your trembling fingers would allow, and slipped out into the hallway, the latch clicking shut behind you.
You walked back to Room 412 like a ghost, your thighs slick and aching, your heart hammering against your ribs so hard you felt it in your teeth.
BAD!MICHAEL JACKSON X READER michael leaves the grammys, dejected that he didn't win a single award after all his hard work. he's seething with rage, and the only thing that can make him feel better is you.
help i tried to write smut. this is my first smut triple in here and i think i got a lil carried away (idk i think i'm ovulating — was also listening to the weeknd whilst writing it oop) includes : dominating michael and submissive reader , rough and angry sex , spanking , emotionally hurt and vulnerable michael , self-blame. idk what else you put in smut descriptions. 18+ MDNI ( a ) ( s ) ( f ) ( 4.6k )
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From what you know, Michael doesn’t take losses well.
He often twists them into a fit of self doubt and deprecating thoughts. Blaming himself for his faults. His failures. That he's not good enough. That he didn't work hard enough. That he didn't perfect the moves of his choreography or the chorus of a song.
Oftentimes they're internalised, stuffed into a thick glass bottle that only you can see straight through. The only way to gain access is to smash through it with a large hammer, and even then sometimes it bounces off the surface like a bouncy ball, leaving you helpless in an attempt to enter the prism of his thoughts.
"Michael..." You're sitting in the back of a cab, the partition rolled up between you and the driver. Michael is beside you, still in his outfit from the Grammys, his legs angled away from you as he faces out the window with his chin resting on palm. His gaze is trained on the passing cars and buildings of New York, jaw clenched. "Talk to me..."
"There's nothin' to say," he simply responds, pushing himself closer to the window as though he couldn't bear to face you right now.
"You've always got something to say. Come on, lemme hear it." You're turning in your seat to face him full on, your hand reaching for his that rests lazily across his lap. He glances down when you interlace your fingers. "You can talk to me. You know that, right?"
Michael only hums as though he's uninterested, moving his hand away from your grasp and folding them both across his chest as he finally leans back to rest against the seat. A pair of sunglasses shield his eyes, much like the true emotions he hides from you right now. His bottom lip rolls into his mouth, biting down as though he's currently racking through his brain with thoughts you can't see. He's stiff. Rigid. And if you didn't know him any better, you would say that he's definitely mad.
But Michael isn't just mad, in fact, he's seething with rage. He stretches his hands that threaten to ball into fists with every passing moment, wanting to puncture the skin of his palms with his blunt nails to replace that pain with the ache in his chest. Control is limited and it takes him immense strength to not just turn around and yell at you, or better yet, crash his lips right against yours with fierce aggression to get you to shut up.
Sighing, you shift back into your seat and turn your head to look at the passing city lights as the night looms. But actually you're not watching them, you're staring at Michael's reflection in your window, how his attention has finally switched to you and his chest rises and falls with unsteady breaths.
You ignore him, just as he was ignoring you.
Minutes pass before you finally reach your hotel. Michael doesn't thank the driver like he normally does. Instead he gives a curt nod of recognition as you trail after him into the building. Also ignoring the concierge and hotel staff that never fail to greet him, he makes a beeline for the elevator without so much as waiting for you. "Michael, slow down!" But he doesn't respond as you slip in after him, the doors sliding shut as he presses a button to trap you in the confined space. Tension radiates from every pore in his body, nostrils flaring with every ragged breath as his eyes remain fixed ahead, away from you. "What's gotten into you?"
Again, he's only silent. At this point it's beginning to frustrate you. He won't talk or even look at you, as though you're the reason for his return without a single award after such a highly anticipated event. You're concerned for how he continuously buries his emotions beneath the ground and kicks over them with a layer of dirt, brushing it all off later like it was never a big deal in the first place. It's also just aggravating to see how your boyfriend won't listen to you, or even give a response to your words.
After the elevator reaches the top floor, he's the first to slip out and head straight down the corridor to your shared room. His loafers thud against the muffled carpet with his hurried steps before he unlocks the door, stepping inside for you to follow behind him just a moment later.
You click the door shut behind you and when you turn around, Michael is pacing the length of the small room. His hands thread into his curls, tugging softly before he switches to reaching over and ripping his sunglasses from his face. He tosses them somewhere onto the floor and they clatter against the hardwood as he rounds to the small two-seater in the corner, sitting down with his head buried in his hands.
You don’t move from your spot at the door. You've seen Michael angry before but it's always been about little things such as minor jealousy involving you or small frustrations over his busy schedule that he can easily amend. This is different. This is something completely out of his control and something that is not involving you in any way. Something that triggers the dedication and perfectionism within him because he thought he was doing good. He thought he was making history again. Breaking records, sealing more deals, gaining more awards.
Apparently it wasn't enough.
You're cautious to approach him when he's in such a vulnerable state, but when you do you take slow steps to stand at his side, hesitant to prod any further considering how he untangled your hands in the cab earlier. "Michael, baby... I'm really sorry about how this all turned out. Nobody saw this coming. It's not your fault." He answers you with a stretch of silence, and you take another step forward. "Tell me how I can make you feel better. Talk to me. What do you need—"
Your words catch in your throat when his head suddenly jerks up. "I don't know what I need. Okay? I don't know." His voice is sharp and loud, slicing directly through your gentle tone with a knife. His frustration has seeped to the top, overflowing with angry crimson bubbles. "All that... work. All those late nights, all that planning, all those blisters and aches and..." He rises to his feet, storming past you as he begins to pace again. "It still wasn't enough? Really? Y'know how much fucking time I spent on that album?"
You flinch when he curses considering how it's unusual to slip past his mouth even when he's in a fit of rage. He's staring at you as though he's waiting for an answer, his eyes dark and glossy with the onset of frustrated tears. You're taking a step forward in an attempt to comfort him. "Yes, Michael, I know—"
"No! You don't. Nobody does." His blunt voice causes you to swallow as he tears his gaze from yours and he steps away again. His tone is laced with anger but it's not directed at you, just frustration spilling out wherever it can. "I put my fucking heart and soul into my music. I spend hours and hours writing. Singing. Dancing. Rehearsing. But it's not enough. It's never enough. I have to do more." His footing stops at the window, the spread of New York city expanding far out of view.
"Michael, I hear you. Loud and clear. But it really isn't your fault. You're being too hard on yourself—"
"Don't," he snaps, his head flicking to you in a split second. Tears brim in his eyes. "Don't tell me I'm bein' too hard on myself. I'm not. I know my work and I know I haven't done enough. I can do better."
His words linger quietly. You're not quite sure how to respond to him. His anger is self-targeted and you don't think your involvement would help him change his mind. He's much too stubborn. "Michael, do you want me to give you some space? Should I leave?"
But then he's shaking his head, a hot stray tear spilling down his cheek as he faces the ground between you. "No, stay. Please." He wipes the tear away with the back of his hand, sniffling once. "I'm sorry. I'm just so... angry. I don't even know what to do with myself. I—" He cuts himself off, breathing hard. Then he closes the gap between you with a few long strides, his arms enveloping you in a bone-crushing hug. "I'm so sorry."
You manage to sneak your hands past the underside of his chest to return the embrace, but if anything the embrace is more so vicehold keeping you locked in place. His grip only tightens, his frustration slipping through into his actions yet he's still mindful not to hurt you. Head resting against your hair, heart thumping rapidly against his chest, he realises that even your soothing sway isn't enough to extinguish the fire within him.
He pulls back first, peering down at you with his hard dark eyes. "Tell me, how can I help you?" Your hand slithers up in the tight gap between you to rest on his cheek, thumb brushing the skin of his cheekbone and the further tears that have slipped past their barrier. "I'll do anything to make you feel better. Just tell me what you need."
His gaze draws over your face slowly, as though he's searching for something. Trailing from your eyes, to your nose and then to your lips, lingering there for seconds longer than normal. A breath of air passes them upon the weight of his stare. "Michael?"
And then his hands slide from their place on your back, one reaching up towards the back of your neck and the other heading down to your waist, wrapping around you firm and tight. Then he leans in, and his mouth crashes against yours in a bruising kiss. You're flush against him, following his lead as he further tilts his head for extended access. There's almost nothing gentle about it. It conveys every fiery emotion buried deep in his heart and every frustration from the night that slipped between his fingers. But it feels good. It feels wanted. Needed. Passionate.
Your arms wrap around his neck as he dips you down slightly. His kisses are fast, almost sloppy, and then he pulls you up, turning you both around and leading you backwards till you feel the cool glass against your spine all without breaking the kiss.
When you finally pull back for air, he stays close, murmuring against your lips, "look, I don't wanna argue. I don't wanna take anythin' out on you, I just..." His chest rises with a breath, his tongue darting out to leave a coat of sheen on his plump bottom lip before he rests his forehead against yours. You notice how his eyes are still glassy with resentment and leftover tears, but now there's something else burning in them. Something raw and hot and fierce. A feral, desperate hunger. Then his voice drops low, just above a whisper. "I need you. God, I need you."
His eyes flutter shut after his statement, body tightly pressed against yours and you’re afraid if he pushes any harder you might just break the glass of the window behind you. But how could you resist him when he’s being so vulnerable with you. “Have me,” you whisper back, holding him equally as tight. “I’m yours.”
Grabbing a hold of your hips, he quickly scoops you up before setting you down on the wall beside the bed. His large hand gently wraps around your throat, his thumb pushing your jaw so your cheek meets the cool wall. He leans over to hush in your ear, “tell me you want this, my love. Tell me you’re gonna let me have my way tonight. Tell me it’s okay for me to take control.”
You’re not exactly sure when the conversation escalated, but what you are sure of is the tingle that his soft yet dominating voice sends down your back and straight towards your core. His voice is dripping with arousal and longing. Your thighs squeeze together in growing need, your words simpering past with a soft gasp, “yes, baby. You can take control.”
“Good.” He relieves the pressure on your neck and your head turns back to face him before he crashes against your mouth together in another hot kiss. It moves with indiscernible urgency. His tongue swipes against yours, a hand drifting into your hair to tug gently, the other looping around your waist to set you flush against his growing bulge. When he breaks the kiss, your breaths are heavy, his lips wet and glossy when he murmurs against yours, “gonna fuck you so hard. Gonna make you scream so loud.” Another tingle sent down your spine. “And you’ll take it all, yeah? Cause you’re my sweet angel. My princess.”
Your eyes flutter shut upon hearing his words, your mouth parting with a breathy whimper. Michael’s been rough before, many times, but it’s never contained this amount of desperation. Something about his rawness has you yearning for more, but because he wants to take control, you don’t push any further. “Yes, Michael.”
And that’s all the confirmation he needs before he’s spinning you around to push your front up against the wall. He pins you with a hand wrapped around the back of your neck, his other trailing up the slit of your olive green slip dress. His fingers leave a touch of fire as they skim up your thigh, a finger curling around the waistband of your panties before he tugs them down. “Hm, bet you’re so wet already ‘n I’ve hardly touched ya. Am I right, angel?”
The combination of his filthy words and sweet pet names has you pushing back against him, arching in order to feel his thick bulge that presses against the seam of his trousers. “Yes.” You’re barely whispering, so tangled up in need. Your hands press up against the wall before you. “Mikey, fuck me. Please…”
“You looked so beautiful tonight.” His voice uses the same hushed tone as he lets your panties drop to the floor, barely giving you time to step out of them before his hand is slithering beneath the front of your dress to find your slit. A finger dips in between your folds to collect the wetness that has already pooled. "God, you're too generous." His free hand threads into your hair, pulling your head back. "All this for me?"
"All for you," you breathe out. He only hums as he swirls a finger around your clit with light pressure, circling it before edging down towards your entrance, the tip of his finger barely tipping past before he's trailing up again. "Baby, please."
He shushes your whining, removing both his hands from your body to hike up your dress. He pushes it over the curve of your ass, a breathy moan slipping past his lips at the sight of your plumpness. His fingers press into the soft skin to draw your cheeks apart and he leans over to gaze at your wetness that is practically dripping down and covering the inside of your thighs. Then he puffs cool air onto your slick heat, causing you to shiver. "Fuck—so beautiful. Tell me, who do you belong to?"
"You." The word passes quickly, desperate in an attempt to please him and stop his teasing. "I'm all yours, Michael."
He readjusts your dress to stay collected at your hips and then you hear the buckle of his belt behind you as he slides it off. The sound only has you further needy, back arching in chase of his hands or his cock to fill you up. He steps closer to you after freeing his length from the restriction of his trousers, pressing it up against the curve of your ass. His ankles nudge yours apart, your heels still on, before he dips the tip between your folds. One hand plants firmly against your hip beneath your bunched up dress, and the other guides his cock up and down, circling your clit before pressing his thick length up towards your entrance. "Look at you. My sweet angel, my beautiful princess. So needy. So filthy. Hm?"
Your whimpers melt into a moan when he finally pushes inside you. All the way. His thick, hard cock trapped between your slick walls. Throbbing at the pressure of your tightness, he guides himself out once slowly before burying back in, his gaze trained on the way your bodies meld into one. His free hand pushes your head against the hard wall, cold against your cheek. Then he does it again, although this time faster, gradually picking up speed each time he's thrusting in and out of you. Your mouth falls open at the speed but also at the hardness, the roughness of the pace, the way his whimpers melt in with yours to tangle together in your pleasure.
He pulls you back, arching your back further, your hands plant against the wall as both of his settle on your hips, fingers digging into your skin before he drives into you with a commanding force. The quick snap of your bodies together has you crying out with pleasure. He removes a hand from your hip to lift it up and smack it down against your cheek, hard. A moan filters past your lips at the resounding impact, his fingers reaching over to massage the soft skin before he does it again. And then once more. Your jaw drops open at the slight sting that has a familiar knot building up in your stomach. "Pretty, pretty girl. All mine,” you hear him grumble beneath grunts. A hand reaches over to swirl at your throbbing clit, the pressure continuing to build.
"Michael, I'm gonna..."
He retracts his hand immediately but his pace remains equally as brutal. "Already? Nuh-uh. Not until I say so. You're gonna hold it for me, yeah? Hold it for me whilst I fuck you hard against the wall. Aren't you, baby?"
You let out a quiet "yes" and finally turn to look at him over your shoulder with a pleading look. His curls are a mess, grazing his shoulders and sticking to his temples with sweat. His eyes meet yours, his bottom lip sucking between his teeth as his nostrils flare with a breath. The look on your face almost has him hurling towards his own orgasm.
Suddenly he pulls out, spinning you around to face him. The absence of his warmth inside you has you whining softly. "My beautiful girl's gonna have me cummin' too quick with that look." He chuckles darkly, lips hovering just above yours. "Lemme hold off a little longer. Get on the bed, clothes off."
You comply immediately, kicking off your heels and stepping out of your dress. Michael kicks off his loafers, stepping out of his trousers. He unbuttons his shirt and watches as you crawl onto the bed, peering down at his thick, swollen cock that leaks with your arousal with such patience.
Such a good girl. All for him.
"On your stomach."
You turn around, arms stretched above your head against the pillows whilst your knees bend, hips rising into the air. He groans behind you at the sight of you quietly presenting yourself to him. The bed dips down behind you with the weight of his body, his warmth approaching you from behind. His hand comes down to strike your ass once more, and then again, causing you to gasp. Then he quickly aligns his tip with your entrance before pushing back in. You moan at the feeling of him reentering your walls, his pace picking up exactly where it left off.
"Always so tight," he breathes out between snaps of his hips. "Always so good to me. Always listenin’. Such a good, good girl. Lettin' me use you. Lettin' me have my way. Tell me, whose pussy is this?"
"Fuck—yours," you moan between his deep strokes. "It's all yours, Michael."
Groaning at your words, his grip on your hips tighten hard enough to leave marks. "God, I needed this. Tell me you love it. Tell me you love it when I have my way with you, my precious baby."
"I love it." His filthy words mingled with sweet praises make it difficult for you to hold off your peak. "I love it. So much. Love being yours, Michael."
His response is a tangle of his hand into your hair, drawing your head up from its position muffled against the sheets. He leans down, his chest lowering to collide with your sweat slicked back, his other hand wrapping around your stomach to hold you in place. The new angle has him even deeper inside of you. The tip of his cock is pushing against a familiar spot that would have you writhing if it were for his tight grip on you. "Good girl. Taking it just right." His breath tickles your ear, warm and soothing despite his unforgiving speed. "Just hold on a little longer for me, yeah? I know you're close."
You're unable to respond as he continues pounding into you at. The knot begins to form slowly and it takes all strength from you not to lean into the feeling of pleasure and climax on the spot. Your whimpers and moans gradually increase in frequency. "Michael, please. I can't—"
"Yes you can." He continues his deep strokes, tears brimming in the corners of your eyes as he begins to feel the onset of his own climax approaching. He lets out a wrecked moan then reaches around your body, fingers instantly finding your clit when he begins to rub quick, tight circles. "That’s it. Cum for me, pretty girl. Give it to me."
You let go. The pressure builds and builds till the coil in your belly snaps. Your orgasm comes in waves, rendering a loud cry from your lips along with his name spilling from your lips like a helpless prayer. Your walls clench around him, a grunt slipping past his lips. "Oh—fuck, Michael."
"You gonna take me?" He hushes into your ear as he rides out your high with his continued quickening pace. "Gonna take every single last drop of me, yeah princess?"
"Yes, please—I want it all." Your eyes flutter shut as he pushes your head into the sheets again, breathing heavy and hard. A moment later he lets out a loud groan, your name falling from his lips along with a string of praises as his thick, hot seed shoots and paints the inside of your walls. His cries are mixed with your own as his pace slows, his length twitching inside of you and his breathing ragged as he bathes in the glow of his climax.
He stills, catching his breath, eyes trailing over the expanse of your figure below him before he slides out with a hiss from the two of you. Immediately, he flips you over and collects you into his arms with a hug. You feel like jelly under his touch, your body heavy with the weight of both your climaxes and aftermath of his unforgiving pace. Yet it still felt good. It felt hot. And maybe, the most aggressive yet best sex you’ve had together.
"I'm sorry."
You're trying to even out your breathing when you pull back to take a look at him. His eyes, previously dark with a combination of frustration, need and hunger now only hold guilt with a hint of concern. "What do you mean?"
"I was so rough—I, I didn't mean to do that." His usual tone of voice is laced with a little sadness, his fingers threading through your hair to keep you close. "Did I hurt you?" His eyes trail down your body, past your exposed breasts and to your hips to see angry red marks, left on his own accord. "I did..."
"No, Michael. You didn’t just me, it's okay." You tuck a stray curl behind his ear, planting a kiss to his forehead as he continues to stare at your hips, his thumb soothing over the marks.
"It's not okay." He moves to set you down against the sheets, planting himself on his forearms to hover just about you. "I was too rough. I used you. God—I was so mad and upset and I just, I didn't even realise what I was doing and—"
"You didn't use me, sweetheart." You drag both your hands up the length of his arms and onto his shoulders before cupping both his cheeks. "I just gave you what you wanted. You've been rough before. This is no different."
"This is different." He shifts to move over the rest of your body, settling back so that his face lines with your stomach. His hands gently rest at the dip of your waist, his lips grazing over the faint marks littering your hips. "I've been rough before, I know. But that's just playin'. I'd never actually hurt you. But this time, I..." His eyes catch yours, gleaming with worry. "I took my anger out on you. I used you."
"Michael, no—come here." You tug on his arms to drag him back up, softness in your expression. "It was none of that, okay? Yes, you were mad. But I let it happen. I wanted to be there for you. Especially because you wouldn't talk to me."
His gaze falters from yours before he sighs, pulling away his weight to lay beside you. He pulls you in close, sliding an arm beneath your head and another around your waist. "I'm sorry for actin' like that before. I was just so angry... I was so in my own head. I didn't even know what t'think of it all."
You listen along, smoothing a hand up his arm. "That's completely understandable. What were you thinking?"
He pauses, taking in a deep breath. "I just... what if I never reach Thriller success again, y'know? What if it was a one off that, no matter how hard I work, I'll never reach that level again." He looks down at you, eyes searching yours as though you held all the answers. "What if that was it and my career is over?"
"Mikey..." You shake your head in the minimal space, your hand reaching up to feather through his curls. "If you're talking about winning a grammy, then you've already done that. You've won loads. You can't just let those awards define your worth." He listens intently as you continue. "You're incredible, Michael. Genuinely. I know how hard you work and you deserve the absolute world. I know you pour your heart and soul into your music. Everyone does. And you've got your entire career ahead of you. So many more opportunities and songs to be written." You plant a gentle kiss on his cheek. "It's okay to be mad. It's okay to be angry or sad. But just know that it's not the end. Okay?"
"Yeah." He releases a slow breath of air that tickles your temple, absorbing your words like a sponge for a few moments. "You're right, angel. You always are. I love you."
Then he draws you in for a kiss to your lips. It’s different from before, now sweet, breathy and soft. You pull back first to speak. "I love you too." A smile grazes his lips, and you're mirroring it, before yours slowly morphs into a cheeky smirk. "By the way, that was possibly the hottest sex we've ever had."
He bursts into a surprised laugh, one that rumbles in his chest and bubbles out between his perfect white teeth. "Yeah? You liked that?" He licks his bottom lip, biting it gently between his teeth before speaking again. "Maybe I should be mad more often."
Your eyes flick between his devilish stare and heart shaped mouth, leaning in again. "Hm, maybe you should."
Could you write a fanfic where Bad Era Mj and Reader, who have been friends for a while (but secretly have a crush on eachother), hang out BUT— Michael can’t take the tension anymore so in the heat of the moment he confesses and ends up eating her out?
the way you make me feel ❥ michael jackson
PAIRING: bad!michael jackson x black!fem!reader
SUMMARY: inspired by his song “The Way You Make Me Feel” + this edit + this second edit + this third edit + in which Michael comes to see you after completing the “Bad” World Tour to not only unwind from the overwhelming weight of the public eye, but to also catch up with his best friend and see how you’ve been doing. however, what happens an innocent hang out turns into something a bit more heated? 🩷
as you carried a bowl filled with buttery popcorn to the living room, the sound of your doorbell caught your attention and made your head snap towards the front door, a grin spreading across your face once you realized your best friend had finally arrived to your home.
quickly yet gingerly sitting the bowl down onto your coffee table, you glanced over at the TV and made sure the movie was still paused before scurrying away to the door while simultaneously gently smoothing down your top. exhaling softly, you unlocked and opened the door and your eyes lit up once the man of the hour was revealed to you — Michael Jackson.
Michael wore a collared, button-up blue-striped shirt, regular black slacks, and his infamous loafers as a pair of his signature dark shades covered his eyes and a small shy smile rested on his lips, as if this was his first time meeting you.
a smile immediately spread across your face at the sight of him and your expression alone made his own smile widen as you looked up at him and held out your arms, gesturing for him to hug you with a teasing glint shining in your eyes, “hey there, superstar. long time, no see.”
“stop that, i’m no superstar.” a soft velvety giggle fell from Michael’s lips and he stepped closer to you as he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you into his chest, instinctively resting his head in the crook of your neck like old times.
you and Michael had been best friends since your early twenties, and overtime, your bond maintained itself and grew stronger and stronger each year that passed. even when his career would pull him into a whole different direction, he’d still find time to shower you with his love and attention.
when ‘Bad’ dropped and he went on a world tour shortly after, he made sure to call you as much as he possibly could. sometimes you’d be fresh off work and ready to answer it, whereas sometimes you’d be fast asleep and awoken from your phone ringing. he’d always apologize in case he called at an inconvenient time, but you never failed to reassure him that you’d always pick up the phone whenever he called — and you’d also remind him that you wanted him to come see you whenever his tour ended.
some people thought the platonic title of your relationship was just a big facade, though. they’d always comment on how much time you spent alone together, how close the two of you were, and how you looked at each other, but both of you denied any claim that you were romantically involved with one another — mainly because there was an important conversation that was yet to be had.
see, you liked Michael, and Michael liked you back, but neither of you were aware that the feelings you harbored for each other were reciprocated in any way. because the two of you had always been an affectionate duo, neither of you really thought too hard about the simple things that’d happen between you.
Michael could kiss your cheek and you’d think nothing of it because he’d been doing it since the start of your friendship. you could grab onto Michael’s hand and intertwine your fingers with his and he’d think nothing of it because you’d always hold hands whenever you went out to crowded places together.
there’s a thin line between close friends and lovers, and you and Michael have been crossing that line since you’ve known each other.
“c’mon before the popcorn gets cold,” you giggled as you softly squeezed him before pulling away from his tender embrace and stepping aside, allowing him entry to your home, “and take off those sunglasses, ain’t no paparazzi in here. let me see those pretty eyes.”
“i wish you’d stop doin’ that. y’know it makes me blush.” Michael chuckled bashfully as he reached up and gently removed his sunglasses from his face, revealing his big pretty brown eyes that you’ve been fond of since the moment you met him.
“mhm, and you love it,” you teased playfully, a victorious smile crossing your face, as you grabbed ahold of his hand and led him to the living room to show him your set up, “i’ve got everything all set up for us — the popcorn’s freshly popped and buttered, the drinks are cold, and i’ve got your favorite movie on standby. i know tour’s been runnin’ you ragged so i wanted to help you wind down just a lil’ bit.”
you grinned proudly as you turned your head and looked over at Michael, who was admiring the cozy atmosphere you created for just the two of you with profound love in his eyes, “you want somethin’ else before we sit down?”
Michael parted his lips to speak but nothing came for a moment as his eyes abruptly found yours and they studied your face for a lingering second before a content smile slowly spread across his face, “you got any ice cream?”
and just like that, the two of you found yourselves in your kitchen making endless conversation while fixing bowls of ice cream together. before this day came, you made sure to stock on Michael’s favorite ice cream just in case he wanted some when he came over, and since you already had your favorite on standby, you didn’t have to do much.
after completing your ice cream mission, you and Michael walked back to the living room together, one of your hands clutching your respective bowls while your other hands found themselves connected again — it was almost like an absentminded act.
neither of you even realized you were holding hands again until you sat down on the couch together, and when you did, both of you giggled in unison, but that didn’t stop the tension that was slowly starting to brew between the two of you — in fact, this is where it began.
“guess we’re makin’ up for lost time, huh?” you teased, raising your conjoined hands, as Michael smiled at you and let out a soft laugh, gently kicking off his loafers and moving them with his sock-covered foot to sit by side of the couch.
“guess so,” Michael grinned, leaning back into your couch, as he adjusted his hold on his bowl of ice cream and let go of your hand, reaching down and grabbing your legs to place them across his lap, “i did miss bein’ this close to you while i was away, though.”
“yeah?” you smiled, slightly adjusting your legs on his lap to your comfort, as you rested your bowl of ice cream in your lap and Michael nodded, making your smile widen a bit, “you thought of me while you were away?”
“every day,” Michael chuckled softly with a small shake of his head, his curls bouncing softly with the movement, “i couldn’t stop thinkin’ of you, that’s why i’d call so often. i’d always hope you weren’t busy doin’ somethin’ else ‘cause i really wanted to talk to you. i missed you.”
that was the moment you felt the tension between you and Michael, and you were sure he felt it at the same time you did because he shifted ever so slightly after his confession, the movement so small that you barely noticed it until you felt your legs move a tiny bit on his lap.
“well, i missed you, too, Michael. and i couldn’t stop thinkin’ of you either. whenever you called, i’d drop whenever i was doin’ just to pick up the phone.” you admitted fondly, a soft chuckle falling from your lips, as Michael smiled at you and he searched your eyes, seemingly lost in your loving stare.
the two of you looked at each other silently for a moment, as if you were caught up in each other’s presence, before you softly cleared your throat and both of you simultaneously broke your eye contact, Michael’s gaze averting to his bowl of ice cream while yours fell onto the remote beside you and you quickly grabbed it.
“alright, let’s start the movie before our ice cream turns back into milk ‘cause we talk too much.”
30 minutes into the movie and Michael was no longer watching it anymore — he was watching you instead.
by this point, Michael had already finished his bowl of ice cream and was nibbling on the bowl of popcorn you sat out for the two of you, but when his attention unintentionally shifted from your TV screen to you, he completely stopped eating.
he watched the way you’d lift a spoonful of ice cream to your mouth and part your pretty lips to taste the dairy dessert on your tongue, his gaze eventually lowering to your throat to watch it bob as you swallowed. he’d repeat the action over again with each spoonful of ice cream you ate as something real close to desire started to settle onto his chest and he swallowed hard, trying his hardest to maintain his composure.
you remained oblivious to his longing stare for a good few minutes, but when you felt him shift a little beside you, that was when you glanced over at him to check on him, which ended up with you doing a double take and ultimately catching him in the act of staring.
“what?” you asked, your eyebrows raising just a little, as Michael’s gaze shifted to your eyes and he looked into them for a moment before his eyes accidentally dropped down to your mouth, lingering there instead of looking away like he knew he should’ve.
“you, um… got a little somethin’…” Michael trailed off, his voice softer than usual, and he raised his hand to your face as he gently wiped away the drop of ice cream sitting in the corner of your mouth, your eyes flickering down to his hand and watching him attentively.
he didn’t move his hand after wiping away the dollop of ice cream by your mouth and his thumb stayed dangerously close to your lips, as if it had been frozen there. you didn’t know what came over you, but before you could think about it, your lips parted and his thumb entered your mouth, his breathing audibly hitching once the pad of his thumb came in contact with your wet tongue.
…muscle memory, maybe?
your eyes left his hand and moved back to his face to watch his expression as you briefly sucked on his thumb, tasting the dessert on the digit before slowly pulling off of it and letting it leave your mouth. his thumb now rested directly against your lips, and he watched your mouth for a moment before lifting his gaze to your eyes, searching them almost desperately.
the tension in the room felt like it was only thickening more and more, and by this point, it damn near palpable. the two of you stared at each other silently, as if you were either processing what just happened or deciding what to do next, and Michael’s hand shifted slightly as he now cradled your jaw in his palm, his thumb slowly moving to rest against your cheek instead of your mouth.
his gaze dropped to your lips again, but this time it was much more deliberate, and he slowly leaned towards you to close the gap between the two of you, giving you enough time to pull back if you wanted to. instead of moving back like he expected you to, you met him halfway, your faces now inches apart and your breaths mingling together as you watched each other’s mouths.
your eyes met for a brief second, sending a jolt of electricity through both of you, before his mouth collided with yours and he kissed you softly, your lips pressing together tentatively and even a bit experimentally. both of you rested there for a moment before Michael pulled back just enough to look at you, his big brown eyes searching your face for any discomfort or dislike.
when he found none, he pulled back a little more and grabbed the bowl of ice cream from your lap with his unoccupied hand as he leaned forward to sit it on the coffee table, gently nudging the bowl onto the surface just enough to secure it there.
once the bowl was out of his way, Michael’s mouth was back on yours before you could even blink, a quiet gasp falling from your lips at his hasty action as you quickly returned the kiss with equal fervor. your hands briefly cradled the back of his neck before your fingers latched onto the front of his collar and you pulled him closer while simultaneously deepening the kiss, earning a soft groan from him.
the tension between the two of you had completely boiled over and reached its breaking point — and honestly, both of you had also reached your breaking points, too.
the kiss was deep, passionate, and full of unsaid thoughts and suppressed emotions as your tongues collided together and your noses slightly brushed against one another’s, your lips so intensely tangled together that you were practically sucking each other’s faces off.
“Michael…” you panted softly against his mouth, your body slightly arching in an instinctive way to move closer to him, as Michael’s unoccupied hand found your waist and he gripped it firmly before slowly, almost reluctantly, pulling away from the kiss and meeting your gaze, both of you breathing heavily while you stared at each other.
“…i love you so much,” Michael confessed breathily, the words practically rushing out of him, as he searched your eyes hungrily before leaning in again and pressing soft heated kisses along your jaw, “i’ve loved you for such a long time, i… i-i can’t fight it anymore. i just can’t. i can’t just be your friend— i can’t do it anymore. i want… i want to be your lover… wan’ you to be my girl.”
“i need you… God, i need you…” his voice started to tremble and his kisses became desperate as his lips traveled down to your neck and he eagerly kissed the skin there, his mouth exploring the new territory while his other hand left your face and grabbed ahold of your waist to ground himself, “want you so bad… i just wanna touch you… and hold you… keep you all to myself…”
your hands cradled the back of his head and you became dizzy under the spell of his unwavering love for you as your head tilted to the side to expose more of your neck to him and a soft moan left your lips once Michael gently nipped at a particularly sensitive spot on your neck, your eyes slowly becoming hooded while soft pants of pleasure fell from your mouth.
“M-Michael…” you breathed out his name again, this time much needier than before, and his head immediately raised as his eyes found yours again and he studied your expression, his pupils dilating slightly once he noticed the evident pleasure on your face, “i’ll… i-i’ll be your girl. i swear i will.”
Michael went completely stiff at your words, his eyes widening slightly, and he stared at you for a moment before leaning in and capturing your lips into a searing kiss, practically sucking the air out of your lungs as he kissed you with every ounce of love in his heart.
you reciprocated the kiss with ease, a quiet whimper involuntarily emitting from your vocals the moment his tongue swiped across your bottom lip, and your lips parted with ease as your tongues crashed into one another’s and you explored each other’s mouths, soft lip smacking and heavy breathing sounding out into the room and competing with the sounds from the movie neither of you were watching anymore.
as you kissed, you felt Michael shift beside you and spread your legs open as he moved between them and settled his body between your thighs, your breathing hitching almost immediately while an ache formed in your pussy from his dangerously close proximity. his hands grabbed ahold of the sides of your thighs and he squeezed them as his hips instinctively pushed forward and pressed flush against yours, his erection pushing up against your clothed clit with blind precision.
“mmh, can i… can i touch you down here?” Michael murmured against your lips, slightly nudging his hips forward, as he pulled away from the kiss and looked at you desperately, a bit dazed from how needy he was for you, “can i taste you, pretty baby? please?”
your lips parted yet nothing came out, seemingly stunned from not only his questions, but the term of endearment that slipped naturally from his mouth. exhaling shakily through your parted lips, you quickly nodded your head instead of giving him a verbal answer like you initially wanted, and you watched his eyes cloud over in lust as he shifted positions and moved down your body until his head was between your legs, his large hands holding them apart and his gaze dropping to your clothed pussy to stare at it as if he hadn’t eaten in months.
your breathing slightly quickened as Michael’s hands slid up to the waistband of your shorts and his fingers slipped underneath it before hooking into them and slowly pulling them down your legs, pulling your underwear down with them and leaving your lower half exposed to him. tossing your bottoms aside, Michael’s hands found your thighs and he pulled them apart as he gave your pussy a slow once-over and inhaled sharply once he noticed how wet you were, biting down on his bottom lip for a moment before letting it go.
“oh, she’s so pretty…” Michael whispered admiringly, a hint of filth to his words, as he let go of one of your thighs and used his index and middle fingers to slowly spread your second set of lips, a soft whimper falling from your mouth at the sensation, “all wet f’me, too… gosh, this doesn’t even compare to my imagination…”
before his words could properly settle onto your mind, his tongue slid out of his mouth and he leaned forward, closing the distance between his face and his now favorite meal, as he slowly licked a long stripe from your entrance to your clit and groaned deeply at your taste, a broken gasp abruptly falling from your lips at the sensation.
“o-oh, my…” the whimper died in your throat the moment Michael’s lips wrapped around your clit, and your head lolled back against the couch cushions as your jaw went slack and your lips sat ajar, a whine falling from your open mouth, “mm, Michael… f-fuck, that feels s-sooo good…”
upon hearing your sounds of pleasure, a switch suddenly flipped in Michael’s mind and his arms wrapped around your thighs to keep you spread open and against his face as he ate you out with fervor, his lips and tongue moving in tandem and lapping and sucking at every crevice of your pussy he could get his mouth on.
your moans and whimpers gradually grew higher in pitch and volume and they harmonized with the squelching and slurping occurring between your legs as one of your hands cradled the back of Michael’s head and the other tightly gripped the couch, your back slightly arching and your eyes rolling back while your hips involuntarily rolled forward the moment you felt his tongue tease your entrance.
you continued to cry out to the man between your legs until your orgasm eventually crashed down on you and a loud whine fell from your mouth as your thighs trembled around his head and your fingers dug further into the couch cushions, your hips jerking hopelessly in his tight grip while he continued to eat you through your climax.
“M-Mikey, pleaseeee, i c-can’t— it’s t-too much…” you whimpered weakly, your hips slightly rolling against his face for a second time, as Michael smiled a little against you before pulling back and looking up at you while running his tongue over his lips to savor your taste, revealing how soaked the lower half of his face was from how deep he had been buried inside your pussy.
“you taste better than i thought, mama. much better than my dreams…”
Could you write abt Reader and Jermajesty or Jaafar (preferably Jaafar bc man i’m in love) are arguing and Reader slaps him out of anger and he handles that bc you must’ve lost your damn mind putting your hands on him.
and could you include dumbification bc i feel like it would make sense and i just love a good man that is condescending.
-authors note: heyyyy guyyss. i’m alive, barely, but alive. i started a new job and i’m trying to get adjusted so i haven’t opened a document in weeks. but i have a couple days off so im gonna fulfill as many requests as possible and write some other ideas i have cough cough jackie. and this is my first time writing to my man Jaafar, what yall think? love ya
-jelly🪼
This, now, senseless argument made no sense to either of you. You were sure at some point, there was a reason for the short answers, for the brushing past each other like you hated each other, for the cabinets and doors slamming a bit harder than normal. But at this point, all you could do was reel in the guilt you felt.
One second you were walking away from the argument when you felt a sharp tug at your wrist. The next, the back of your hand burned, hand shaking with adrenaline; but Jaafar hadn’t even looked at you yet. His hands lightly touching his cheek, a look of disbelief on his face. “Baby, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hit you! It’s just- my reflexes-”
“Have you lost your damned mind?” He's never looked so angry. Not during the 16 hour work days preparing for and filming 'Michael,’ not when interviews became uncomfortable with inappropriate questions. He was pissed. One, he’s never been hit by anyone other than his brothers while fighting — but that’s different — and two, you were heavy handed. If he wasn’t so irritated, he would’ve been impressed.
“Jaafar, I didn’t mean-”
“I don’t wanna hear none of that. You just hit me like some random on the street. Are you fucking crazy?” Your eyes started to well up with tears, the guilt eating you alive. You tried go blink then away, not wanting to turn yourself into the victim or turn the attention on yourself.
“I’m so sorry. I swear to god I didn’t mean to swing at you. Baby-” you reached up to touch him, but he leaned back, dodging your touch. Understandably, but it didn’t make it sting any less. He never avoided your touch.
He released your wrist from his grip, not uttering another word, just staring at you. Your heart raced, even skipping a few beats. You had never put your hands on anyone unless permitted, and you had to be triggered to get there.
When his eyes met yours, the anger was prevalent, but there was something else in them. Lust? There’s no way he liked that.
“Maybe I haven’t been correcting that attitude of yours enough. I’ve been too lenient on you.” This much is true. He let you do and say whatever you wanted, no matter how rude or disrespectful. He loved watching you get feisty and angry, maybe a little too much. Now, it had gone too far and he knew he couldn’t let it continue.
“Jaafar, I-” He shook his head, silently shutting you down. Pointing at the couch, you knew exactly what was coming, and you knew better than to argue.
Taking your position bent over the arm of the couch, you silently prayed to whoever was listening that Jaafar would go easy on you. It wasn’t often he was rough with you, preferring to give it to you slow and deep. Occasionally, he would fuck you rough, and if you asked nicely enough, he would give you a few spanks on the fat of your ass. But when it came to the few times he has punished you, you knew he wasn't here to play.
Your thighs clenched together, trying to relieve the ache in your swelling clit. You were wearing one of his oversized shirts and plain, blue cotton panties. Your normal at home attire. You could feel his heavy presence behind you, eyes as sharp as a hawk’s. He inched your panties down your thighs, a string of sticky arrival clinging to the material.
“Count. If you mess up, we start again.” He didn’t give you time to respond, just got to work. The first hit was hard, leaving a stinging sensation behind.
“One!” He kept going, being nice enough to rub the skin before placing another sharp smack to your ass. Each slap forcing a squeal or heavy sob from your plush lips, his pressure only increased.
“You know I try to avoid doing you like this, baby.” Another smack.
“E-ugh! Eight!”
“But you always go too far. Why do you make me do this?” This time, his spank landed on your embarrassingly wet vagina. The wet squelch of his fingertips meeting your wetness made your face heat up. No way you were enjoying your punishment this much. You should have felt ashamed, mortified even, but you didn’t. Not one bit.
“I’m so sorry! So fucking sorry! Fuck!” His hits didn’t give a sign of slowing down, not done marking your perfect skin with his handprints. Jaafar wanted you to remember this every time you sat down, every time you tried to walk around, every time you struggled to pull your jeans over your ass.
He was 15- no 16 spanks in. You’d lost count after 11. Now that he was incorporating your pussy into the punishment, your brain started to feel like mush. His hands were wet with your arousal, your thighs sticky and shaking with adrenaline.
“You look so damn pathetic. Can’t even do the one thing I asked you to.” His words went straight to the bundle of nerves between your thighs.
“Please,” you whispered, unsure what you were asking for. The pressure was building in your lower tummy, but it was subtle. His hands took a break, rubbing the raw skin with a gentleness that was a stark contrast to his rough spanks.
“Please what? You don’t get to ask for shit. Just take what I give you.” His next few slaps were hard. The first two landed on each ass cheek, standard and as expected. But the last two landed directly on your already sore clit, forcing an orgasm out of you.
“Ahhhh! Oh god!” You legs shook, nails digging into the arm of the couch as your legs threatened to go limp. Jaafar was impressed with himself, who knew he could make you cum with a few spanks to your clit.
“Who told you you were allowed to cum?” You didn't know if you could handle another spanking, cursing yourself silently for letting go.
“Didn’t mean to. I swear! Please- just.. No more, I can’t take it.” That’s what you thought you said, at least. To Jaafar, it was just mumbled words and whines, but he understood his girl perfectly fine.
You hadn’t noticed him shed his bottoms, all you could feel was his hand push on your lower back and his legs moving yours further apart. The stretch of his dick inside you always caught you off guard. Being together all these years and having the sex drive you had, surely you could take his dick without multiple orgasms on his fingers and tongue.
Wrong; the stretch was mind numbing. The way his dick curved upward like a hook, perfectly touching your cervix. “Wait! oh my fucking god!” Your hand went back to try and stop him from pushing all the way in, but he simply folded your arm behind your back.
He has the biggest dick you’ve ever taken, the combination of his length and girth was mind shattering. His heavy breathing and low grunts were different from his usual moans and praises. Jaafar was withholding his sounds on purpose, knowing you enjoyed them almost as much as the sex itself.
His hips moved against yours in a rapid succession, not giving you a second to breathe. The only thing running through your mind was Jaafar. Every moan, every plea, every whimper came out in the form of a pathetic cry of his name. It was like he was possessing your body, overriding your thoughts.
“You got your nerve, don’t you? Putting your hands on me.” He gave a particularly hard thrust this time.
“M’so fucking sorry, daddy. I- nnghh.” Jaafar smirked at your inability to finish your sentence, wanting to play into your need and guilt.
“Hurt my feelings, baby. Can’t believe you.” He wasn’t even that mad anymore, the initial shock had wore off and he knew you didn’t mean to. Was he still a little hurt? Yes. Does he think you did it on purpose and that you would start making it a habit? No.
“Didn't mean it! I love you so bad. Please, baby, love ya.” You continued to whine and proclaim your love for him, genuinely sorry for hitting him. This was proving to be difficult, another orgasm building rapidly.
“All I wanna do is spoil you, honey. But you can never just let me be nice to you. Always pushing me. S’like you need me to fuck you dumb.”
Your thighs quivered, an unusual pressure building. Your bladder felt heavy, and if he kept hooking his curved dick into you like that, you were on the track of giving him your third orgasm.
“Something’s happening- nghhhh. Daddy!” The nickname cringed you out any other time, normally being used as a way to tease Jaafar. But now it had become your saving grace, the only thing to you could hold onto while your body gave itself to him completely.
Your vision went white, the ringing in your ears got louder. Each powerful thrust forced another stream from your poor, achy pussy. Try ground beneath you, slippery, a puddle of your arousal at your feet.
Your crossed one leg over the other, trying to stop cumming. Every stumbling step you tried to take away from his relentless pursuit failed, almost slipping in your mess.
“Look at that. Making a mess all over the fucking floor. Take it, darling. You're a big girl.” He didn’t stop, somehow able to keep going and holding his own orgasm back, until you dropped into a shaky squat. Your forehead pressed against the arm of the couch, arms and legs ready to give out.
“Please,” you sobbed. “I’m so fucking sorry. Didn’t mean to hurt my baby, I swear. Won’t fo it again.” This brought a smile to Jaafar’s face, he loved when you got all needy and dependent on him.
“Awww poor girl. Made a mess for me. C’mere.” He gathered you into his arms, wrapping your body around him like a koala. You whispered broken apologies between hiccups and the occasional sobs, pressing kisses to his red cheek, trying to soothe the spot.
Lying you down on his side of the bed, you got comfy, curling up on his pillow, his heavy scent overwhelming your senses. You thought you were done, thought shit was sweet. But you didn’t even notice he hadn’t cum yet, and his dick was still standing at attention, ready to keep giving you that treatment.
“You know I’m not finished playing with this pussy, right?” Jaafar was lying on his side next to you, ready to slide in at any moment.
He was carefully reshaping his newly grown facial hair, shaving cream barely there or planted on.
Maddie walks in wrapping her arms around his waist, placing her chin on his shoulder, “Oh you’re really keepin it?” She says surprised.
He places a fake smile, “yea, I like how it looks” he replied, his fake smile being replaced with a smirk remembering where the growth is coming from.
“s-soo good oh my…” you moan out, breath shaky as his mouth devours your puffy core.
his tongue giving small licks before patting your enterance with the tip of his tongue, “Ja—Jaafar…” you whimper out.
His tongue now licking non stop, from your clit to the end of your entrance. Your hands finding anything to grip.
The loud squelching, slurping, your eyes trail down on him as his eyes meets yours, low and filled with passion and lust.
His new growth scratching the surface of your core so perfectly.
Jaafar’s jaw working overtime, licking like a damn lollipop, his hands snaking up to your hips, pulling you closer.
“Ba—baby….slo—slow down…Jaafar oh my god” you mumble out, a hand instantly gripping his messy curls.
His tongue listening to your words giving you slow long licks, ending each one with a suck to your clit. Swirling around your entrance before licking back up to suck once more.
Your squeals and whimpers becoming more louder with each contact he makes.
Taking one more long slow stride before meeting your enterance licking repeatedly over your entrance. Your growing arousal wetting his face with each passing second.
“so damn sweet baby…” he growls, giving you pleasureful vibrations towards your core.
Your eyes rolling, head pushing deeper into the pillow as his tongue slides into your core, as he moves it inside giving you a captivating euphoric pleasure.
Your brain nearly mush, “fuckfuckfuck yessss! m’so closeee !” you pornographically scream before creaming his face for the final time.
your release adding onto your portrait on his face, his tongue now licking up your release, your core giving him more and more to lick up. Milking you dry nearly.
His mouth giving one more long slow stride with a suck of your flit before pecking your core and releasing his mouth off of you.
“my secret growth syrup” he chuckles out, licking your release off his lips.
ྀིྀིsynopsis: for the past week you’ve been nothing but cold to jermajesty—yelling at him over the smallest things, accusing him of whateverthefuck, and straight-up ignoring him. you can’t seem to figure out why you’re acting like this, but he can, and already has. what can he do, other than put you in your place?
ωarnings: unprotected p in v fingering oral ( f!receiving ) spit cussing multiple positions ( reader being put in a headlock ) dom!jermajesty sub!reader toxic!reader established relationship
ωord сount: 3977
you sat on the couch, arms folded, lips pouting as jermajesty walked through the front door. he wordlessly took off his shoes and walked past you to hang up his coat.
“why haven’t you been answering your phone?” you said, watching him head straight for the bedroom.
he replied in a tired voice, “i was at work. i had a client show up late.”
you hopped off the couch and followed, stopping at the bedroom doorway. “what other excuses do you have? i’m sick of the bullshit.”
jermajesty turned, forcing his eyebrows together in confusion. “what excuses? stop trying to blow shit out of proportion. you sound dumb. i. was. at. work.”
you scoffed, leaning against the doorframe. “well, who were you with?”
jermajesty grabbed a towel from the dresser, ready for a much-needed shower. “my coworkers. who else would i be with—” he cut himself off before trying to explain himself any further. not at all in the mood to entertain your bullshit.
“listen. i’m tired, my body hurts, and i gotta do the same shit again tomorrow. i wasn’t doing anything i wasn’t supposed to. and i apologize for not answering when you texted me. but you can’t just sit up here and call me a liar. because i’m not. i go to work every day, just to buy you the shit you want, to provide for the both of us.”
he paused, waiting for you to respond, but you just stared at the wall, your expression still annoyed but starting to soften a bit.
jermajesty leaned against the dresser, shoulders slouched. “are you done? i need to shower.”
he watched your eyes trail from his plump lips down to his hand which held his towel. you licked your lips before exhaling irritably and muttering, “whatever, maj.”
jermajesty paused, then his eyebrows raised, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. “ohh, i see. wait till i get out of the shower.”
he brushed past you, his arm grazing yours as he headed to the bathroom with his towel. you watched him close the door, the click echoing in the quiet apartment.
you stood there for a moment, a little thrown off, wondering what he meant. you walked to the bed and sat on the edge, fingers tracing the pattern on the woven throw blanket. you thought about your words, the whole back and forth. deep down you didn’t even know why you were pressed—maybe you just needed something from him, needed that connection. but saying sorry first wasn’t your style, and he knew it.
your fingers stopped about 20 minutes later when you heard the bathroom door creak open. footsteps came down the hall. you glanced away from the full-length mirror and saw jermajesty in the doorway, in just a pair of boxers with his towel draped over his shoulder. he stepped into the room, tossing his dirty clothes into the corner hamper, and turned to you. “do you still have an attitude?”
“i don’t have an attitude, jermajesty. i’m sick of you lying to me,” you replied nonchalantly, but he could see through you.
the whole situation confused him. he’d been nothing but faithful and hadn’t given you any reason to doubt him. at this point, jermajesty knew you were just trying to get under his skin, to get what you truly wanted.
jermajesty paused in the doorway, his eyes locked onto yours, then he let the towel drop onto the floor. he crossed the room deliberately, dropping down beside you on the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. you shifted closer, feeling the warm heat coming off his bare skin, his thigh brushing yours. he leaned forward a little, clasping his hands, studying your face.
“what’s the problem?” he asked, voice softer. “you want something from me?”
jermajesty gently reached out, sliding one hand around your waist, fingers splaying wide and firm against the small of your back. he pulled you closer until your bodies aligned, then dipped his head, pressing soft, lingering kisses across your cheek, along your jaw, and down the curve of your neck. you let the softest moan slip from your lips, barely audible. your body was betraying you, arching just a fraction toward his mouth on your neck. jermajesty knew exactly what you wanted. you knew, he knew. but you also knew that he wouldn’t give it to you until you used your—
“words, baby. tell me what you want. i’ll give you whatever you want. i promise,” is what he muttered against your lips after allowing your bottom lip to slip away from his mouth.
jermajesty pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, a slow smirk curling onto his lips. one hand still rested on your waist while his other thumb traced lazy arcs under the hem of your baby tee, teasing your skin. “hm? i’m waiting.”
“i-i just miss you. you’re never home.”
“but that doesn’t mean you get to blow up at me and make shit up because you feel a certain way, mama. communicate with me.”
“now give me a kiss,” he murmured as he closed the gap between the two of you and pulled you into a kiss. his large hand gripped your neck as his wet lips placed sloppy kisses around your mouth, then back to practically make out with the spot behind your ear, which pulled a moan from you.
you held onto his forearm when he tightened his grip on your neck and continued his attack on your spot, making you squirm and writhe against the mattress. jermajesty made love to your neck in hopes that him laying you against the mattress would go unnoticed and allow him to continue his ministrations.
pulling away for a second, he guided you to scoot up until you were in the middle of the bed. his knees dipped into the bed while still in front of you. jermajesty’s hands slid up and down your clothed thighs while the two of you made eye contact.
“maj, take ’em off. please?” you begged eagerly, which caused him to smirk and move his hands toward the waistband of your leggings. you assisted him by lifting your legs and allowing the pants to easily slide down and be tossed elsewhere in the bedroom—along with your panties.
jermajesty pushed your legs back and signaled you to hold them against your chest. getting comfortable on his stomach, face to face with your soaking wet pussy. his mouth watered at the sight alone, a quiet hunger sparking in his chest as he took in your vulnerable beauty.
his fingers reached up, teasing your clit with slow, deliberate circles, each touch sending a shiver through you. he hummed in satisfaction, his voice a low, warm rumble. “you want me to kiss it, don’t you, baby.” it was more of a statement than a question. he knew exactly what you wanted.
you nodded, your bottom lip caught between your teeth, a soft, whiny whimper trembling in your throat as your eyes fluttered with need. jermajesty continued rubbing your clit, his touch lingering and precise, drawing out your quiet gasps before he slid his middle and index fingers inside you. the stretch of his long, skilled fingers, moving in and out with a slight curl, pulled a high, needy whimper from your lips. the sound of your wetness filled the air, a slick, rhythmic melody that amazed him, unlike anything he’d ever heard, each motion deepening the intimate spell woven between the two of you.
then, with a slow, deliberate lean, jermajesty brought his mouth closer, his breath warm and teasing against your skin, sending a shiver rippling through your body before his lips even made contact. he placed gentle, warm, and wet kisses on your clit, each one soft and precise, a tender caress that sparked a quiet fire deep within your core. the soft, slick sounds of his kisses filled the hushed room, each one pulling a trembling, whiny gasp from your lips, your breath catching in the quiet. your fingers tightened in the sheets, your grip fragile and desperate, nails digging into the cool cotton as you fought to stay still under the slow, teasing rhythm of his mouth, your body quivering with the effort to hold back your instinctive need for more.
“it’s so pretty and wet, mama. all for me?” jermajesty asked against your clit. he closed his eyes with a deep, appreciative moan. he could scarcely fathom that a woman might become so aroused by him alone. you continued to amaze him in more ways than one.
“all yours,” you somehow managed to push out, your voice breathy and strained. your eagerness sent your heart thumping vigorously against your ribcage, while your heavy, labored breathing only intensified the overwhelming sensation. you watched as he glided his free hand upward along the soft plane of your stomach, ascending until his palm encountered the gentle swell of your covered breast.
jermajesty gently tugged at the delicate fabric of your tank top, drawing it aside just enough to expose your breast to the cool air. his fingers brushed teasingly over your hardened nipple, sending sparks of pleasure cascading through you until you writhed beneath him, utterly consumed by the multitude of sensations that threatened to pull you under.
suddenly he pulled his mouth away, along with his fingers, the sudden absence leaving you aching and empty. jermajesty watched your brow furrow and a soft pout form on your lips in pure, utter confusion, a quiet warmth flickering in his eyes at the sight. his hands trailed slowly up and down the backs of your thighs, warm palms gliding over your skin as he spoke, voice low and steady.
“you know i love you, right, ma?”
your chest rose and fell fervently, still catching your breath, and you nodded your head eagerly, the words tumbling out in a soft, rushed whisper.
“yes, yes, baby, i know.”
“so why you actin’ like that, huh?” jermajesty’s voice was low and warm as he leaned down, placing soft, wet kisses along the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. he bit and sucked gently, trailing lower with each press of his mouth, closer and closer to where you wanted him most, the heat of his breath making your hips twitch. you exhaled slowly, trying to mask the growing irritation coiling tight inside you, your voice coming out soft and a little strained.
“i’m sorry, maj…”
“you don’t gotta lie to me, mama.” he snickered, lowering his head and sucking your clit into his wet and warm mouth, moaning as he did so. the sudden action sucked the air from your lungs. he pulled away with a pop, then spit, watching it drip down your pussy. he leaned in and dragged his tongue in one long, slow stroke from your entrance all the way up to your clit, then did it again, slower, letting the wet flat of his tongue linger so you felt every second.
his fingers followed just as unhurried. two of them pressed against your opening, circling, teasing, then sank in with a deliberate push that made you feel the stretch inch by inch. he curled them gently, finding that soft spot inside and rubbing it in slow, deep strokes while his mouth closed over your clit once again. he sucked lightly at first, then a little firmer, his skilled tongue circling in lazy, wet patterns that made soft, filthy, pornographic sounds fill the quiet room.
“oohh shit.” you greedily gasped for air as you tried your best to hold your position. spit and your slick mixed and dripped down his chin, but he didn’t wipe it away. he kept up with his ministrations, fingers pumping in a slow, steady rhythm, the wet squelch of them loud every time he pulled almost all the way out and slid back in. he took his time tasting you, tongue dipping lower to lap at where his fingers disappeared, then back up to suck your clit again with soft, wet pulls that left you trembling.
he pulled his fingers almost all the way out again, watching the way your pussy clenched around nothing for a second, then sank them back in deeply and slowly, curling hard enough to make your stomach jump. his tongue flattened and licked broad and lazy over everything, collecting every drop like he didn’t want to waste it.
your fingers tightened in the sheets, hips twitching despite how hard you tried to stay still. “don’t stop… please… it feels so good… you’re gonna make me—ah—”
just as your orgasm was about to wash over, he pulled away. jermajesty sat back just enough to watch your face, his lips and chin still soaked with your juices. he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then reached down and shoved his boxers off. his thick dick sprang free and slapped heavy against his stomach, hard and leaking at the tip.
you looked at him with irritation written all over your face, brows furrowed, lips still parted from how close you’d been. jermajesty smiled, leaning down to roughly cup your face in one hand and pull you closer. he kissed you hard and deep for a second, tasting yourself on his tongue, then pulled back just enough to spit into your open mouth. he watched it land and slide down your throat, then pressed soft, wet kisses down the side of your neck, lingering for a moment before he pulled away completely.
“fix your face,” he said, voice low and amused. “then turn around and lay on your stomach for me.” you rolled your eyes but listened, shifting onto your stomach and settling into the sheets with a quiet huff. he gripped your hips and lifted your ass up, pushing the small of your back down until you were arched just how he wanted you. his palm stayed firm on your lower back. “hold it.”
he grabbed his dick, stroking himself a few times with his lip tucked between his teeth. jermajesty rubbed his tip through your wet lips, over your clit and down to your entrance. he felt you clench around nothing and slowly nudged his tip inside your pussy while throwing his head back. you let out a whine from the pleasure-filled but burning stretch of his dick pushing into you.
once he was in, jermajesty pulled back before rutting forward with a deep and intense thrust, knocking the air from your lungs. you lost your arch almost immediately—gliding forward into the mattress, making him slip out. jermajesty voiced his concern. “nuh uh,” he shook his head and reached out to pull you up and back into your original position. “i said hold it.”
he teased your entrance once more, gripping your hips to ensure you wouldn’t be going anywhere this time. “put it back in, baby.” you exhaled and reached back to grab his dick, lining it back up with your leaking entrance. this time, he went slower, pulling a whine from your lips as he bottomed out. you clenched around him as he hit one of your many, many spots.
“that’s my good girl… i knew you could take it…” he moaned as he thrust in and out of your sopping wet pussy, rolling his hips with every deep stroke. you let your head drop onto the mattress, eyes squeezed shut and bottom lip caught tightly between your teeth. the creamy ring coating his dick made him shut his eyes and tip his head back toward the ceiling. the way you kept clenching around him made it hard for him to focus on pleasing you instead of cumming too early.
“i—” you started, trying to warn him about the warmth coiling low in your stomach. you reached back until your dominant hand was in contact with his chest, going lower to push at his lower stomach with the little strength you tried to muster up. jermajesty wordlessly swatted your hand. he then raised both hands up from your plump ass to your back, pushing you down into the mattress without breaking his rhythmic thrusts.
jermajesty carefully lifted his arm and enclosed your head between his forearm and bicep. he tightened his grip slightly, pulling you closer so that your head was pressed against his chest. you let out a mewl from the pressure against your throat. that alone pulled you deeper into the euphoric trance that was jermajesty, as he ever so slightly cut off the smallest amount of air allowed to flow into your lungs and out.
he craned his head down so that he was able to get a look at your—what seemed to be—blissed-out facial expression. making his dick pulse with every thrust as you clenched around his thickness, your eyes shut tightly, brows furrowed slightly, and your soft, plump lips formed into that pout that he loved oh so very much. he watched your expressions closely while he hit that gummy spot inside of you repeatedly.
he leaned down closer, his breath ghosting your cheek before placing a soft wet kiss on the flushed and damp skin. “does that feel good, my baby? talk to me, mama,” he let out soft moans against your ear as your cunt swallowed him whole. you were so tight around him, feeling as if you were sucking him in.
you couldn’t form words at first, only a broken sound that vibrated against his forearm—which you were now nearly drooling on. the way he held your head there, forearm flexing just enough to keep a thin thread of air moving through you.
“y-yes,” you finally managed, voice thin and shaky. “feels… so good, daddy. don’t stop—”
jermajesty’s hips stuttered for half a second at the name, a low groan rolling out of him as he pushed in deeper, grinding against your cervix as if he was trying to carve a permanent place for himself there. his free hand slid under your stomach, fingers splaying wide to feel the slight bulge of himself from the outside every time he bottomed out.
“you wanna cum, pretty girl? is that what you want?”
your answer was another helpless mewl as he shifted the angle just a little, the head of his dick kissing that same gummy spot on every upward thrust. the heat of his chest against your back. the wet sound of your cunt greedily taking him. the way his breath hitched every time you fluttered around him.
he let his arm loosen just enough for you to drag in a fuller breath, then tightened again the second you exhaled, keeping you floating in that hazy space where pleasure felt bigger than your body. his thrusts grew heavier, the slap of skin on skin filling the quiet room.
“gonna fill this pretty pussy up,” he promised, lips brushing your temple. he felt it the second your thighs started trembling hard against his—little violent shakes that traveled all the way up into the fluttering grip of your pussy. jermajesty’s hips stilled completely, buried deep, and you made a soft, broken sound of protest.
your head turned just enough to shoot him a frustrated look over your shoulder, your brows furrowed, lips still parted. “why’d you stop…” you complained, trying to push your hips back onto him.
he only pressed a firm hand to your lower back, pinning you still while he slowly dragged himself out. the wet, obscene slide of his thick dick leaving you made you whimper, walls clenching around nothing. his arm unwrapped from around your neck and he pulled away entirely, cool air kissing the sweat-drenched tank top clinging to your back.
even with your body heavy and trembling, you mustered enough strength to lift your head, eyes soft and needy, silently asking for a kiss. but jermajesty only smiled faintly, hands gentle as he sat you up. he peeled the damp tank top over your head, unhooked your bra, and let both pieces fall somewhere off the bed. then he guided you down onto your side, arranging your legs just so before he settled in behind you.
one strong arm slid under your neck, the other wrapped around your middle, pulling you flush against his chest until there wasn’t a single inch of space left between you. he lined himself up again, the blunt head of his dick nudging against your soaked entrance, and pushed back in with one long, deep thrust that punched a quiet moan out of you.
jermajesty held you tightly, chest to back, as he started fucking into you on your side—slow at first, then rolling and deep, the new angle letting him grind against every sensitive place inside. his breath was warm against your ear. he licked two fingers and brought them to your chest, rubbing slow, slick circles over one sensitive nipple while his hips kept that steady, possessive rhythm.
he kept the same slow rhythm, chest pressed against your back, but his breathing had changed. soft whimpers and quiet moans started slipping into your ear with every thrust.
“feels so good,” he whispered, voice shaky. “your pussy feels so good around me…” another soft moan left him as he pushed in deep again. he felt that he was on the brink of releasing his warm load inside of you but wanted nothing more than for you to come first. so he held back as much as he could. he rested his head in the crook of your neck, breath shuddering against your skin with every thrust. soft whimpers and quiet moans kept leaving him, mixing with yours until the sounds blended together into a beautiful melody.
the pressure built until it spilled over. your body tightened around his dick as you came, soft cries mixing with the wet sounds of him still moving into you. jermajesty held you closer, voice low and shaky against your neck. “that’s it… let it out. i got you. keep coming for me…” he kept thrusting slow and deep while you shook through it. “good girl… just like that.” he was close now too, his hips starting to lose their steady rhythm as he chased his own orgasm. soft whimpers left him with every push, his breath hot against your skin.
his orgasm came closer and closer as you clenched and restricted around his length repeatedly while making a mess of the sheets for a third time tonight.jermajesty’s hips stuttered, a broken groan tearing from his throat as he buried himself as deep as he could go and spilled inside you. thick, hot pulses filled you while he held you tight against him, forehead pressed to your shoulder, whispering your name like a prayer between shaky breaths.
he stayed buried only a moment longer, riding out the last waves, then carefully pulled out. a soft rush of warmth followed, mixing with the mess already soaking the sheets. before he could say a word you turned in his arms, pressing yourself against his chest and tucking your face into the warm, sweat-slick corner of his neck. your breathing slowed almost immediately, body going soft and heavy against him as sleep took you.
jermajesty’s arms tightened around you on instinct, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head. he opened his mouth, the urge to talk already rising because he was in fact a shit talker at heart—but you were already gone. completely out, lips parted against his damp skin, the steady rise and fall of your chest the only answer he got.
so he swallowed whatever he’d been about to say, a small, fond smile tugging at his mouth as he settled back against the pillows and held you closer. the sheets were ruined, the room still heavy with the heat of what you’d done, but none of it mattered. he simply stayed there, fingers drifting slowly through your hair, listening to you sleep against his neck until his own eyes finally closed too.
synopsis. you’re ready to surrender, you’re just not ready to admit it out loud.
warnings. dom!jobe, sub!reader, established relationship, codependency, mutual yearning, internal conflict, mentions of being overworked and bad eating habits, smut, unprotected sex, control dynamics, oral (m), blowjob, dirty talk, manhandling, pet names, creampie, pwp, angst if you squint
word count. 3,482
note. i’m ngl this was supposed to be out days ago but i got so lazy, so my writing may be a little rusty. i was inspired by the first confession of want by gillian anderson. i found myself relating to it immensely, so i admit that this will be a little self indulgent. just to drop a quote from it: i want to trust someone to the point where i feel safe while being controlled. i’m trying to explore different themes in my fics, so i hope you enjoy this one <3
Many seem to believe they have a good idea of who you are as a person.
They think so because they watch you on their tv screens, running across a pitch, ball at your feet, dribbling past defenders, shooting bangers into the back of a net.
They watch you in post-match interviews, sweat sheened across your body, captain armband wrapped securely around your upper arm, with a professional cadence in your voice as you speak, and words flowing from you so effortlessly.
They always question how it comes naturally to you. Your ability to be so polished in every single aspect of your life. How it's so easy for you to be you. And you admit that their words are not so far from the truth.
You've curated an image people envy, a personality others are drawn to, but only on the surface.
Truthfully, only you know who you truly are beneath the image of a star. You're not so glamorous when you're dragging yourself home after a rigorous match or the fiftieth interview of the night, depleted of your energy, and mentally preparing yourself for the next day as you climb into bed.
Most of the things you find yourself consuming aren't real foods. Caffeine. Energy drinks. Gum. And your stomach rumbles, desperate to be fed, yet whenever you're close to reaching for something, the world throws another obstacle in your way, distracting you, and now the hunger's the last thing on your mind.
It's a routine you've found yourself in now more than ever. The stress of the upcoming Champions League final weighs down on you, pressing against your chest, suffocating you, but you don't let it show. The last thing you want is to show signs of weakness. So you let it consume you instead.
Take care of yourself, love. I need you to be okay. I can't sleep without knowing you're okay.
Maybe you're a bad girlfriend—no, you are—for making Jobe worry like this.
You never intended to drag him into your mess. You wanted to keep it to yourself, believing it would pass with time, but Jobe knows you inside out. Knows how your voice sounds or even how you send messages whenever something's wrong.
It's something you can't help but despise, and it makes your skin prickle with unease at how well he means. He has the heart of an angel; he's a sweetheart, the love of your life. The only true love you've ever known.
You've spent years of your life taking care of and fending for one person—yourself. You're used to being in charge, making all the choices, both easy and hard, the ones no one likes to make, bossing others around.
But when it comes to Jobe, it's different.
There's something inside you, an uncontrollable urge to please him. To listen to him. To do whatever he tells you to do.
You've considered bringing it up to him before, to encourage him to do so, only to drop it, shame silencing you instead because you're supposed to be an independent woman, and you hate feeling inferior to anyone. You hate the idea of anyone finding you weak. You don't want to be objectified, but for once, you would like it if someone else took over because you're tired. Exhausted. Hollowed out.
You always bite your tongue, pretending like you're not eager to please Jobe, as you do whatever he asks you to do—to eat, to sleep more, to just take care of yourself.
He never asks anything else of you, nothing selfish. And a part of you wishes he would.
You truly believe that he'd be concerned if he were to ever find out that you think like this. Discourage it, even. You don't need me to tell you what to do.
But you know you do.
He's always the one emphasizing honesty between the two of you. He hates secrets, and only god knows how many you've kept from him.
He hates secrets, so you'll tell him your deepest one.
The tv plays in the background with no real purpose as you sit on your bed, back resting against the headboard. Your eyes linger on Jobe's back, watching him change into something more comfortable. You savor the image of his bare skin before it's hidden away underneath a white shirt, missing it already.
His season ended a few days ago, so he's spending the remainder of yours with you in your apartment.
You're silent. More than usual. Probably too obvious for Jobe to miss. And of course, he doesn't.
He may have his back turned to you, but he can still feel your gaze lingering on him like a caress. His lips curve into a knowing smile, not looking at you yet. He likes whenever you get like this—the silent, sulking kind of needy he always teases you for. The kind of mood that makes him want to mess with you, just to hear you whine.
Intentionally, he takes his sweet time changing, letting you sit there for a while, watching, admiring.
It's only when he turns around and catches a glimpse of your expression, that he pauses instead of telling you the joke in his head.
"Are you okay?"
You must look so obvious if he's asking you that. He must see the way your eyes have glazed over, and the indent on your bottom lip from chewing too hard.
You can hardly focus on the question, and instead, only focus on the sound of his voice. Concerned.
"I'm just tired," you assure him, trying to convince yourself as well. "Just tired."
He nods; hums in acknowledgment, but Jobe is smarter than that. Whenever you're tired, you tend to cling to him like he's your lifeline, touch-starved after a hard day. And he expects you to do just that, only you seem so distant, like your mind is elsewhere.
Jobe's glad he's so observant because if he wasn't, he may have actually believed you.
He takes slow, tentative steps towards the bed, and plants himself right next to you.
"Just tired?" He repeats. It's not a question. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, and he feels you shiver beneath his palm, his thumb lightly tracing your skin. "You know I know when you're lying."
You swallow, like you're trying to push down the words before they can come out.
How are you, a respectable woman, supposed to tell a man that you want to surrender to him? That you want him to make choices for you, to take care of you, to tell you how to please him, to let him push you past your limits?
"It's nothing important."
"If it's affecting you, then it's important to me."
You suddenly realize, as you stare into his eyes, that you can't keep it inside, not unless you want the feeling to kill you.
"Jobe." You can't bring yourself to look at him properly. Your eyes keep flickering between his face and the bed. "I just… don't look at me like I'm crazy for what I'm about to say."
At the sound of your voice, unsure and small, Jobe's gaze softens. "Baby," he murmurs, impossibly tender. "Look at me."
When your eyes finally stop wandering, he leans in to press a gentle kiss against your forehead, letting his lips linger on your skin. "You know you can tell me anything, and I'll never look at you like you're crazy."
He's so understanding it makes your chest ache. You blink rapidly in hopes that your tears will fade, but they only seem to bunch up, and now, you're on the verge of breaking down.
Not so tough when you're in front of him.
"It's… it's just that I… I really want you, Jobe." You pause to collect yourself. "I need you. Whenever you're away, I don't know what to do. I don't know how to take care of myself—I'm not myself."
You probably sound so pathetic, letting your last shred of dignity go, but Jobe doesn't stop you, nor does he let go of your hand.
"I'm supposed to be strong, I know, but whenever I'm with you, I just don't want to be." You're whispering now. "I want you to be the strong one. I want you to make all the choices. I want you to tell me what to do. And for you to do it because you love me. Not because you want to control me."
Oh.
Of all the things Jobe expects to hear, this isn't one of them. Your honesty hurts him in a way he can't explain, and it makes him feel guilty for not noticing sooner. He feels like he's failed you. Failed you miserably.
He should probably be uncomfortable with what you've confessed to him. You basically admitting that, without him, you're weak, and while he knows that's not entirely true, the last thing he wants is to shame you for telling him something so personal.
And who is he to deny you of what you truly want?
"Baby." His voice is rough around the edges. "It's okay. I understand. Don't feel ashamed to say it."
A lump lodges itself in his throat as he says, "come here."
And just like that, you go willingly, without thinking twice, ridding the space between the two of you as you settle yourself onto his lap. Jobe tucks your head into the crook of his neck, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you closer, as close as he can which is, somehow, still not close enough.
He takes a second to inhale your scent, one broad hand rubbing soothing circles into your back.
"You think you're weak because you need me, baby," Jobe mutters, words gentle on release, gentle in a way only you get to experience. "But you're not. You're not weak for needing me."
Jobe pauses, having to let out a deep, shaky breath before he can continue. "If you're weak, then I'm weak, too. I'm just as weak for needing you. For needing to take care of you just as much as you need me to."
His grip tightens innately, like he's scared you're going to slip from his grasp. He wants you to—needs you to understand that the way you feel isn't weird, nor is it pathetic. He needs you to understand it because god only knows how addicted he is to you. How you live in his bones, in the coils of his mind, in all of him.
"God, baby, I need it so bad. You." Jobe's voice breaks on the last word, raw, like he he's been holding it in for years. And just like you, the dam inside him cracks wide open.
"You—you don't have to be strong." His delivery is messy, just like him. Just like this moment. Just like you. Wrapped around each other in your dimly lit bedroom, shaking because neither of you know how to hold it together when it comes to the other. "Let me take care of you. I will take care of you."
The lump in your throat is so thick that you can't bring yourself to speak. Tears run down your cheeks, but you don't rush to wipe them away. You don't have to.
Jobe's eyes burn into yours, something animalistic consuming him from the inside out at the sight of you teary-eyed, and all he can think is how beautiful you look.
"I love you," you choke out.
Jobe smiles. "I love you, too."
His lips are already attaching themselves to yours, like two magnets, pushing you onto your back, pressing you into the mattress with all his weight, rendering you breathless in a way you secretly enjoy.
His touch is searing on your skin as his teeth catch your bottom lip, giving it a teasing tug before releasing, pushing his tongue into your mouth. When his hips roll against yours, a broken noise rips itself from your throat.
On instinct, your hips buck up in search of friction, only to have one of his hands dig into your hip, keeping you pinned—a silent warning.
Then he pulls away, the suddenness of it making you whine in protest.
"Can you do something for me?" It's a question he already knows the answer to, but the look in your eyes as you nod without hesitation brings him far too much satisfaction to miss.
"Good." Jobe's lips curl up as he goes to stand next to the bed. "Get on your knees for me, sweet thing."
Your breath catches in your throat, blood rushing to your head, yet, as you climb off the bed, your knees are already buckling beneath you before he can finish speaking.
The carpet presses against your bare knees as you settle at his feet, pulse hammering so loudly a part of you is sure he can hear it.
"You look so pretty like this." Jobe looms over you, his thumb running over your bottom lip. His other hand is already at the waistband of his sweatpants, pulling them down in a deliberate slowness. "Open your mouth for me, baby."
And you do. God, you do.
The sight before him goes straight to his head—your lips parting so obediently for him, eyes dark and hazy and needy, at his mercy.
"Fuck," he mutters under his breath, tilting your head back at the perfect angle.
He pushes forward, the hot, heavy weight of his dick finally settling against your tongue, mouth already drooling as your lips wrap around him.
Jobe's fingers dig into the back of your scalp, bordering on painful, as he rocks his hips forward in purposely shallow thrusts, taking in every fluttering blink and muffled whimper.
"That's it," he rasps, thumb swiping away the tear threatening to spill from the corner of your eye. "You take it so well for me, love. So fucking—"
The words dissolve into a low groan as your tongue presses up against him, throat fluttering. He uses his free hand to grab your jaw, fingers splaying to feel the obscene bulge of him beneath your skin.
"You want more, don't you?"
Twisting your head back a little further, Jobe suddenly forces you to take him deeper until your nose brushes against his stomach, and he holds you there for a few seconds, relishing in the way your body fights to adjust, before pulling you back to let you gasp out a breath.
Your eyes water, saliva running down your chin, loving the feeling more than you should—the control he has over you—your arousal soaking into your panties. And Jobe doesn't have to ask. Your lips are already parting again, like you miss the feeling of him in your mouth.
Jobe's expression darkens as he slides himself back between your lips, taking on a quicker pace than before, the head of his cock nudging the back of your throat with each thrust forward. "Look at me."
Your fingers dig into your thighs as your gaze trails up his body to find his eyes, and Jobe feels his control slip when he sees the way you look at him—so beautifully broken, like you'll do anything for him.
He wants to take you. He wants to take all of you.
He wants. Wants. Wants.
"Swallow for me, baby, fuck, swallow it all," he stutters out the command because he's a trembling mess, badly needing to cum in your mouth.
He's everywhere in your senses, your bones, and all you want is to give yourself over to him, to this desperate, ache in your chest that only he seems to soothe. It's something about the way he looks at you, even now, that makes you feel safe.
His vision whites out at the edges when he finally cums, letting out a litany of curses as he pulses down your throat, unable to look away as you swallow every last drop, entranced at the sight.
"That's it, love. So good. So perfect for me."
The praises sets your body ablaze, and you finally pull back from his cock to let yourself breathe.
Though, you only get a few seconds to do so.
"Come on, get up," Jobe suddenly ushers, not waiting for you to stand, hauling you up to your feet and carrying you to the bed. "Not done. Not yet."
Your cheek lands on the cool sheets as Jobe settles himself behind you, his breath hot against your skin while his hand eagerly pulls down your shorts and panties in one go, carelessly tossing them to the side.
His fingers slip between your legs where you're swollen and sensitive, sliding them through your wetness, before pushing a single, teasing finger inside.
"Jobe," you whine, but he just shushes you.
"Don't worry," he coos, pumping his finger gently, just to feel you squirm, dick already hard again against your ass. "I'll give you what you want. You just lay there and let me take care of you."
He positions his dick right at your entrance, rubbing his leaky tip against your slick folds and, though trembling, you wait. Wait for him to push inside. You don't ask him to—he'll give you whatever he wants to give you. And somehow, that makes it so much better.
Slowly, he pushes his tip inside and pauses. You want to cry—just do it already—but you keep your mouth shut, clenching around him, trying to suck him in deeper.
And only after an agonizing minute does he finally sheath himself fully inside your pussy, his mind blanking out at the feeling, as if he's never felt it before.
Jobe pulls out all the way before thrusting back inside, relishing in the way you cry out his name in a whiny tone. He drives himself as deep as he can with each thrust, your walls desperately clamping down around him as he moves faster and faster.
"Look at you," he croons, voice tight, fingers digging into your hips, pulling you back against his dick to meet his every thrust. "You love this—love being stretched on my dick—don't you, baby?"
You can't even think straight, can barely bring yourself to breathe, and every word that falls from your mouth is incoherent, stuck together in clusters—"Yesyesyes."
"I know. Can barely even talk, drooling all over the sheets, dirty girl." His palm smacks your ass sharply, sending a shock through your body. "My dirty girl."
"Yes, yours, all yours," you sob, nails scraping uselessly against the sheets. Your eyes flutter shut, the feeling of his dick hitting just the right spot making it hard for you to keep them open. "Oh god, 'm gonna cum, Jobe, fuck."
His name tumbles from your mouth one last time, breathless, broken, as you cum, giving him everything until can't anymore, vision blurring over with pleasure.
"That's it. Cum all over me. Gonna—" Jobe's voice breaks, fingers tightening almost painfully as his rhythm stutters. "Gonna fill you up. And you're gonna take it all—all—"
His body goes taut, eyes rolling back as he buries himself to the hilt, spilling his cum into the warmth of your pussy. It's so sweet, the way your walls convulse around him, sucking in every drop, and he can't bring himself to pull out just yet.
Your ragged breathing fills the room as you come down from your high. You feel Jobe lower his body just enough to press a kiss against your shoulder, such a tender contrast to what he was doing to you earlier.
"You were so good for me, love."
Jobe shifts you so you're lying on your side, your back pressed firmly against him, his cock still stuck inside you, a perfect fit.
For a long moment, you're both silent, chests rising and falling, slight tremors running through your body. Jobe doesn't miss it. And you don't miss the slight tremor in his. His arms tighten around you, hungry for you, aching to keep you close.
"Thank you," you find yourself saying, voice cracking, and even as you feel Jobe shake his head, you continue. "You always know what to do—how to take me apart and put me back together. I love you so much. Love you more than I probably should."
"I love you more than I probably should, too," Jobe starts, pressing his lips over your pulse, keeping them there. "But don't ever feel ashamed because you need me. Because I need you to need me. And without you, I'm not myself."
You have the urge to cry, but you hold it in. Instead, you let out a shaky breath, relaxing him against him. You don't say anything else, and neither does he. You don't need to.
No one will ever understand who you truly are as a person.
summary ❪ 3.1k ❫ bad!michael x f.reader ╱ rehearsal ends late and the soft looks michael keeps giving you won’t leave your head. a disappointing call from your boyfriend only makes the ache worse.
mdni ﹕ 18+ cheating. masturbation (f!reader). softdom!michael. possessive dirty talk. penetrative sex (p in v). unprotected. creampie. confession. no use of y/n.
a/n - written for this request
JULY 19, 1988
Thank god rehearsal finally wrapped up after the third full run-through. Michael had a habit of rehearsing on actual stages, so thankfully it wasn’t a huge mess for you and the crew to clean up afterwards. It had been a good night.
People lingered instead of rushing out, laughing with one another while a few complained about their knees. Someone was already talking about ordering pizza.
A couple of dancers stretched out across the floor while everyone else packed their bags.
You were near the back, rolling your shoulders and trying to get the tight feeling out of your upper back ‘I cannot wait to just sleep.’ shoving your tennis shoes into your duffel with a little more force than necessary.
Michael was still hanging around, making his way from group to group like he always did, chatting with the rest of the crew to make sure everyone had a good night.
Every so often, his eyes drifted your way. Yours were already on him, and each time he caught you, the two of you traded quiet smiles before he moved on to the next conversation.
Eventually, he excused himself from one of the band members and wandered over.
“You gon’ keep starin’ me down? ” he asked, voice soft like always as a smile tugged his lips. “I was not staring at you,” you shot back. “You were literally lookin’ at me too.”
A laugh slipped from him. “Guess we were both playin’ eye tag.” He glanced down, absentmindedly rocking onto one foot before rolling his ankle. “How's the tour been treatin’ you?” he asked. “Be completely honest with me.”
You gave a small shrug, your smile turning sheepish. “It’s fun, just trying to keep up with everyone else is all.” You said, giving him a slight shrug.
He nodded, that small half-smile already forming. “You’ve been doin’ real good all week, my girls’ gettin’ better and better every day.”
Michael had a habit of tossing out little pet names whenever he talked to you. They were harmless, affectionate in the way he treated people he cared about, but they always made your stomach flutter more than you’d ever admit. Around your boyfriend, though, he stuck to your actual name.
You narrowed your eyes at him, already knowing where this was headed.
“Michael,” you sighed. “You always say that. Do you tell everybody around here the same thing, or jus’ me?”
He ducked his head with a quiet laugh before looking back up at you. “Jus’ you,” he said simply. “You’re the only one that really catches my eye.”
His voice stayed low, almost absentminded, as he nudged the toe of his sneaker against the stage floor.
“And y’boyfriend?” he asked, still soft. “He still coming through when he can?”
You side-eyed him hard. “There you go.”
He put both hands up a little, smiling bigger now. “I’m just askin’. That’s all. I ain’t on nothing.”
“You always on something,” you said, shaking your head, but you were smiling too. “Every time he leave you start with the soft questions.”
Michael bit his bottom lip for a second, still looking amused. “Maybe I just like checkin’ on you. Is that so wrong?”
You didn’t answer right away. Just kept looking at him until he chuckled under his breath again.
“Alright, alright,” he said. “I’ma leave you alone… for now.”
You raised an eyebrow. “For now?”
“Mhm.” He rocked back on his heels, toe nudging a strip of tape marking center stage. “Might stop by your room later, if you even want company that is…” He said nibbling on the corner of his thumb before putting his hand back down.
You shook your head again, bag over your shoulder now. “I’m not sure Michael…I’m kinda tired.”
He just smiled that soft little smile and took a step back as a couple of the other dancers walked past. “I’ll see you later, alright?”
“Yeah,” you said. “Fine, see you later” you said softly as a smile tugged the corner of your lips.
By the time you got back to the hotel, the hallway was quiet. You unlocked your door, dropped your bag by the chair, and kicked your shoes off one by one. Your body was tired in that deep way, and unfortunately your mind wouldn’t settle.
You had just pulled your sweatshirt over your head when the phone rang, you reached for the receiver tucking it between your ear and shoulder. “Hello?”
“Baby, I’m so sorry,” your boyfriend sighed from the other end. “I’m tryin’ to work some things out with work and… I probably won’t be able to see you tonight.” You closed your eyes, the deep feeling of disappointment settled into your chest.
“Again?” You let out a quiet sigh, and a quiet sigh escaped from him. “I know. I hate doing this.”
“It’s not just tonight,” you admitted after a moment. “Feels like every time… we’re finally together, somethin’ gets in the way.” You waited for him to say something, anything, but like always, he didn’t. He never seemed to know what to say, and somehow that hurt as much as the distance between the two of you.
“I miss you,” you murmured. “I miss us.” You were beginning to feel a tad bit irritated at the entire situation.
“I know, baby. I’ll make it up to you.” His response was short, you huffed, you were starting to get irritated. “You always say you’ll make it up to me…”
“I will. I promise.” He sighed out, you wanted to believe him you really did. But lately, “making it up” never seemed to happen. Every visit ended the same way. Rushed kisses, tired smiles, rushed sex, and more promises for next time. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt truly wanted instead of pushed to the side.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said.
“Alright, I love you.” You whispered as he gave you a faint ‘Love you too.’ On the other end, after the line went dead, you set the receiver back in its cradle and stared at the hotel room ceiling, feeling lonelier than you wanted to admit.
The disappointment from the call overwhelmed you, your chest felt heavy. But underneath your skin was something else, that restless feeling. Aching, an ache that had been building up for days, your body felt too warm, too sensitive. Even the soft fabric of your tights against your skin was starting to bother you.
You laid back against the pillows with a quiet sigh, contemplating, your hand drifted down without much thought, resting on your lower stomach. The longer you stayed still the worse the ache got.
‘Fuck it’ you thought to yourself.
You gave in, slipping your fingers under the waistband of your tights, then slowly under your panties. Your fingers brushed over the soft, swollen lips of your cunt first, slick and warm.
You parted them gently, feeling how wet you were, the slickness coating your fingertips as you dragged one finger up between your folds, grazing your clit, a soft breath left your mouth from the contact.
It was already sensitive, almost too sensitive — and the light touch made your hips shift against the mattress. You started rubbing slow circles over your clit, feeling it throb under your finger, the wetness spreading as you worked yourself. You slid two fingers lower, teasing your entrance before pushing inside, sinking into the tight, hot heat of your sex. Curling them slightly, “fuck.”
You breathed out as you searched for that spot that always made your thighs tense, letting out a quiet sound when you found it.
Fucking yourself in a steady rhythm, the wet sounds filled the quiet room as your hips rolled up to meet every stroke, chasing the pressure that had been building up for days.
Your thighs started to tremble the closer you got—
Three soft knocks at your door.
You froze completely. “Shit,” you whispered, annoyed you couldn’t reach your climax, your fingers still buried deep inside your cunt.
The knocks came again, firmer this time.
“Uh- It’s me,” Michael yelled clear through the door. Your heart jumped, you yanked your fingers out of yourself, the sudden emptiness making you bite back a frustrated sound, grabbing a Kleenex from the nightstand wiping your fingers off tossing the piece of paper in the trash.
Then scrambled up to pull your fleece shorts along with your tights and panties back up, smoothing them the best you could. Adjusting your tank top, then walked to the door on slightly shaky legs, panties damp and sticking to you with every step.
You unlocked the door and opened it just enough, Michael stood there in a fresh new white tee, with the same black trousers. His eyes moved over your face, then dropped for half a second before coming back up. That soft smile tugged at his mouth.
“Hey,” he said quietly. “I’m not interruptin’ nothin’, am I?”
You swallowed, hoping your voice wouldn’t come out as uneven as you felt. “No…No! You’re good. Come in.” You stepped back to let him in.
The door clicked shut behind him, Michael’s eyes stayed on you, soft and a little concerned.
“Y’sure you’re alright?” He asked quietly. “You looked a little flushed.”
You swallowed the lump in your throat, still feeling the leftover ache between your legs. “I’m fine, ‘m just tired from rehearsal.” He nodded slowly, his gaze drifted over your face again, you could feel how warm your cheeks still were, and the way your thighs were pressed together probably wasn’t helping.
“I can go if you want,” he said. “I jus’ wanted to check on you. You seemed a little off earlier.”
“No,” you said too quickly. “You can stay.”
A small smile pulled at his mouth, he stepped closer, close enough that you could smell the clean scent of his shirt. His hand lifted like he was going to touch your arm, but instead his fingers brushed the side of your waist.
“You’ve been tense all week,” he murmured “I can tell.”
You didn’t pull away. The heat that had been sitting low in your stomach flared again under his touch. Michael’s eyes stayed on yours as his hand slid a little lower, resting on your hip. When you didn’t stop him, he guided you gently until the back of your knees hit the bed and you sat down.
‘Is this really happening right now’ you slowly thought to yourself as Michael looked down at you, his hand coming up to caress your cheek, stroking the skin gently.
His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, “Pretty girl.” he whispered, feeling shy at the compliment. He leaned in and kissed you, soft at first, then deeper, tongue sliding into your mouth. When you pulled back his eyes were darker.
“Michael…”
“Can I touch you?” he asked, voice quieter but firm. “For real. Tell me, yes or no baby.”
“Yes,” you whispered.
His eyes were soft, his big beautiful brown eyes staring down at you. “Y’sure?” he asked one more time.
“I’m sure.” You said you looked up at him.
Michael smiled and kissed you again, slower this time. His hands slid under the hem of your tank top, warm palms gliding up the sides of your waist, thumbs brushing over your ribs. He took his time, learning the shape of your body’s When he finally pushed the tank top up, you lifted your arms so he could pull it off completely. He dropped it to the floor and just looked at you for a moment, eyes soft.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said quietly. “You know that?”
He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your collarbone, then another a little lower. His lips trailed across the top of your chest, open-mouthed and warm, while his hands moved to the waistband of your fleece shorts.
He looked up at you once for permission. When you nodded, he slowly tugged them down your legs, taking your tights with them in the same motion.
You lifted your hips to help him, and he pulled everything the rest of the way off, leaving you in just your panties.
The second the cool air hit your skin, Michael’s eyes dropped between your legs. The crotch of your panties was visibly soaked, the fabric darkened and clinging to every fold of your cunt.
He went still for a second, then looked back up at your face.
“…Were you touchin’ yourself before I got here?” he asked, voice low. “Is that why y’were so flushed when you opened the door?”
Your face went hot. You glanced away, embarrassed.
“I… yeah,” you admitted, voice small. “A little.”
Michael’s expression softened, but something darker sat underneath it now. He ran his hands slowly up your bare thighs, thumbs brushing close to the edge of your panties.
“Look at how wet y’are,” he murmured as he pressed a slow kiss to your plush skin, squeezing your thighs as he gave gentle kisses to both of them. “Your boyfriend doesn’t take care of you like this, does he?”
You swallowed. “No… he doesn’t.”
Michael kissed higher, right next to the soaked edge of your panties, then looked up at you again.
“He can’t make you this wet, can he?” His voice stayed soft, but the words were pointed. “Not like I can.”
You shook your head, breath uneven. “No… Michael, stop teasin’” you looked down at him, the sight of him between you made your stomach flip, you were still in awe that you were doing this.
Michael gave you a slight smirk as he rose back up, still standing between your legs.
“I just wanna make sure ‘m doin’ it right.” His eyes stayed on your face as he reached down and undid his pants, pushing them just low enough to free himself.
His cock sprang out heavy and hard, the thick head already shiny with precum. He wrapped a hand around the base once, stroking slowly up to the tip while he looked at you.
“You still okay with this?” he asked, voice soft but lower than before.
You nodded, eyes flicking down to where he was touching himself, then back up to his face.
“Yes,” you whispered. “‘mokay… I want this.”
He stepped in closer. The hot, heavy length of his cock pressed against the soaked crotch of your panties, and a soft sound left both of you at the contact.
He started rubbing himself against you in slow, deliberate strokes, dragging the thick shaft up and down over your covered cunt, letting the heat of him soak through the thin fabric.
Every upward drag caught your clit, making your hips twitch.
“Fuck… look at you,” he murmured, eyes locked on where he was grinding against you. “Already so wet f’me and I haven’t even been inside you yet.”
He pressed harder, the blunt head of his cock digging against your entrance through the panties, stretching the fabric with every slow push.
Soft, needy sounds started slipping out of your mouth, “Mike— please.” you begged as he teased your entrance.
“Shh… ‘m gonna get you there baby, jus’ wait.” He reassured you as he continued to press the head of his cock against your covered cunt.
He hooked two fingers under the edge of your panties and pulled the soaked fabric aside.
The bare, hot head of his cock slid between your folds immediately, slick and thick, resting right against your entrance without pushing in.
He rubbed himself up and down between your pussy lips, coating every inch of his dick in your wetness, the fat head catching on your clit with every stroke.
You were properly whining now, hips rolling up to try and take him inside.
“Please,” you breathed. “Mike, please put it in… I need it—”
He leaned down and kissed you once, deeper this time, then rested his forehead against yours.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured. “I’m gonna fuck you the way he should’ve been fuckin’ you this whole time.”
He pushed forward in one long, smooth thrust, burying every thick inch of his cock deep inside your cunt.
Both of you moaned — you from the sudden stretch and overwhelming fullness, him from how tight and wet you were around him.
He stayed still for a second, letting you feel every pulse of his dick inside you.
“Fuck… you’re so tight,” he groaned. “So tight f’me baby.”
He started moving in deep, steady strokes, the wet sound of it filling the quiet room.
Your panties stayed shoved to the side, the fabric rubbing against his shaft every time he sank back in.
He gripped your hips as fucked you harder, angling you so every thrust dragged over that spot that made your thighs shake.
“He can’t make y’feel good like this, can he?” Michael asked, voice rough, hips snapping forward. “Tell me.”
You tried to answer but all that came out was a broken moan. He thrust deeper, the head of his cock kissing your cervix.
“Cmon baby… use your words. He can’t fill this pretty cunt the way I can, right?”
“N-no—” you managed, voice fucked-out and shaky. “He can’t— fuck, Michael—”
“That’s right.” He groaned when your walls clenched around him. “Feels s’good. You’re squeezin’ me so good… already trying to milk my cock.”
He kept fucking you deep and filthy, the wet slap of skin loud in the room. Every time your cunt fluttered and clenched around his thick dick he moaned louder, praising how tight you were, how wet, how perfect you felt wrapped around him.
Soft broken sounds spilling out of you with every thrust.
“You’re takin’ me so well,” he rasped. “Look at you… dripping down my cock while your boyfriend’s at work not knowin’ a damn thing.”
You felt something coiling tight in your belly until you couldn’t hold it back.
“Michael—fuck, I’m gonna cum—” you gasped, nails digging into his shoulders.
“That’s it, baby,” he growled against your ear, hips slamming deep. “Cum on my cock. Let m’feel it. Squeeze me just like that.”
The words tipped you over, you cunt clamping down tight around him that he cursed under his breath. The way you pulsed and milked him dragged him right over the edge with you.
Michael buried himself as deep as he could and came with a broken groan, cock throbbing as he filled you, both of you trembling and moaning through it.
He stayed still as he softened inside of you. Still twitching, breathing heavy against your neck while he gently stroked your hair.
“I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” he admitted quietly, voice soft and almost shy now. “About holding you like this… feeling you come apart for me. You’re even more perfect than I imagined.”
You swallowed, legs still shaking around him, too blissed-out to say much.
“Yeah,” you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw. “Me too.”
“Let’s get y’cleaned up, yeah?” he finally looked at you, that beautiful smiling forming from his lips.
do u think u can make a fanfic of jermajesty and the reader calls him dadaman bc of the social media fan base calling him that??
DADAMAN!
𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — jermajesty jackson x black 𝒇!reader
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — smut, 18+, p in v, no protection, fingering, explicit language, hickeys, bit of a praising kink, finger sucking.
a/n: hope you like this queen, kept it short because i didn’t know how else to write it. also, thank you guys for almost 300 followers! love you guys so much :) dropping a mj smut tonight just for you guys, part 2 of the forbidden babysitter will be dropped in like a week or two!
you walked in the house with shopping bags hanging off both arms and found jermajesty on the couch, half-asleep, phone in his hand.
“hi dadaman,” you said, dropping your bags by the door.
he cracked one eye open. “you still saying that shit ma?”
you laughed and kicked your shoes off. “yup.”
he sat up a little. “where you even get that shit from?”
“tiktok, people been calling you that.. your fan pages or whatever.”
he just stared at you for a second. “and you decided to keep saying it?”
you shrugged, walking over and sitting next to him. “it fits you baby, i mean.. how sexy you be looking.. it definitely suits you.”
he let out a short laugh and shook his head. “you’re so crazy for that”
“am i wrong though?”
he didn’t answer. instead he reached over, grabbed your wrist, and pulled you onto his lap. “keep calling me that and i’m gonna start treating you like it actually means something.”
you raised an eyebrow, still smiling. “and what’s it mean huh?”
he looked at you for a second “say it again.”
you did, softer this time. “dadaman.”
he kissed you hard, hands already under your shirt, then lower. he pulled your shorts off and rubbed you through your panties first, slow and deliberate, feeling how warm you already were.
then he pulled them off & slipped two fingers inside of you, curling them deep while his thumb pressed circles on your clit.
“still funny, ma?” he muttered against your mouth.
you moaned, hips moving against his hand. “a-a little…”
he kept the pace steady, working his fingers in and out, watching your face the whole time. after a minute he added a third finger, stretching you open while his thumb kept rubbing. the quiet wet sounds filled the living room.
he kissed your neck, then your jaw, still fingering you slow and thorough, curling his fingers every time he pushed deep.
“look at you getting so wet for me,” he murmured. “keep saying that name while i play with this pretty pussy.”
you did, the word coming out softer each time his fingers hit the right spot. he didn’t rush. he just kept going — slow strokes, then faster, then back to slow — until your thighs were tense and your breathing was uneven.
he curled his fingers harder, pressing against that spot inside you, and kept the pressure there while his thumb worked your clit.
“that’s it, baby… let it go for me.”
you came on his fingers with a shaky moan, hips lifting off his lap. he didn’t stop right away. he kept fingering you through it, slower now, until the sensitivity made you squirm.
only then did he pull his fingers out, bringing them to your mouth, and making you taste yourself.
he laid you back on the couch after that, pulling his sweatpants and boxers off, freeing himself. he rubbed the head of his dick against your entrance.
“say it again,” he ordered, voice rough. “say it while you take this dick ma.”
he pushed inside in one deep stroke. both of you exhaled hard. he started fucking you steady, one hand gripping your thigh.
“come on, baby… let me hear it,” he muttered, thrusting deeper. “say that shit.”
“dadaman—” you gasped.
he groaned and went harder. “again.”
you kept saying it every time he thrust deep, the name coming out broken. he left hickeys on your neck and collarbone, calling you ma and baby between strokes while he fucked you into the couch.
“that’s it, ma… take it. you wanted to call me that, now take it.”
you came hard around him, and he followed right after, burying himself deep and filling you up.
he stayed inside you after, forehead against yours, still breathing hard.
“…you still calling me that?” he asked after a minute.
you smiled, wrecked. “yeah.”
he laughed quietly and kissed you. “annoying ass.”
