𝐓𝐄𝐄 𓂃 🪷 8TEEN. black american woman. music and history enthusiast 𝄞 michael, janet, jaafar and jermajesty lover. rom com and horror film fanatic. southern girl. my audience is always black women ✋🏾. (minors, homophobes, racist and transphobes dni.) ⟡ ݁₊ .
you learn things about Michael's family that upset you. Things are evidently complicated, and you try your best to navigate them healthily when Michael comes to you for comfort after a nasty encounter...
content warnings: M!ld smvt. Suggestions of v!olence. Mentions of Joe Jackson.
Chapter Nine
Mid October 1983
Talk and soft laughter drifts around the dining room as dinner is served. “I’ll just get another bottle,” I say, playing host alongside my parents as several of my father’s high profile clients sit down to eat, all dressed beautifully.
“Thanks, Em,” Dad calls as I walk out the room, padding to the kitchen in my little kitten heels and flowy dress to where there are some bottles of champange chilling in the fridge. Just as i’m pulling it out, the gate bell goes.
I wait for someone to call and say they’re answering it, but when all I hear is another chorus of laughter— I know no one else heard it but me. I walk into the foyer, pressing the button for the gate and pull open the front door, thinking another guest just must’ve arrived late.
But when I see a familar figure walking up the short drive, then across the courtyard where all the other cars are parked for the evening, my whole body freezes up.
My brain short circuits. I’m not sure what to feel as Michael glances up and sees me waiting, door open, expression frozen in a sort of blank state with eyes a little wide.
It had been over a week since I’d heard from him. No phone call. No voice messages. Nothing. I wasn’t mad, but I had been worried sick, was still worried sick. Seeing him walking up to the house, head slightly bowed like he was already ashamed of himself, did something to my stomach I didn’t like.
“Hey,” he greets softly, hands tucked into the pockets of his big jacket.
I didn’t know what to say. I just blink, frozen in the doorway, hand on the frame. I’m dressed up, make up and hair done, curls pinned up into a bun, nice cream coloured dress on and small heels.
He scans me quickly before he says, “can we talk, or… or are you busy?”
I glance back into the house, laughter echoing from the dining room. “My father’s having a client dinner.”
“ah,” he breathes. We look at each other, and I know I should do the adult thing and turn him away, perhaps not make myself look so accessible, especially after he’d disappeared for a week… but I can’t.
“Can you give me a moment?” I whisper. He just nods, waiting by the bottom of the steps as I move back inside. I fetch the champagne I’d left on the counter top and take it to the dining room, breezing in and pouring some more drinks. I pause by my mother, whispering into her ear quickly what was going on. She just nods, squeezing my hand, takes the champagne from me.
I’d been a wreck a few days ago, sobbing into my pillow whilst both my parents had perched on my bed, comforting me. I hadn’t understood what the silence meant. Were we broken up just days after comitting? Was he listening to his father about never seeing me again, and not even dignifying me with a conversation? Or did I just have to be patient?
They’d been the voices of reason, as they usually are. ‘Give him time, Emmy,’ Dad had murmnured whilst stroking my hair, with mom rubbing my back. I’d told them what happened. How his father had spoken to him, struck him. ‘You can’t know the pressure he’s under,’ he’d added.
‘but if this hurts too much, it’s okay to walk away,’ Mom had cooed softly. ‘you must take care of yourself, too.’
Especially since a grainy photo of my face was plastered all over the press, news of us having spent the day at the aquarium: ‘loved up and all over each other’. The media speculating on if I was Michael’s girlfriend on not, asking anyone who knew me or knew of me to come forward. It felt like a bit of a which hunt. My friends knew about Michael and I. Mostly everyone at my house party about two weeks back had seen us kissing and touching on each other all night. It felt like only a matter of time before my name would get out there.
Adding all that into the mix along with everything else had been wonderful. Really delightful. I'd been too nervous to go to class or teach any of my yoga classes and called out sick.
Of course I didn’t want to walk away from him, though I had briefly considered it on the sixth day of silence. I’d wondered if getting involved with such a complicated and toxic family dynamic was smart for me, considering my career path, my wants… how much I cared for Michael already. This could consume me. His level of fame could consume me too.
I’d wanted to jump in and intervene when his father had spoken to him like that. And never in my life had I ever wanted to put my hands on someone, let alone a fully grown man. But I had. And it was a little overwhemling.
But Michael wasn’t a child, and he didn’t need me to save him and jump in to defend him. He’d shown me that much with just a look.
I step back out into the night. Michael turns, watching me walk down the steps. “You look so beautiful,” he murmurs.
I just smile a little, tempted to avoid looking at him all together since meeting his eyes right now felt a little tough. But I do anyway, but when I see Michael’s face properly, waves of emotion slam into me, swallowing me up whole on the inside.
Up close, slight swelling around his right eye, an old bruise just fading around his brow, on his cheek, too.
I try not to react. I can see it in his face he doesn’t want me to. He knows I’ve seen it, and he’s already wincing, because this is my answer as to why I haven’t heard from him.
My eyes start watering, teardrops dewing on my lashes the second I blink to try and disperse them. “Mia,” he begins, reaching for me, “It’s not as bad as it looks, I’m fine—“
“Don’t fucking lie to me,” I snap, voice thick. He blinks rapidly, swallowing at my tone, hands dropping back to his sides, “I’ve been worried sick!”
“I’m sorry,” he breathes, sending a quick glance towards the house as through the open door more laughter leaks out into the night, glasses clinking. “I’m sorry, I should’ve called, I know that. I’m sorry,” he speaks quickly, eyes doe-ing, turning glassy. “But the phone—“
“Michael, look at your face!” I gasp, tears slipping down my cheeks. I’m trying so hard not to overeact, but I can’t help it. “Who did that? Your father?” I ask, rage savagely crawling up my throat as Michael just stares down at me, chest rising and falling a little harder. “I’m calling the fucking cops,” I snap before he can answer me, whirling towards the house.
“No!” he blurts, grabbing my arm firmly, but not hard,“it’s not like that,” he rushes, “It doesn’t happen often, I just got cocky and talked back to my mother, okay? he was just correcting me.”
“Correcting you? This is assault!”
“Please can you keep your voice down,” Michael whispers, eyes pleading with me.
I force myself to calm down and turn back to face him properly. My heart’s pounding, so many emotions racing around my bloodstream I can’t quite think straight for a few minutes. I take a steadying breath, then wipe under my eyes, avoiding my mascara. “Sorry,” I whisper.
This isn’t about me.
“Are you okay?” I ask him, fully taking him in again, taking stock.
“I’m okay,” he murmurs, “I just missed you so much.”
“Michael,” I sigh. I want to cry again.
“I know what my father said,” he continues, looking into my eyes, so earnest that my heart just hurts. “But I can’t not see you… I’m committed. I want this.”
“I want this too.”
He nods, glad I agree, and gives me a small smile. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”
“You don’t need to hide anything from me,” I murmur, moving close to him. I slip my arms around his middle, and pull myself close him. “I don’t want you to.” I lean my cheek on his chest, feel the soft thick cotton against my skin.
Michael puts his arms around me, hand resting on the back of my head briefly. I feel him breathe in my scent, chest rising, and then sigh softly. “I missed you so much.”
I smile, lean back. “Do you want to come inside?”
“I don't want to interrupt.” Nerves flicker across his eyes.
“I’m not gonna make you sit at the table,” I giggle softly, “There’s still some food in the kitchen, we can have it in the conservatory. If you’re hungry.”
“I could eat,” he says gently.
I take him inside, carefully closing the front door so as not to disturb the dinner going on. We walk into the kitchen, low lights on, filling the space with a warm ambient glow. There are a few glasses around from earlier drinks, dotted on the surfaces. Most of the food made has been taken through to the dining room, but the appetisers and some sides are still on the counter, containers covered with lids to stay warm.
I make us some tea, then set to making Michael a plate. He hovers, watching me closely, eyes scanning me from head to toe a few times. We take our food out into the conservatory, which has been neated and decoated with amber glass tiffany glamps, candles, and big cushions on the couch that looks out over the yard.
“So,” I say softly, considering there’s another elephant in the room we need to acknowledge. “did you see the tabloids?”
“yeah,” Michael replies. Perhaps unconciously, he touches his brow right where the bruise is the deepest. I tilt my head, watching him closely as we sit side by side. “I’m sorry, I should’ve been more careful.”
“You rented the place out, I don’t think you could’ve got more careful than that,” I correct softly. He smiles, but doesn’t look at me. “Michael,” I then add, wanting our eyes to meet. But it’s as if he can sense that I know all of a sudden, and doesn’t want to look away from his plate as he takes a few tentative bites of his food. “Is that why…?” I ask, “was your father mad because of the pictures?”
I want him to open up so I can understand. So I can help in some way.
“We aren’t meant to be seen with girls in public,” he mutters, curls brushing against his brows as he kind of hangs his head shamefully. My stomach clenches, more pieces of the puzzle slotting into space.
“None of you are?”
“That’s Joe’s rule. He doesn’t care what my brothers do as long as they don’t take it to the public, so that they still look available to the fans. I just thought…” he trails off, and the quiet lingers for a few minutes. “I don’t know what I thought.”
I’m starting to get the picture. He’s at war with his whole families and the public’s expectations. His mother wants to keep him childlike, innocent. Untainted by lust and sinful, in her beliefs eyes. His father wants him to perform, even off the stage, to seem available to fans who desire him and his brothers. To be with me out in public threatened that. My presence was rattling the bars of the cage they had shoved their son into.
Too innocent and sheltered to actually exprience life, whilst being just sexually provocative enough to tempt lustful fans.
“It must be difficult trying to appease so many people at once,” I say gently, almost whispering. That anger simmers again, but I swallow it down. Mike doesn’t need to know how this affects me right now.
“Don’t use that therapist tone on me,” he mutters playfully flatly as he side glances me. I giggle, nudging him, and he smiles, biting his lip a little, mood improving a bit.
“But am I wrong?”
“No,” he sighs, leaning forwards towards the coffee table and puts his plate down. “I don’t want to upset anybody. And my mom… I dunno, she… she was real hurt that I spent all night out, especially once she found out I was with you.”
“Because of the vow you took?”
Once of his eyes narrows at the mention of it. “I told her I was still takin’ it seriously.”
I stay quiet.
“I told her that we’d…” he trails off, “that we’d done it.” He gulps as he glances at me.
“That we had sex?” I gasp. Blood drains from my face. “Michael, oh my god.” I put my plate down, then drop my head into my hands.
“I told her you were no hussy,” he continues, speaking earnestly. I sit back up and look to him.“I told her that you’re a nice girl, that you’re getting your education, and you’re smart and capable. I told her how we’ve been seein’ each other, and talking … how I feel about you. That I— That I love you.”
The world all but stops for me. The distant sound of my parent’s dinner falling away as I stare into Michael’s eyes. I exhale slowly, expression and gaze softening.
“Don’t say anything,” he then continues quickly, “I know how I feel, and I don’t want you to analyse that or nothin’.”
“I’m not.”
“I love you,” he says more firmly, and my stomach lifts, butterflies soaring, as this warm, gooey feeling floods my veins, turning me to honey. I reach for him and cup his cheeks with both of my hands, smooshing his face a little bit.
“I’ve been going crazy this week thinking that we were done,” I say, staring into his eyes, voice rasping just a little. His brows lift. “I was so worried about you, Mikey. I care about you so much, it’s been consuming me.”
He blinks, just gazing at me.
“I love you too, but you can’t drive me insane like this, even if you don’t mean it.”
He wants to react to the fact I return his feelings, but then he pauses, hearing the end of my sentence.
“I need you to communicate better with me. If you don’t feel comfortable calling from your family home, sneak out, and go to a pay phone. Send me a letter. Something. Don’t just leave me sitting in silence… I was really hurt waiting for you.”
He nods, his face still smooshed between my palms.
“You hear what i’m saying?”
“Yes ma’am,” He mumbles. I peck his squished lips, then release him.
He stays watching me, gaze soft. I lean forwards and reach for my tea, taking another long sip. A big question still remains though. “What should I do about the press?” I ask, smacking my lips. “they put in one of the stories they want people to find out who I am.”
Michael inhales deeply, “Joe says I should get ahead of it and deny it.”
“Is that what you want to do?”
“I don’t know,” he murmurs, still facing towards me partially, arms resting on his thighs. “because if I don’t deny this and the press start getting carried away, they could come after you, and then some of my fans will get hurt knowing i’m taken. If I do… then I risk hurting you.”
“You won’t hurt me,” I say, thinking of myself a little bit. “I… I think you should deny it.”
Michael’s head tilts, brows lowering. “Why?”
“Baby, think about it. The risks of publicising our relationship completely outweight not doing so. I get to keep my life private, and your fans remain happy.”
“It shouldn’t have to matter whether or not i’m single…”
“But it does,” I murmur, gaze moving across his expression. He hums, slouching back into the couch. I stifle a yawn behind my hand, “you think you can stay the night?” I ask, standing up, getting ready to clear our plates away, but Michael jumps up, takes the plates from me.
“Maybe for a bit,” He says, following me into the kitchen. We wash up, tidying some things away. Chatter wafts from the dining room, the slightly louder voices signalling probably another bottle of champagne had been opened.
We head upstairs, and Michael shuts the bedroom door behind us. Despite not seeing him for a bit, my first instinct isn’t to jump his bones, and he seems content just to hang out. I put some music on, then as I catch a glimpse of Thriller resting to one side of my record player, I say:
“You know I only just listened to this?” I hold up his album. “Isn’t that crazy?”
“What?” he asks, shocked, sitting up from where he had just got comfortable on my bed. Shoes off, white socks on show.
“It’s so good though,” I continue, turning back around.
“wait,” he gets up, walks across my room and stands beside me, staring down at me. I give him a funny look. “you… you only just listened to my album? As in after we started talking?”
“Why do you look so offended?” I giggle, he just continues to stare at me. “What!” I laugh, gently pushing him away from me. He slowly turns towards my record collection and begins to sift through it. “What are you doing?”
“You don’t have any of my albums.”
“You have more?”
“I have two!” he says loudly, sounding genuinely distressed, “Two, Mia! Off The Wall and that one in your hand. Not to mention all the band albums.”
“I didn’t know that!”
When he snatches out a record sleeve and holds it up to me, he looks irritated. It’s Prince’s first album, For You.
I just huff out a laugh, grinning at him, “What have I done now?”
“Why do you have this?”
I swipe it out his hand and put it back where it was. “I like it.”
“You like it? You listen to him, but you haven’t listened to me?”
“I feel like I should have a lawyer present,” I smirk and glance at him, stifling a laugh once I see his face. “Don’t look at me like that!” I reach for him but he bats my hands away gently.
“I can’t believe this,” he walks away, goes to sit on the edge of my bed, “you hate my music.”
“No, I don’t!” I gasp, smiling more, closing the distance between us and sitting next to him, bouncing slightly as I plop down on the mattress. "I love the album, my favourite was Baby be Mine—“
“Oh, God.”
“What’s wrong with you?” I’m giggling way too much, pushing at his shoulder. “I love that song.” But his pout only intensifies.
For the next hour i’m comforting him, kissing on his cheeks, stroking his hair. I hadn’t realised he and Prince had a rivalry. That he’d called Prince up on stage at a James Brown concert, and the guy had ended up humiliated when his improv performance had looked bad. When he then tells me that Prince had tried to run him over in a limo after, I’m cry laughing so hard I’ve gone silent.
“It’s not funny, Mia! I could’ve been squashed,” Michael giggles, trying to pull the cushion i’m using to muffle my laughter off my face as i lie on my back. “Why are you laughing at me?” he asks, and I just laugh harder. It takes me five minutes to calm down.
“Oh my god, I had no idea you were so messy.” I sit up, wiping at my eyes as tears stream down my face. The pillow tumbles down my front, landing in my lap.
“It’s not mess, it’s strategy. I’m better than this guy, and I proved it,” Mike says normally before fixing me with one of his hard playful stares, “Which is why I don’t understand why you had his album and not mine.”
“I do have yours.”
“You know what I mean!” He seems genuinely exasperated, and it’s hilarious. I reach for him, clutching his face, kissing his cheek a few times. “Mia, the guy is a schmuck,” he mumbles as I k!ss on him.
“Oh, you sweet jealous baby,” I coo at him, still smiling, feeling silly, “I love you,” I sigh with a soft laugh, and k!ss his face again. “You want me to throw the record away?”
He softens, shoulders slumping. “No,” he sighs, leaning into my touch. “just… tell me you like my music more.”
“I do like it more. Human Nature is my next favourite. Oh, and then Lady In My Life.”
He hums, smiling. “Kiss me more.”
I grin, then kiss his cheeks, chin, his l!ps, then his cheeks again. I handle his face gently, sitting beside him, legs crossed, hyperaware of his fading bruises. I feather kisses over those too, and our mood softens. He tilts his face towards mine, wanting more.
Our l!ps meet, and our m0uths move together slowly, just easing into it… until Michael hums, the sound low and hungry. He shifts, lifting himself up and gradually guides me back to lying down, with him on top of me, moving between my th!ghs.
Our k!ss deepens, tongves sliding together as music wafts from my record player, soft lyricless smooth jazz. My body warms, turning to honey again as Michael’s big hand glides down my side, hooks my th!gh over his hip…
My stomach flips, enjoying his forwardness like crazy.
My arms wrap around his neck as we make out, just slow and passionate. I roll us over at some point, settling on his h!ps. I lean down to k!ss his throat, s|ipping my hands under his jacket, pushing it slowly off his shoulders as I svck on his neck, working his sk!n with my teeth.
His breathing quickens just a touch as his palms graze up my th!ghs, lifting my dress inch by inch.
When he grabs my ass I m0an into his neck, gently gr!nding myself against h!m. He gr0ans quietly, tilting his chin up so I can kiss more of his neck and get to his favouite spot. I give him another hickey right under his jaw whilst gently shifting my h!ps back and forth over his cr0tch. He grvnts softly in time with my steady rhtyhm, pushing himself up into me.
Within five mintes he’s got my dress off, then my pant!es and bra. His jacket joins the pile of my clothes as we k!ss a little more eagerly, practically panting as desire gets the better of us. His jeans join the pile, then his t-shirt, then br!efs.
I’m on my back again, heart pulsing excitedly as Michael k!sses down my thr0at, returning the favour as he settles h!mself at my centre, nibbling and svcking on my sk!n as he sl!des inside. The combination of sensations is enough to make my eyes roll back in my head, especially as one of his big hands settles over my br£ast, squeezing in time with his slow thrusts.
I’m dazed and breathless as Michael moves, h!ps thrvsting at the most delicious slow pace. Distantly, I half notice the worldess song in the background is soft romantic sounds. He’s matching the beat, whether he’s concious of it or not, I don’t really care, but my botton l!p disappears behind my teeth as pleasvre consumes me whole.
Every nerve is alive and being taken care off so nicely that I’m making a mess of both of us, and I can hear it. Especially with Michael softly m0aning, face pressed into my neck, just enjoying himself. I’m in heaven, losing myself in this completely.
I graze my palms down his back, eyes fluttering closed as I descend further into the haze, b0dy tingling, skin warm.
Pleasvre creeps up from my toes, hardening as it circles my centre. Michael shifts his h!ps just at the right time, easing himself deeper. I wh!ne, arching my back into his chest. I’m so close, I know he can feel it. I’m already cl£nching around him, tightening my grip. His gr0ans rasp a little more, deepening as his pace quickens a little bit.
I hit my limit, and stars explode behind my eyes. This is full body, blinding and amazing. I gasp, but then it gets cut off as Michael’s lips find mine, and we’re just mindlessly, messily k!ssing, all needy and breathless, “I love you,” he m0ans as he cvms. “I love you,” he murmurs shakily, just managing to pvll out just in time, and f!nish right on my sl!t.
We hover there in that moment, high off each of our own 0rgasms, and just look at each other, gazes holding as we breathe. “That was the best s£x i’ve ever had,” I whisper, “you make me feel so good,” I praise and Michael smiles lazily, cheeks flushed.
He leans down and k!sses me, and as he eases off me, gaze falling to my clock on my nightstand. “Crap,” he blurts, practically scrambling off the bed and over to his clothes.
“What?”
“I gotta get back,” he rushes, pulling his briefs on right over his still glistening— “I was only meant to be out for a minute.”
“Oh,” is all I say, since I know what he means. He’s not meant to be seeing me, and doesn’t want to get in trouble again. I have so many things I want to say in that moment, to tell him to stay right here with me, to sleep over, to— to— I don’t know, but I hold my tongve.
“I’m so sorry, baby, I’ll make it up to you— I promise.” He leans over and kisses me with one long peck. I smile against his mouth, though once he breaks the kiss, he just pulls back, eyes lingering on mine.
“What is it?” I ask softly. I should probably clean up, get ready for bed.
“I don’t want to leave,” he says quietly.
“Then don’t,” I say simply. He swallows thickly, so many thoughts racing across his gaze. I see it when he gives in to his most dominant one. I half expect him to leave, but then he’s standing up, sliding his jacket back off, then he pulls his shirt off, the jeans follow. He climbs onto the bed, l!ps finding mine in warm, loving peck.
We clean up, taking our first shower together. I feel all giddy and shy as he watches me soap up, eyes locked on where my hands go. When we get into bed, it feels like a sleepover, and i’m hyper like I’m a kid again, chatting away with him well into the early hours until we both eventually pass out and don’t remember when the next morning.
For three days Michael's at my house. He sl!ps in and out, getting clothes from his home and leaving them in my room so he doesn’t have to keep going back and forth. He’s made friends with my parents, chatting to them in the kitchen about their lives. It’s been so much fun to have him here, not only because he’s great to hang out with, to talk with, watch movies or lounge and read with, but now that he’s here… the s£x has just been getting better and better.
He’s getting more confident, learning things about my body I don’t have to tell him. I blush every time I look at him, and I love that he knows why.
About five days when I get up in the morning, he’s gone. There’s a note on my nightstand that he’s gone into the city to the studio. I get up, get ready for the day, but since I have nothing to do but study, I dress in simple mini PJ shorts, mismatched socks and a tank top, hair down and unstyled. I’m making coffee when the door knocker goes.
I frown, just pouring myself a cup, then wander to the front door. I think it’s just me here, and half expect one of my parents when I pull open the door.
“Did you forget your—“ I begin, only to shut my mouth abruptly when I come face to face with... Michael’s parents.
end notes:
oft! this was a long one. 4k! I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter, I want to focus a little more on some angst and emotions than on the smvt, despite me saying I wanted to make this fic filthy.... I see potential in the plot lmfao.
anyways, let me know what you thought! comments and likes and reblogs are aaaaalways appreciated, I'm so interested to hear what you guys think of the characters! <3
tag list: @apyr-b-mockbe @strawbevrri @berni333sworld @buyu0113 @kundere20000000 @michaelsbbg @fatalefeme @therealmrsbahng @veraberaxx @ilovolivegarden @alexablanc @platanita @artflooo @mimiheartsyy @justglennreading @moonsmichael96 @michaeljacksonfan01 @tojiswifeforlife @fatalefeme @bqqbay @nata-de-coconuts @moniquethageek @vyvyrulesboisdrool @whoscamila @ooooglymoooogly @bawdylanguageee @mjsapple @md3mdc-blog @melodiesmurakamis @slickdickwitchbitchh @tojiswifeforlife @gxsela @iasdziie - please let me know if you'd like to be tagged! xxoxo
✦ pairings ... 2.4k ﹒ jacksons michael ℘ f.reader.
✦ premise ... 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐊𝐄 ★ with your parents enforcing a strict curfew and keeping a close eye on everything, michael has become an expert at late-night window visits.
✦ contains ... ( tooth-rotting fluff ) secret relationship, sneaking around, strict parents, almost getting caught, first love, playing games, shy kisses, soft romance, no use of y/n
✦ adore’s note ... i wrote this when i got the req, but it takes me forever to do graphics and i get lazy. might change my theme and username soon, so be on da lookout.
requested ﹒ anon ! ♡
The August heat in Encino is a living thing. It presses down on the neighborhood, a heavy, wet blanket that smothers the pavement and makes the air thick enough to drink. Long after the sun has dipped below the horizon, the brick houses of your street still radiate its warmth, holding onto the day's heat like a secret.
Your room is your only sanctuary. The windows are thrown open, trying in vain to coax a nonexistent breeze from the stagnant night. A small fan on your dresser hums a constant, monotonous drone, doing little more than pushing the hot air around. You’re on your bed, wearing a thin, pink cotton nightgown that clings to your skin, trying to read a book, but the words keep swimming into a meaningless jumble. The only sounds are the drone of the fan, the distant rhythmic chirp of crickets, and the occasional rumble of a car on a faraway street.
Then, a new sound cuts through the night. It’s small and precise, a series of chirps that are almost, but not quite, like the real thing. A perfect mimicry. Chirp-chirp-chirp. A pause. Chirp.
A smile, wide and involuntary, spreads across your face. You close your book, the forgotten story thudding softly onto your quilt. You slide off the bed, the worn floorboards warm under your bare feet, and go to the window that faces the side yard.
He’s there. A shadow in the deeper shadow of the old oak tree, a graceful silhouette against the dark leaves. You can just make out the pale oval of his face, turned up towards you.
You lift the sash of the window, the slight scrape of wood on wood loud in the quiet night. “You’re gonna get us caught doin’ that bird thing,” you whisper, leaning out, your heart giving its familiar little flutter at the sight of him.
He grins up at you, a flash of white in the darkness. “Nobody knows a sparrow’s call better than me. M’ a professional,” he whispers back, his voice a low, warm murmur that seems to wrap around you. He starts to climb, his movements fluid and silent, an effortless grace that still takes your breath away. He uses the sturdy branches like a personal staircase, avoiding the one that creaks, and in a moment, he’s swinging a leg over your windowsill and landing on your bedroom floor with the softest of thuds.
He’s wearing a worn-out t-shirt and a pair of loose-fitting jeans, and he smells of outside, of night air and the faint, clean scent of the soap from his bathroom. He straighten up, running a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead.
“Told ya I could do it,” he says, his smile triumphant. He’s close enough that you can see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes, the way they crinkle at the corners when he smiles.
“I never doubted you,” you say, though you had, a little. “My dad’s a light sleeper, though. You’ve gotta be quiet.”
“M’ always quiet,” he says, but it’s a lie, and you both know it. He’s the source of most of your laughter, a loud, uninhibited sound that you have to stifle with a pillow whenever he’s over. Your room feels different with him in it. Smaller, somehow, and brighter. The hum of the fan seems less lonely.
You talk for a while, sitting cross-legged on your bed, your voices low and intimate. He tells you about the new choreography he’s been working on, his hands moving in the dim light, tracing the shapes of the dance in the air. He gets so animated, so lost in it, that you just watch him, mesmerized by the passion that ignites him from the inside out. You tell him about the fight you had with your mom over your grades, how she doesn’t understand that you just want to paint, to spend your days with a brush in your hand instead of a textbook. He listens, really listens, his head tilted, his full attention on you, making you feel like you’re the only person in the world.
After a while, a comfortable silence settles between you. The fan drones on.
“M’ bored,” he announces suddenly, flopping back onto your quilt with a dramatic sigh. “Let’s do somethin’.”
“Like what? We can’t go anywhere,” you point out, gesturing vaguely at the oppressive darkness outside your window.
His eyes scan your room, a mischievous glint in them. They land on the corner, where a stack of board games is gathering dust. His face lights up. “Twister.”
“Twister?” you laugh. “Michael, it’s one in the mornin’. We can’t play Twister in my bedroom.”
“Why not? ‘S perfect,” he insists, sitting up. “It’s quiet. It doesn’t require any electricity. And it’s a test of skill.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “And M’ very skilled.”
You can’t help but laugh again. “You’re ridiculous.”
“So you’re scared you’ll lose?” he challenges, a slow, sly smile spreading across his face.
That does it. “Oh, you are so on, Jackson.”
He slips off the bed and retrieves the battered box, the lid barely hanging on. He spreads the plastic mat on the floor, the bright colored circles—red, yellow, blue, green—looking garish and cheerful in the dim lamplight. He spins the arrow, and it lands with a soft clatter.
“Right foot, red,” he announces, a smug look on his face.
You bend and place your foot on a red circle.
“Left hand, green,” he says, spinning again.
The game begins. At first, it’s simple. You contort your bodies over the mat, your limbs crossing over each other, a delicate, giggling balance. Your pink nightgown brushes against his worn jeans. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, a warm, familiar presence that sends a pleasant shiver down your spine, despite the summer heat.
“Right hand, blue,” he says, his voice close to your ear. He’s reaching over you, his arm a long, lean line, his fingers splayed on a blue circle right next to your hand. Your faces are inches apart. You can see the fine stubble on his chin, the way a single curl has escaped to fall over his forehead. You hold your breath.
“Your turn,” he whispers, a grin playing on his lips.
The arrow spins. “Left foot… yellow.”
You have to reach. It’s a stretch, a high one, and you can feel your muscles protesting. Your nightgown rides up your thigh. You’re wobbling, your balance precarious.
“Don’t fall,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your cheek. “You fall, you lose.”
“M’ not gonna fall,” you grit out, your fingers straining against the plastic mat.
Just as your toes touch the yellow circle, a heavy footstep echoes in the hallway. A floorboard groans.
Panic, cold and sharp, shoots through you.
“‘S my dad,” you gasp, your eyes wide with terror.
Michael freezes. For a split second, he looks like a deer caught in headlights. Then, the performer’s instincts kick in. There is no hesitation. He moves with a swift, silent grace that defies logic. In one fluid motion, he untangles himself from the mat and dives for the closet. He slips inside, pulling the door almost completely shut, leaving just the faintest crack. The Twister mat lies abandoned on the floor, a chaotic splash of color.
You scramble to your feet, your heart hammering against your ribs. You smooth down your nightgown, grab your book from the bed, and dive under the covers just as your bedroom door creaks open.
A large silhouette fills the doorway. It’s your dad, in his pajamas, his hair a mess. He squints into the semi-darkness.
“You okay in’re?” he asks, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. “I thought I heard somethin’.”
“Jus’ me,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, casual. You hold up the book, a flimsy shield. “Jus’… reading.”
He squints at the book, then at the open window. “‘S hot as Hades in’re. Why’s th’ window open?”
“I was tryin’ t’get a breeze,” you lie, your pulse racing.
He nods, seemingly satisfied. “Well, keep it down. N’ close that window before you let all the mosquitoes in. Night, kiddo.”
“Night, Daddy,” you whisper.
The door clicks shut. The footsteps retreat down the hall.
You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You wait a full minute, two, listening to the silence. Then, you slide out of bed and creep over to the closet. You pull the door open. He’s folded up inside, a gangly collection of limbs in the small space. He looks up at you, his eyes wide and full of a wild, exhilarated fear. A slow grin spreads across his face.
“Close call,” he whispers.
You’re both shaking, but it’s not from fear. It’s from the sheer, unadulterated thrill of it. The danger. The secrecy. The shared conspiracy. A bubble of laughter escapes your lips, a muffled, hysterical sound. He joins in, a low, choked chuckle that you have to stifle with your hand.
“Okay,” he says, when you’ve both quieted down, his eyes dancing with mischief. “New game. Silent Twister.”
“Silent Twister?” you whisper, incredulous. “How’d you even—”
“Shhh,” he says, putting a finger to his lips. He slips out of the closet and spreads the mat again. “You spin. You point. No talkin’. First one t’make a sound loses.”
It’s the most ridiculous, most brilliant idea you’ve ever heard. You agree.
The game resumes, but this time it’s different. The silence makes everything more intense. Every rustle of fabric, every soft scrape of a hand or foot on the plastic mat sounds like a gunshot in the quiet room. The tension is no longer just about winning; it’s about the silence, about the shared risk.
You’re tangled together again, a knot of arms and legs. Your cheek is pressed against his shoulder, the worn cotton of his t-shirt soft against your skin. You can smell him more clearly now, not just the clean soap, but something else, something uniquely Michael—a warm, slightly spicy scent that makes your head spin. His breathing is slow and steady, and you find yourself matching its rhythm, inhaling when he inhales, exhaling when he exhales.
You can feel the muscles in his arm, tense and strong, as he braces himself. His fingers are just inches from your own, splayed on a green circle. You want to reach out, to lace your fingers through his, but you don’t. You stay perfectly still, savoring the moment, the proximity, the secret, electric charge that hums between you.
The game ends in a stalemate, a silent, giggling collapse onto the floor in a heap of limbs and laughter, which you muffle into each other’s shoulders.
You lay there for a long time, the Twister mat a forgotten, colorful web beneath you. The fan drones on, the crickets chirp their relentless symphony. You talk, your voices barely above a whisper, about nothing and everything. About the future, about dreams, about the terrifying, wonderful unknown that waits for you both after high school. He tells you he wants to see the world, to perform for people in every city, in every country. He tells you he wants to build a house with a giant slide inside, a zoo in the backyard. You tell him you want to have a studio in Paris, to paint the city from a garret window, to drink cheap wine and eat fresh bread every day. As you talk, you realize that these two dreams, once so separate, have started to weave together, becoming a single, shared hope.
The night begins to fade. A sliver of pale, pearlescent light appears at the edge of the sky, a subtle hint that dawn is coming. The magic hour is almost over.
“I should go,” he says, but he doesn’t move. He’s lying on his side, propped up on an elbow, looking at you. The dim light catches the side of his face, illuminating the sharp, clean line of his jaw, the soft curve of his lips.
“I know,” you whisper.
There’s a long, heavy silence. The unspoken things hang in the air between you, thick and tangible. All the stolen glances, the accidental touches, the late-night phone calls that went on until sunrise—they all lead to this moment.
He sits up, running a hand through his hair, a familiar, nervous gesture. He looks at you, and his eyes are so full of everything—affection, longing, a sweet, shyness that is so at odds with the confident performer he is on stage.
You sit up too, your pink nightgown pooled around you. You don't think. You don't second-guess. You just lean in.
You press your lips to his cheek. It’s not a passionate, dramatic kiss. It’s a soft, gentle, lingering thing. A promise. His skin is warm, a little stubbly. He smells like him. You can feel the sharp intake of his breath, the slight tremor that runs through him.
You pull back, your heart pounding a frantic, joyful rhythm against your ribs. He’s looking at you, his dark eyes wide, full of a dazed, wonderstruck surprise. A slow, shy smile spreads across his face, and it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.
He doesn’t say anything. He just gets up, his movements a little clumsy, a little dazed. He crosses the room to the window, the silent apology for leaving already in the set of his shoulders.
He turns back to you, one hand on the windowsill. “G’night,” he whispers, his voice husky, full of everything he didn't say.
“G’night,” you whisper back.
He swings a leg over the sill, and then he’s gone, a shadow melting back into the shadow of the oak tree. You watch him descend, a silent, graceful ghost, until he disappears into the pre-dawn mist. You close the window, the latch clicking softly into place, the room feeling suddenly empty, suddenly quiet. But as you get back into bed, pulling the quilt up to your chin, you can still feel the warmth of his cheek on your lips, a secret, invisible brand, a promise that the sun will, eventually, rise again.
summary: michael makes love to you, unprotected, for the first time
warning: smut, 18+, unprotected sex, p-in-v, handjob, fingering, creampie, use of ‘mama’ ‘baby’ ‘sweetheart’ ‘tink/tinka’, established relationship
author’s note: decided to switch up my style, and i really like it! heavily inspired by @/michaeldiary (not sure if she’d want to be directly tagged but go check out her amazing work!)
Michael had been dreaming about making love to you, unprotected, since the very beginning of your relationship.
He hated to admit it—as he felt blasphemous and crude for thinking about his lady in such a way—but it was the lewd truth. Ever since he officially called you his girl, he let his twisted mind run away with itself at the idea of making love to you with no barriers. Dreaming of the opportunity to feel the sensation of sliding into your wet, warm heat with no physical preventative, coating his length in your slick arousal.
It drove him wild.
Unfortunately for his none-the-wiser Witness mother, Michael had made love to you before. Countless, incredible, mind-blowing times—alas, protected. The amount of condoms he stole from Jackie’s bedside drawer was almost comedic—until you told him to just send Bill to the drugstore for his very own box.
That he did—it was shocking how many boxes you were going through the second you both grew madly intoxicated with sex. It was sensational—Michael knew all of the spots, inside and out of you, that made you mewl. Whether it was nipping at the skin beneath your earlobe, or the way you liked your clit rubbed, or how much pressure to apply when toying with your nipples, or the angle of his hips when he would be driving into you at a ferocious speed, hitting the spot that left you screaming—he knew them all like the back of his hand. Each session of electrifying sex better than the last.
He didn’t think anything could top it.
Except one thing.
“Tink?”
Michael’s soft, warm voice sounded itself into the small of your bedroom, forcing your head up from the book you were deeply engrossed in. You looked up slowly from the moreish pages, not wanting to drag your glasses-clad eyes away from the words that were drawing you in, before you met his gaze.
Michael was lying on his stomach comfortably at the foot of your bed—knuckle-deep in his notebook that had jumbles of lyrics, affirmations and song titles scribbled across it in his messy, hurried writing, a worn down pencil in his grasp. He was in his pyjamas, hair ruffled from running a hand through it incessantly, and a curious, nervous expression across his face.
“What’s up, baby?”
Michael averted your gaze, vision locking on your feet nearest his head, his eyes locking on the small rabbits that etched themselves into the soft, fluffy fabric.
“I’ve been thinkin’.”
“Oh, no.” You giggled, deciding this was far more interesting than your book, as you dog-eared the page, closing it shut and slipping it gently next to you on the white, cotton sheets.
“Nothin’ bad, ‘promise.” He breathed out a short laugh, “Just about ..us.”
“That makes it sound real bad, Mikey.”
Michael huffed out another chuckle, “No, no. I just mean …us, like—like, what we do.”
You watched him intently as he rambled—his hands now coming up to pick the balls of fluff that had escaped their woven capture of your socks, slender fingers prying them from the material softly, as his mind raced a thousand miles a minute.
“You’re gonna have to be a bit clearer, honey.” You coaxed softly, titling your head to the side as you watched him.
He had always been shy and bashful—afraid of serious or intimate conversations in his timid nature. Nevertheless, you adored that about him—he was soft, kind, and sweet, all brilliant qualities that made your heart warm.
Michael sighed loudly, his head dropping slightly in an attempt to hide the embarrassed blush that crept up his cheeks and ears—painting his brown skin a deep shade of burgundy.
“I was just wonderin’—only if you wanted to of course!—if you wanted to …if me and you could, y’know...” He mumbled quickly, picking faster now as his innermost thoughts let slip, “I was just wonderin’ if when me and you …you-know-what …we could maybe, again only if you wanted to and were comfortable with, we could—“
“Michael, what on Earth are you saying, baby?” You laughed, smiling brightly at his frantic mumbling.
“Gosh, I’m awful at this. Forget it.” Michael huffed in defeat, his head falling into the plush sheets beneath him, hiding his face from you.
“No, no! Baby, don’t do that.” You giggled softly, leaning down to pry his face gently from the covers, thumbs instantly finding his warm cheeks to provide comfort in his anxiousness, “You don’t need to be embarrassed or worried, y’know I won’t judge you.”
Michael gazed at you, lip now caught between his teeth, as he debated the words in his head—eyes swimming in your own in an attempt to find any malice or dishonesty. He found none, and sighed, accepting defeat.
“I wanted to know if maybe you wanted to, when we …make love, you wanted to not use a—oh, Jesus—a …condom.”
The silence that followed was short, the only sound filling Michael’s apprehensive ears was the loud thumping of his own racing heartbeat—before your soft, sweet giggles filled it.
“Oh, Mikey, is that what it was all this time?” You breathed with a wide smile, “Baby, you’re so adorable.”
“Stop, Tink! I’m serious.”
If even at all possible, your smile grew deeper at his flushed, nervous frame, hands back picking at your socks as he awaited your real response.
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Yes, Michael. I do want to.”
Michael swallowed thickly—eyes darting up swiftly to meet your own as your agreement hit him. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but such a quick, nonchalant response was definitely not it.
“R—Really? You do?” Michael breathed, almost stunned at the causality of your words.
“Yes, honey.” You smiled, your hand moving to cup his cheek, the red-hot blush creeping through your skin as you connected with him, “We’ve been together long enough now, I trust you.”
And that’s how you ended up stark naked, clothes discarded on the floor beneath the bed, yes even your bunny socks!, and between Michael’s spread legs. His head lay comfortably against the headboard as you met his lips—whining softly into the kiss as his tongue brushed into your mouth with the practiced ease of a long-term, established boyfriend. Adjusting in your spot, Michael’s half-hard dick brushed against the skin of your forearm—a groan spilling from his lips, into yours, length jumping where it rest against his abdomen.
Your hand, nimble and precise, slipped between your connected bodies at the lips, and wrapped firmly around the thick, warm base of him. Michael parted from your lips momentarily, head lolling back against the wood of your headboard, eyes fluttering shut, as the sensation of your small hand curling around him sent thumping blood flooding into the direction of where you held. While he was preoccupied succumbing to the pleasure, you took the opportunity to spit into your palm, switching hands to your more confident, and instantly begin a slow, rhythmic pumping of his cock.
“S-Shit! Tinka, just like that.” Michael breathed, the loud shlick! shlick! shlick! of your methodical fist around his stiff length filled the room, mingling deliciously with his unashamed whines of pleasure.
His clit-throbbingly beautiful whines only increased as you peppered kisses along the column of his throat—occasionally nipping at the skin to gauge his reaction, which came willingly with each graze of your teeth and suck of the skin. Your hand remained working on him—a slow, almost teasing curl of your wrist each time you’d make it to the thick base, before tightening ever so slightly around the shaft, and then squeezing gently at the head, thumb swiping over his tip, collecting the drooling pre-cum onto your digits as added lubricant, in a fluid movement.
Michael was a whimpering mess, head fallen back, eyes rolled into his skull, mouth agape letting the prettiest noises fall from his plump lips—all the while letting his cock twitch violently in your grasp. With another swipe of your thumb over the head, Michael jerked his hips upwards involuntarily, a low groan scratching from deep in his chest at the stimulation.
“C—Come up here, baby.” He rasped, eyes now forced open to meet yours, that ogled him hungrily.
You shuffled, hand still enclosed around his shaft, up the bed, straddling his meaty thighs. You got comfortable, resting your weight on his legs, as you began your slow, torturous pace once more.
Michael wasted no time—his hands instantaneously coming up to grab a hold of the fat of your hips, kneading the skin beneath his calloused palms. With precision only a boyfriend of eighteen months would have, Michael’s hands slipped between your legs—hands massaging your inner thighs, tempting you to pleasure. A quiet mewl escaped you as his touch left a hot, burning residue over your skin—like his hands were made of fire, as they etched closer to where you drooled.
“Oh, mama.” Michael panted, his fingers coming in direct contact with your seeping arousal that painted your inner thighs, “This all f’me?”
“Mmh—“ A whine escaped you as his fingers trailed higher and higher, “Just for you, baby.”
Michael hummed, satisfied with your response, before swiping a singular finger through your soaking wet lips—digits collecting your ecstatic essence on his fingers, the tip of his finger catching your clit with each stroke. Your back arched instantly into the touch, a quiet whimper tumbling from your lips before you could stop it, as your hand slightly tightened around his cock.
Michael hissed at the sensation, “Shit—You like that, mama? You like it when I touch you like that, hm?”
You nodded quickly, a soft, almost inaudible moan left you, as his pressed the pad of his finger directly onto your throbbing pearl—applying the perfect pressure to leave you breathless and wanting more.
“Can I put one inside you, baby?”
“Please, please, Michael—Ah!”
In one slippery, swift movement, the long slenderness of his middle finger filled you—the sheer length of his nimble digits instantly forcing you to double over. You moaned loudly by the shell of his ear, feminine and sensual, the noise going straight to where you stroked Michael—a similar noise mixing with your own. Michael, knowing you so well, curled his fingers upwards to your front wall—the pad of his finger rubbing, at a delicious pace, against the spot inside you that had you crying out.
“Oh, yeah? That the spot, baby? Right there?” He huffed, breath hot against your cheek, before he pressed a tender kiss there.
“Yes—God—right there!”
Your hand never stopped its stroking—clamped down in a perfect grip around his leaking dick as he worked his finger inside you. Soon enough, a second finger slipped in—the stretch of his thick, lengthy digits sending you breathless and whining, the intensity of the magic of his hands making you flushed and sweating from the arousal.
“Mama, I need—Mmmh—Sweetheart, I need you. Need to feel you, please.” Michael begged, his Bambi, doe-eyes meeting your blown-out ones as you forced yourself up from his neck.
“Okay, honey, okay, I—oh, God—I’m ready.”
With another quick hum of agreement, Michael hoisted you up from his lap, two strong hands under your arms, and rose from the bed. He laid you down gently, a hand coming up to cradle your head to soften the fall, as your bare back hit the cool cotton. Michael hovered over you, leaning down to press rushed, messy kisses to your swollen lips, tongue swirling your own, and nipping at your bottom lip excitedly.
Straightening up, Michael took a firm hold of his hardened dick, stroking it softly in his fist, before guiding it between your parted legs.
“You sure you’re ready, mama?”
Your heart, already burning with ecstatic desire, warmed at his thoughtful nature—nodding briskly as he lifted your legs smoothly, hooking them over his broad shoulders. He instantly guided his dick towards where you drooled—your arousal now coating your puffy lips, trickling out of you like a faucet.
With a singular slide of his dick between your bare, slick folds, his length coated in your arousal, mixing with his own pre-cum, Michael ripped a groan from his throat. You too gasped—the scorching heat of his plump, mushroom-headed tip gliding over your exposed sex sent shockwaves of electricity flying through you.
“Oh—Oh, God, Tink.” Michael whined, eyebrows scrunched up his forehead, “Y’so—Shit—You’re so warm, oh my.”
“Michael, please,” You panted, desperate to feel him, “Stop teasin’ and put it in, please.”
“O—Okay, baby, I’ll make y’feel good, ‘promise.”
With ease, Michael guided his throbbing dick towards your clenching entrance, and with a lewd pop!, the head caught—and for the first time, he slid in. Raw.
The unison cry of pleasure that left both of you was pornographic—your head threw back against the sheets, the overwhelming sensation of his thick, hot, unprotected dick sliding into your tight, slick pussy had you seeing stars, and he hadn’t even bottomed out. As for Michael, he was already seeing things—not stars, but, more so, hearts. He’d never felt something so incredible in all his life—he was certain this feeling, the spasming, wetness of your bare sex, clenching around him like you didn’t want to ever let him go, was going to change your sex life forever.
“Holy shit, baby.” Michael groaned, voice cracking ever so slightly as he finally buried himself to the hilt—dick nudging your cervix from the size of him, and stretching you out to near max capacity.
Michael wasn’t one for cursing—so you knew in this moment he’d never felt anything so sensational.
“Fuck, baby—mmnh—move, honey, please.” You begged, your voice nearing on a sob as the sensation of his cock twitching inside you flowed through you like water down a dry gullet.
Michael moved swiftly—like he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving you unsatisfied for one moment—and pulled back, before slamming back in. Your back curved into a ‘C’ shape as it arched off the sheets—his cock already abusing your G-spot even after the first delicious thrust.
Michael was loosing it already—now nestling his face into the crook of your ankle, pressing sloppy kisses to the skin, whining into the flesh that danced with your perfume, as he dragged his dick in and out, in and out, in and out—each time as beautifully arousing as the last.
“Jesus Christ, Tink, I—I’ve—oh my God—never felt anything like this.” He revealed, eyes turning to your fucked-out expression, “Y’got the most perfect, beautiful pussy in the whole world, girl—shit!”
His name fell from your lips in a seductive, sensual manner—chanting it like a crazed fan of his in a crowd, like the only thing your brain could even fathom was his name. Michael continued smothering his face in your ankle, occasionally pressing kisses to your pedicured toes—whimpering about how every part of you, head to toe, was pure perfection. How he couldn’t believe how he landed with a girl like you.
He was star-struck.
Just like always, whenever Michael would press you into the mattress and take you with the magic between his legs, a mind-numbing orgasm crept up your spine—tingling deep in your abdomen. The blabbering began—his dick still splitting you in half as his hips rolled desperately fast into your crotch, his coarse, curly pubic hairs dragging along your clit with the perfect friction.
“Mich—Fuck, baby!—Michael, I’m gonna—Oh! Ah! I’m gonna cum!” You cried out, louder than you anticipated and now secretly thankful you lived alone in your California apartment.
Michael whimpered at the reveal of your pleasure—his body jerking forward to nestle into your front, still rutting into you like a dog in heat. With every practiced, harsh thrust of his hips, dick repeatedly abusing the toe-curling spot inside you, your orgasm approached faster and faster, like a train going a thousand miles an hour. And that out-of-this world orgasm only hit you head on, like a saucepan to the forehead, as Michael’s plush lips wrapped around your pebbled nipple—swirling his tongue around the erect nub, before sucking with pristine suction.
“Michael!”
It was sensational—the magnitude of the orgasm that washed over you was nothing like you’d ever felt. The pressure of his mouth on your breast, his hands gripping your ankles that still rest upon his shoulders, or the prominent vein on the underside of his shaft that dragged along your fluttering walls—all contributed to slamming you head-first into a crippling release. Your legs violently shook, calves tensed and spasming on his shoulders, back arched into a brutal curve, eyes slammed shut, and half-rolled to the back of your head, and mouth taut in an ‘O’ shape as your pussy clamped down him viciously.
“O—Oh, God, sweetheart.” Michael panted, entranced by your heavenly reaction, “Thaaaat’s it, that’s it, Tinka, cum for me. Cum alllll over me, baby.”
Michael, even despite you aggressively clenching and twitching around him as you orgasmed, never let up his thrusts—continuing, faster than before, jackhammering his dick impossibly deeper as he chased his own release, grunting and groaning into your ear.
“Shit, shit, shit, love, where—Holy shit—where d’ya want me? Where d’ya want it, sweetheart?” He panted, chest heaving against your own, your perked nipples grazing over his skin, dripping with sweat.
“Inside!”
“What?”
“I—Inside, Michael, please!” You cried, eyes still clamped shut, nails dragging down his bare back, clawing at his skin as the overstimulation fashioned itself deep in your core as he relentlessly pounded into you.
“Oh, God, oh God—oh, Tink, I love you. I love you! I love you! I love y—I’m gonna—Ah!”
Crying out nearly as loud as you, Michael forced his violently throbbing dick as deep as he could go—body jerking and convulsing as he pulsed inside you. The sensation of Michael’s hot, thick spurts of cum flooding your pussy was like no other—it was otherworldly. And he came twice as hard as he would do with a condom wrapped around his pretty cock—and twice as much fluids. Michael could fill a condom pretty impressively—but this was different. With every subconscious, uncontrollable stutter of his hips as he whimpered into the crook of your neck, cum still spurting from him like a leaky tap, his release squelched loudly—now forced out the insanely small gap between his girth and your clenching walls, drooling down his exposed base, to his tightened balls, and onto the bedsheets below.
For a while, neither of you moved. Michael stilled inside you, now softening slowly inside your impossibly wet sex, filled to the brim with his release, mixing with your own creamy essence, as he heaved onto the sticky flesh of your collarbone. Your hands scattered across his back, fingers now tracing the lines you carved into his skin.
Finally, Michael, with a loud huff, lifted himself from your skin on two forearms pressed deeply into the plush of the mattress. Your eyes met, and a soft, warm bubble of giggles left both of your swollen lips—utterly enthralled by one another.
“That was…”
“Yeah.”
Another round of breathless laughter left you both, blushes creeping up your cheeks as the reality of what you’d just acted out hit your conscious brain.
Michael leaned down, pressed a loving, gentle kiss to your lips, humming softly into your mouth, beginning a slow, sensual kiss, still locked deeply inside you, even in his flaccid state.
Pulling away with a sweet mwah!, Michael smiled cheekily down at you, “I’m throwing that condom box away.”
nearly maxed out tags cus i’m crazy and just have so much love in my heart i wanted to tag everyone but i had to condense so i’m sorry if i missed anyone also but just know i love you all so bad
also a lot of you i haven’t interacted with in a long time and i feel bad abt that🙁 and some ppl that i tagged haven’t even been active since last year or longer like omg pls come back soon i miss you guys 😣😣
OMG THANK YOU SM BABY I MISS INTERACTING WITH YOU TOO<\3
my most favourite people here🙂↕️: @cherryvvave @moviecritc @bloomcissa @cryptic-doe @rh1nestcned @lechelovestoyap @luviery @vianawaits @scissorhvnds @dreamersentity @kamislop @batwngs @sakunai @mystiquevoid @1nsignia @patientofarkhamasylum @arfemiz @froggibus @tinafication @bitemysin @torupng @brinawing @biovomit @evilmanhater @gr0und-zer00 (i'm sorry if i didn't tag someone, but know that you're very dear to me too<3)
i feel like i don't say it enough, but i love you all, and y'all are very very dear to me. here on tumblr i found the community i feel sort of belonging to and with who i have experienced peak girlhood♥️
GAH STOP THIS IS SO SWEET siri how do i tag all of my 150+ mutuals-
i'm going to tag some of my babygirls and if i miss some PLEASE DON'T TAKE IT PERSONALLY i love and cherish all my lovely mooties :( even if we don't interact much
: ̗̀➛ imagine accidentally falling asleep with your best friend michael, only to wake up to the sweet sounds of his whimpers in the night due to a wet dream...of you. 18+
ᰔ the bedroom is dead silent, save for the soft hum of the rain outside. you stir under the heavy comforter, blinking through the dark as sleep slowly fades away.
you’re wrapped in the sudden, furnace-like heat radiating from michael beside you. you’d both fallen asleep after a movie marathon, tangled up in blankets like always. but something feels different. a low, hitching breath breaks the quiet.
michael is lying on his back, his jaw tense and dark curls clinging to his forehead. his hips roll—a slow, helpless tilt that presses his body flush against your side. a faint, involuntary moan catches in his throat as his eyes remain tightly shut, locked in a vivid dream.
his fingers grip the sheet near your waist as another desperate, rolling motion passes through him, his body seeking relief right against your hip. he arches slightly, letting out a soft, raspy sigh as he whimpers your name into the quiet room, breathy and desperate—"baby... please"—completely unaware that you're awake and feeling every involuntary movement.
𑣲 GINA SPEAKS: Happy Birthday papa man 💋 heed these warnings. inspired by my own fic + this masterpiece by @syrndollie 🐆 I’ll talk to y’all later… 🙂↕️
ON THE JUKEBOX: ‘The Devil You Know’ — X Ambassadors, ‘505’ cover by Nessa Barrett, ‘Lipstick’ by Ariel Pink 𑣲
“What the hell are they called? The Pink what?”
“The Pink Fangs, get it right before we get in here”
Jaafar Jackson turned up his nose a little as he inched forward in the group, closer towards the security guarded entrance where tickets were scanned, where body pats were performed, and bags were checked.
The California night air had a soft fog to it, a certain smell, a certain look to the sky that told anyone precipitation was near.
“I still can’t believe you brought me here, I don’t even know these people, let alone listen to them” Jaafar complained, crossing his arms and wearing a look of annoyance.
None of it seemed to affect his younger brother, his older brother, or even his older sister. They were fucking beaming.
Jermajesty Jackson turned to his irritated older brother, clapping down both hands onto his jacket clad shoulders. A smile on his face that Jaafar couldn’t get with.
“It’s not for you to know, you just need to get your ass out of your house and have a social life. You’ve been too cooped up and in those same walls. I’ll tell you what, if you make it through this with us tonight, we’ll do whatever you want—“
“I never said that!” Genevieve Jackson’s voice cut through.
“Neither did I. For the record, I was perfectly fine with you staying home, ‘Far, I know this isn’t your scene. Blame this idiot” Randy Jackson Jr chimed in.
Jaafar stared at his baby brother.
“I will do whatever you want.. just see this through with me, okay? You’ll have a great time, I know it”
Jaafar only huffed and proceeded forward in the line. Inside of the amphitheater was clean and tidy but the minute he stepped into the set up of the room, it looked trashed on purpose.
Glitter everywhere, wristbands, on the ground, cut up pieces of merchandise shirts, streaks of decorative black paper. It was meant to look a mess. Like a rave.
‘What the hell did I get myself into?’ The man thought as he adjusted his glasses.
Jermajesty took everyone to their front row seats, super close to the open pit sectioned off by a silver barricade. They were close enough to see everything.
“Are you excited?” Genevieve nudged next to him, her brother only gave her a look. “Dumb question— I know, but just try to relax. I think you’ll really like their music and they’re really talented. Look—“
The stage occupied with the musicians apart of the group who stood conversing amongst themselves, tuning their instruments. Three males and they all wore black.
Genevieve pointed to the dirty blonde.
“The bass player is Cato Sinclair, easily one of the best bass players in their music genre”
She points to the deeply olive colored man.
“On the drums, that’s Tristan McMichael. He played those same drums for some of the most famous bands in the world, he’s been all over”
Lastly, a chiseled dark skinned man, sporting a low buzz cut like his annoying younger brother.
“On the guitar is Caleb Robinson. Got recognition from Gene Simmons and the rest of fucking KISS. He even got to tour with them for a year. They’re all super talented”
But there was one spot missing, one star missing.
Jaafar frowned softly, “and who sings?”
As if on cue, the lights to the arena went low causing cheers to emit. Genevieve only smirked, the rest of the siblings began clapping.
White strobe lights coursed the crowd, fake fog clouded the stage. It was like magic and Jaafar couldn’t turn away.
“My west coast blood suckers, are you ready to feast tonight?” Your voice was rich, sweet, and seductive. The crowd seemed to go even crazier.
But it was nothing compared to when you finally appeared, the fog parting.
‘But who sings?’
“She does” Genevieve said from Jaafar’s left.
You stood in the dead center of the stage, a microphone stand just before you.
Body curved from stone and salaciously draped in a black leather two piece, you sported red bottom dagger heels. Your face was beautifully haunting and if you were Medusa, Jaafar knew he’d be fucked.
Confidence dripped from you and made your aura so overwhelming. It’s like the crowd’s noise energized you more. Made you even sexier.
Your red hair complimented the all black you donned, freshly pressed curls draping down your shoulders.
“Holy shit” Jaafar mumbled to himself, still unable to pull his gaze away from you.
“That’s the lead singer, the face of The Pink Fangs, (Y/N) (Y/L/N)”
An intro track began to play, you held onto the microphone and swayed, beginning to sing. Your voice was like sirens to a desperate man lost at sea— angelic, distracting, soft, but so fucking alluring.
Your eyes scanned the crowd naturally, not letting the music mess you up. You were a professional. A magnetic force pulled you to a certain group at the front, they all were looking at you.
But a beautiful pair of soft browns behind semi thick frames lit your fuse. Tousled low cut curls and the prettiest baby face you’d ever seen. Oh god…
‘Is she looking at me?’ Jaafar thought.
Still you performed, still you worked. But the stranger made your heart race.. not to mention you could hear his.. the thick blood rushing throughout his body.
“I know y’all know this one, sing it for me!”
Unknowingly, Jaafar felt himself nodding to the beat of every song that passed.
The music was good, he couldn’t lie. His siblings beside him cheered way more and way louder than him, obviously.
But it was something about watching you that he was slowly unable to get enough of. The way you commanded the stage, the way you hugged the microphone stand and sang. Eyes closed, moaning out your vocals.
Jaafar was blown away to say the least. Maybe a little hot under all of this collars too.
By the middle of the set, you take the mic off of the stand, the venue workers moved on stage to clear the area.
In the same breath, the crowd began getting excited. Including his siblings. Jaafar frowned, turning to Genevieve.
“What’s going on?”
His sister wears an excited smile, “I’ve seen this so many times. This is the part of the show— part of the song where she brings someone on stage—“
Your voice cuts through on the mic, “alright my little night owls, if you’ve been to a Fangs concert before or you’ve seen it online, you already know what it means when you see this chair here”
Your smile was something like the chesire cat— menacing but so sexy, lips drawn out perfectly with a dark brown liner.
“For those that don’t know, this is the part of the show where I pluck out my perfect little bat from the audience and… give them quite the treat..”
Everyone seemed to know except Jaafar. He called to his sister, even leaning over to his brothers.
“What does she do?”
Just as all three of them opened their mouths to guide the man, your voice once again filled his head.
“I want him”
Suddenly it felt like the entire venue went silent, blood rushed in Jaafar’s ears. He made the mistake of looking forward.
Your sharp manicured nail pointed right at him.
“You in the glasses, just the cutest bloodsucker I think I’ve ever seen. Come up here with me tonight?”
It’s not like the man could respond and it wasn’t like you were asking either.
Cheers rang out everywhere, supportive pats on his arms and back from his siblings yet it felt like time had slowed down. Everything in slow motion.
A security guard came into Jaafar’s line of sight, ushering him from the seats and behind the stage. His soul wasn’t in his body as he moved.
What the fuck?
When he finally reached the stage, his eyes immediately locked with yours. You donned the same smile as he approached. You held out your hand for him to take.. his incredibly large, warm hand..
“Hi cutie” you beamed. You were prettier up close. “I’m (Y/N), what’s your name?”
Jaafar could only stare at you. He prayed you didn’t see his blush burning cheeks.
“J-Jaafar”
“Jaafar.. I really like that. You’re so much cuter on this stage from those seats”
Ever so bold, your hand shot out and caressed his chin. It took everything in him not to preen out like a fucking cat.
“Jaafar, have you ever been to our shows before?”
He shook his head. “No ma’am”
“Oooh, fresh blood? Even better. So all you’re gonna do is sit in that chair and look even prettier than you are while I sing a little something to you. Can you do that for me?”
He only nodded making you smile wider. You hadn’t let go of his face, your stiletto nailed thumb ran over the skin under his lip.
“Good boy” you winked, “come take a seat”
With your hand still in his, you guided Jaafar to the chair.
“Alright my loves, let’s show Jaafar here a great time tonight!”
Jaafar still felt out of his body, time melted into nothing.
You sang like you said you would and it lulled him even deeper into your trance.. not to mention whenever you’d stare into his eyes.
The loud music vibrated through the stage and under his feet. The feeling of your hand on his shoulder and your scent brought him back to reality.
“You ready?” You whispered in his ear, he nodded. You shook your head and sang out. “I need words, sweetheart”
Before he knew it, you planted yourself firmly in his lap, making the man gasp. His eyes widened, staring up at you. Your legs on both sides of his thighs, leather clad core right atop of him.
“I said are you ready, are you ready, baby?” In his ear.
“I-I.. I don’t k-know—“ Jaafar tried to say. All you did was giggle, still singing.
Your lower half danced against his, one arm wrapped around the back of the chair to steady yourself. God, it was a sight to see and Jaafar couldn’t believe it was real.
That was until your next trick. You firmed yourself in his lap and completely tipped your body backwards, the top of your head just barely touching the stage floor.
Still you sang into the mic, moaning out an alluring tune.
Using your own leverage, you lifted yourself back up and leaned forward, your chest pressing against his jacket clad chest. So skilled, your hips anchored back and began grinding shamelessly in Jaafar’s lap.
His groans were quiet, he did his best to stifle his noises as he watched you work. You were—
“S-so sexy”
You caught that and sent him a wink. But nothing compared to your last move of the night— you slid off of him and stood up.
In a swift motion, your heels planted on the both sides of the wooden chair, your body ever so tall and lean before him.
His blushing eyes and cheeks face to face with your lower stomach.
Gripping the mic in one hand, you still sang out the tune. Your other hand slid behind Jaafar’s neck and up into his hair, mushing his head against your leather clothed womb.
Timidly, the man held onto your ankles, having no idea where to put his limbs without being weird.
When you dropped down, Jaafar felt his body being pulled up and your arms around him. Suddenly the noise came back to his ears, the crowd was going fucking insane.
“You did so good for me, thank you for joining me!” You sweetly muttered into his ear, your face slid into his neck to place a peck there.
Instead he felt your teeth and a nip at his skin.
Jaafar hissed out, immediately feeling warmth drip down his neck. His hand reached up to cup the injury spot, the poor man knew it was blood.
Jaafar’s smile was nervous as he eyed you, “you’re w-welcome.. um, do you have a bandaid or something? I think you—“
Softly gasping, your eyes widened. “Oh, I’m so, so sorry. C’mere—“
Pulling Jaafar behind the curtains, you grabbed a spare towel and gently pulled his hand back. Indeed there was a cut, deep red blood pooling at the spot.
“I’m really sorry, Jaafar” you mumbled as you patted the site, “it was an accident, truly. I think I..” you took a deep breath, “I-I got a little carried away with the performance.. I hope you can forgive me”
His mind raced. You suddenly got so breathy and distracted… unfortunately Jaafar would come to find out later.
The pad of the bandaid closed over, “good as new” you suddenly kissed his cheek, “c’mon, I’ll take you back to your seat”
With your hand in his, Jaafar followed you like a lost puppy. He still couldn’t process the events that transpired even as his mind was coming back into his body.
When he made his way back to his ecstatic siblings, he felt you squeeze his hand. The other waved to the others.
Your eyes met his once last time, “come to another show soon, yeah?”
“I-I’ll try to, thank you”
With a sly wink, you sent him off, giving one last set of waves and air blown kisses to Genevieve, Randy Jr, and Jermajesty.
“Dude, are you fucking kidding me?!” Genevieve.
“You have no idea how lucky you are to have her pick you” Randy Jr.
“What happened to your neck?” Jermajesty.
Jaafar reached up to touch the bandaid covered area once again.
“Hang tight, okay? The show’s almost done and we’ll take you home”
Home didn’t feel like home in the following weeks after the concert.
There was an immediate energy shift even when Jaafar walked inside his empty home. It felt heavy, it felt strong, it felt occupied.
When the lethargy kicked in that following morning, Jaafar knew it was normal. Post concert fatigue.
But when nightfall came, things felt odd. He ate dinner and finished off the night like normal but when his head hit the pillow, sleep never came. Not how it typically did for him.
10 PM bled into 12 AM. His eyes had finally shut for some time. Except when his body woke him up again, his digital clock hit 3 AM.
“How’re you doing?” One of his siblings asked him through the speaker of his phone.
“I can’t sleep for shit and even when I do, I feel like I haven’t slept at all”
“Since the concert?”
“Since the concert” Jaafar confirmed. “But that’s not even the worst thing”
“What could be worse than that?”
The insomnia haunted him for two weeks. But it was nothing compared to one morning when he opened his front door.
An easy plethora of crows on his lawn, laid out. Dead. Almost like they’d just fallen out of the sky.
“Are you serious?!” They asked, voice laced in concern, “just— on your grass dead like that?”
“Yes” Jaafar stood near the window that peered out to the neighborhood.
Hazmat suit wearing officials used reaching tools to pick up the dead birds, placing them in bins.
“I don’t have any sort of pesticides or anything to kill birds on my grass, I have no clue what’s going on”
To say he was spooked was an understatement, not to mention the heavy rains and gloomy weather seemingly every day.
“Do you need Mom to come pray for you? Or with you? I can have her bring over someone from the church—“
“No, no, don’t tell her. I don’t want her freaking out. I’m not being harmed and that’s all that matters. Things feel weird but it’s not like I can’t handle it—“
“Jaafar, are you sure?”
Jaafar took a breath. ‘No’
“Yes. All of this will blow over, I’m positive”
“I didn’t tell Mom about what was happening but I told her you weren’t feel good”
Jaafar descended the last set of steps and into the foyer. Phone in hand and Jermajesty on speaker.
“She told me to call and check on you”
Jaafar rolled his eyes and adjusted his glasses, “why would you say anything in the first place?”
“You told Randy Jr not to say anything, not me. Besides, I didn’t tell her full story. Are you sleeping better? Any more dead birds on your lawn?”
Entering the kitchen, the older guy opened his fridge, reaching into the bottom and grabbing a bottle of water.
“Thankfully no. They’ve been around my house a lot for some reason but they’re all alive. Sleep? It’s getting better, no more waking up at 3 AM”
His younger brother sounded relieved, “well good, I’m not sure what you went through but it sounds like it’s over. Have you been listening to ‘The Pink Fangs’ since the concert? I saw you bobbing your head from time to time, I know you like them”
Just hearing the band name immediately had Jaafar thinking of you.
Sure he had a great time as far as the sound but he couldn’t get the stage incident out of his head if he tried.
And boy, did he try.
Any time his eyes closed, he saw your face. So feline like, so enticing, so scarily beautiful. He heard your voice, calling his name in his dreams like the siren you were.
He still felt your hands in his hair, his face on your body, your lower half stirring up his loins in that leather—
“Hello?”
Jaafar shook himself from his escalating mind. “Uh, I haven’t, honestly. Just been.. a bit busy with things”
“Yeah, I get it. I’ll keep putting you on game though. Whaddya got going on tonight? Staying in?”
Jaafar sighed, taking another swig from the cold plastic bottle.
“Got another day and night of rain so I’ll be chilling inside. I ordered some pizza so I’ll eat on that, watch some movies, the usual with me”
Jermajesty agreed, his rambling began. Suddenly the shrill sound of his doorbell alerted him. Phone in his grip, Jaafar walked to his front door.
“This is probably my pizza, Maj, hold on”
The rain poured heavily and loudly, he knew it’d make for a peaceful night in and a great night’s sleep. Pulling the door open, Jaafar was met with the complete opposite.
“Hi there— oh! It’s you, Jaafar, right?”
You stood on his porch, curly red hair completely drenched from the rain and cascading down your shoulders.
You dressed similarly to the concert— but instead of a two piece, you donned a black leather mini dress and matching oversized jacket. Knee high stiletto boots on your feet.
You smiled the same sly smile that burned his mind. Despite the pouring mess outside.
“Uh, y-yeah— Maj, let me call you back”
“Why—“ But Jaafar quickly hung up, sliding his phone in his back pocket.
“I’m so sorry, I’ve been going door to door hoping someone answered but I guess the rain is so loud people didn’t hear me.. but it looks like you did”
Jaafar gulped, still standing there looking both surprised and dumbfounded.
“Um— again, I’m sorry if I’m disturbing you but my tour bus broke down a few miles from this neighborhood and I’m kinda stranded out here. I was wondering if you had a house phone or if I could use your phone to call one of my boys to pick me up?”
With the more he looked in your eyes, the more the man probably should’ve said no. Despite seeing the prettiest twinkle and softest plea.
If he knew what was good for him, he would’ve said no. Instead—
“Uh, sure! O-of course, you can use my phone”
You grinned, “oh great, thank you so much. Can I come in?”
The question was a bit odd….
“Of course” Jaafar, ever the gentleman, stepped aside. You stepped through the threshold as the front door closed behind you.
He handed you his opened device, allowing you to key in a phone number. He watched you carefully put the phone to your ear, trying not to get it too wet.
“Hello… Caleb it’s (Y/N), I got lucky going door to door and I’m using a friend’s phone, hey, my bus stopped and I’m stranded. How far are you to come pick me up for the show?”
Jaafar couldn’t help but to stand there, he tried not to appear awkward. He just couldn’t believe he was seeing you again… in his house.
“… shit, okay, I’ll just… I’ll see what I can do. If anything changes, I’ll call you… okay thanks, bye”
Suddenly your confident aura dimmed to something a bit more somber and disappointed. You hung up and handed Jaafar his phone back.
“Is everything alright?” He gently pressed.
“My buddy won’t be this way for the next hour so I’m really stuck” your smile faltered, “but I won’t ruin your night, I’ll try my luck at a motel or something”
You reached out and squeezed the hand at Jaafar’s side.
“Thank you again for letting me in” you walked towards the front door, ready to pull it open.
If the man knew what was good for him, he would’ve let you on your way.
Instead—
“Wait” he softly called out, making you halt and look over your shoulder, “it-it’s raining really bad out there a-and.. you walked all the way out here. You can just stay here and wait”
“Are you sure?”
Of course he was. To you, Jaafar didn’t really have much of a choice.. not that he needed to know that.
“You’re not intruding. It’s better than being stuck outside, I don’t mind. Here, stay put and I’ll get you a towel to dry off”
You caught his hand once more before he retreated, his sweet brown eyes dazzled. “You’re such a sweetheart, thank you”
The blush spread wildly across his cheeks, he really hoped you didn’t see it.
When Jaafar returned, he found you sitting on his couch, your jacket discarded and your mini dress clad body exposed.
Tattoos littered both of your arms and your neck. God, you were unreal. He smiled nervously as he approached with the towel.
“Thank you again, really” you draped the linen across your shoulders, “for what it’s worth, I’m glad it was your door I knocked on, I’ve been thinking about you a lot”
His eyebrows rose, “thinking about me?”
You nodded, you patted the spot on the couch next to you, turning your body inward. Jaafar’s movements felt against his will, feet moving to you.
“You really caught my eye during the show and I’m still really happy you came on stage with me. A lot of fans get really wild and handsy during that part of the performance but you were so perfect. So cautious, so sweet, and so respectful”
Soon, he was back in your space and smelling your scent. Your eyes scanned his face and dropped to his neck— the bandaid long gone, his scar healed.
“I’m sorry again for that.. your neck—“
“Oh, it’s okay. Don’t worry—“
“No seriously, I just— I was so hungry before I went on stage, I hadn’t eaten but I should’ve controlled my urges better. I’m so sorry, Jaafar”
Your hand shot up to cup the side of his neck, caressing the previously injured spot. Jaafar frowned.
“Hungry?”
You nodded, “really hungry… I still am… still really haven’t eaten but part of it’s my fault..”
The air had suddenly turned up, becoming much more charged. You moved closer to Jaafar, your legs touching.
Any and all breath caught in Jaafar’s throat, his heart raced fast, blood pumping in his ears. You pushed out your pheromones loudly, so suffocating that it was all Jaafar consumed.
“W-why haven’t you eaten?” He mumbled. “I can m-make you something if you want..”
You giggled devilishly, tilting your head at the man.
“I think you’d taste better than food, baby”
This time when you smiled, he immediately made out sharp canine fangs and streaked dark red veins under your eyes that turned a shade darker than they already were.
His eyes beneath his glasses widened in shock, his body jolted back, across the complete other side of the couch. Fear coursed his body something like he’d never known.
“What the fuck!”
You didn’t have to use much of your power to keep Jaafar right where you wanted him, it was easy. He watched you crawl over to him before straddling your body across his lap, your arms around his neck.
Your face dipped into his neck, steadily placing full, wet kisses on his bronze skin. Your hips ground hard against his, your cotton panties brushing along his jeans.
You were a—
“Say it” you whispered in his ear, the sharp ends of your teeth nibbling at the lobe. “I hear what you’re thinking and I know you know. You’re a smart boy, Jaafar, you know what I am.. say it for me”
He groaned pathetically, eyes fluttering closed. “A vampire”
That earned him that same piece of his ear lobe wrapped around your tongue.
“You don’t have to run from me, Jaafar, ‘m not gonna hurt you.. I don’t want to hurt you… I just want you, that’s all..”
From his ear lobe down to his jaw, from his jaw to the corners of his mouth. You peered into his worrisome eyes.
“I promise I’ll make you feel so good” kiss. “So fucking good.. I’ll take real good care of you” kiss. “Tell me to stop, tell me to get off of you, tell me you don’t want this”
You didn’t need to use any power at all. Jaafar gasped desperately, all of his own inhibitions loosening if not completely going away.
You felt all tension in his body relax, his heart rate still upping. Those beautiful big brown eyes peered into yours pathetically.
“Please”
It was the easiest ‘yes’ you needed. When Jaafar blinked, you were tugging on the waistband of his jeans and sinking to the floor before him.
“It’s b-been a while since this happened. I’m a little rusty— mhmph— o-oh god!”
The air caressed his bare cock just as you pulled him out, he was perfectly thick, his heaviness unlike what you filthily imagined.
“Fuck, you’re gorgeous”
Your mouth was on him shortly after that. Your tongue swirled eagerly around his head, hollowing your cheeks to take in a full inch.
The expanse of your mouth welcomed his cock impressively. A torturous warm and wet fit that—
“F-feels so… good.. ngh!” Jaafar brokenly cried out. His head lolled along the couch cushion behind him, his hands scratching at the cushion underneath him.
You hummed out a giggle, not pulling away from your work. One of your hands held him at the base and began twisting at his shaft.
Maybe it had been such a long time since this happened but Jaafar’s first orgasm was already approaching. His lower stomach tightened in familiarity.
You could hear it in the way his heart beat.
“Mhmm, ‘m so close.. won’t last long i-if you keep d-doing that… oh fuck..” Jaafar moaned, his hips restlessly moving from beneath, very subtly trying to move away from your torture.
Still you didn’t let up, still you kept blowing his fucking mind. Deeper and deeper until he hit the back of your throat. Your hand around his girth gripped tighter— that did it.
Jaafar cried out into the air of his living room, the coil in his gut snapping. His release came in long spurts on your tongue, warm and perfectly salty.
“Please.. please it’s t-too much..”
But it was nothing compared to what you had in store for him.
Before either of you knew it, you were hauling yourself up and back into Jaafar’s lap. One hand on his face, the other steadying his cock and rubbing it against your sopping, eager folds.
“Beg for it— beg for me” you pecked his lips, “tell me you wanna feel this pussy around you.. she’s so wet, I know you feel it, baby” another kiss.
Jaafar whimpered against your lips, his pretty face contorting into pure pleasure and bliss.
“C’mon.. you don’t wanna be my good boy tonight? Don’t wanna talk to mommy anymore? Maybe I should just get off of you—“
Immediately, the man beneath you grabbed onto your clothed hips and shook his head vigorously.
“No, please. Please stay, I’ll do anything. I-I wanna feel you.. ‘want your pussy, mommy” Jaafar mumbled brokenly.
He stared up at you with blown, teary irises. Browns full of complete submission. The sight was enough to send your patience into overdrive.
A growl crawled out of your throat as you began sinking onto his hard rod. Until you completely bottomed out.
Shifting your body onto your feet, you began bouncing. Something slow, something teasing.. but it was enough for Jaafar to lose his mind. His eyes rolled, his head lolling to the side.
But you weren’t having it.
Sliding a hand into the back of his head, you gripped his hair hard.
“Your eyes on me at all times, you understand?” Immediately he nodded, “I wanna see how fucking good you take what I give you, I don’t care how good it feels. D’you wanna make mommy upset?”
Jaafar shook his head, the tears pushing down his cheeks, “No, I don’t”
“You wanna be my good boy, right?”
“Yes!”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, mommy!”
That earned him a full kiss on his lips and your pace increasing. A kiss full of desire and desperation, his mouth opened at the feel of your tongue and you wasted no time caressing yours with his.
The pleasure turned itself up more notches. The energy of the room became unbearable but it was what you both wanted.
Jaafar probably way more.
You moved onto your knees and rode the man harder. Grinding in his lap— back and forth, back and forth, up and down, up and down. God, he couldn’t shut up either.
His soft moans and grunts filled the air with every movement you performed. Jaafar couldn’t get enough of you, he prayed this wasn’t a dream.
Opening his eyes to watch you, he noticed your parted lips. But the way your fangs would shoot out before retracting. It happened twice now. If it wasn’t that he noticed, it was how ravenous you became.
Your body danced on him in a more desperate manner, more than your own release approaching. Then he saw the drool on the corners of your mouth.
Ever the attentive gentleman…
His hands crawled up your clothed back, donning a soft frown, “w-wait.. are you okay?”
You continued riding him, gripping his shoulders hard. “I… Mhm, I just need you so bad”
He reached up and wiped at the drool that dribbled down your chin.
Maybe it was how fucking good you felt or the fact that Jaafar hated seeing you become distressed. He knew what you needed.
Some would call this a really stupid decision.
“Feed from me, (Y/N)”
Your eyes shot open and your movements stopped.
“Are you serious? Jaafar, no! You can be turned if I do that, there’s no coming back to your mortal body if this happens”
Jaafar Jackson really wasn’t thinking straight. God, he was so enamored with you that the consequences didn’t seem like consequences. He just wanted you.
He leaned up and closed the gap of space, boldly kissing your moist lips. All the while, his hands dragged down your back until they settled on your ass. He grabbed, unabashedly.
He pulled back and looked you square in the eyes.
“I’m your good boy, mommy. I’ll do whatever you want.. and need. Please feed from me”
He even tilted his head to the side, opening more access to the skin of his neck. You let out a moan, you could feel your hesitation fading.
He didn’t care, why should you?
Powering up your bounces on his thick cock, you barred your fangs and sought out the perfect spot on Jaafar’s beautiful olive skin. It wasn’t hard, he smelled so good.
Finally, you bit down. Hard.
Immediately, you tasted the freshness of his blood on your tongue and teeth. No wonder he was such a sweetheart. From below you, the man hissed out loudly, but he took the pain.
Anything for you.
You drank and sucked on his skin, his taste was addicting. When you pulled back, Jaafar caught a glimpse of your bloody mouth. Blood around your lips, streaks on your chin, all over your teeth.
“You’re gonna make me cum, my sweet boy”
You rode him even harder, your noises growing increasingly high pitched and needy.
Your walls suffocated his cock, drenching him. His thumb reached around and sought out your clit, dragging circles into it. The impact of your release hit you like a truck.
Thanks to your greedy walls, Jaafar wasn’t too far behind.
“‘m right there, s-so close” he breathed out raggedly, “you h-have to get up—“
Instead you closed your bloody mouth over his and kissed him deeply, sinking deeper on him. Your grinds slowed but you weren’t stopping.
“I think you deserve to fill me up… been such a good boy for me t’night. Let go for mommy, I want it all inside..”
His arms held on tightly to your lower half, his head falling onto your chest.
“Oh fuck… fuck fuck fuck, mommy!”
His hips stuttered and suddenly stilled, within seconds he was painting your insides deeply. Long, pulsing warm streams that turned into sporadic spurts.
You finally halted your movements, instead opting to help Jaafar come down. You kept his head on your chest and caressed his scalp. The feel of fresh blood seemingly awakened your bodily systems, to say you felt better was an understatement.
Pulling back to look at him, you smiled brightly. Fangs retracted. Jaafar Jackson was a pretty, fucked out mess.
“D-do you feel better?” He murmured. That earned him a full kiss to the lips.
“More than you know” and another kiss.
You went to speak again but the loud sound of a honk outside stopped you. You knew it was Caleb. Sliding off of your lover boy, you got yourself situated.
“That’s for me, it’s about time I head out”
Jaafar sat up straighter on the couch and caught your hand just as you were heading for the front door. He gestured to his bruised neck.
“What will happen— will I see you again?”
You leaned in one last time and kissed him again.
“I’ll be around”
And like that, you were out of the door. And like that, Jaafar Jackson had no idea what ride he was in for.
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stay tuned for pt 2…..
jaafars big bubble booty. @killathrxlla - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
