twenty-one (04); buddhist; asian american (🇰🇷🇧🇷) ; michael jacksons fav ⚢ ; avid reader - new 2 writing :P ;
audhd — neurodivergent; ⚢ ⋆˚꩜｡⋆
ꪆৎ speaks: 中文, eng
⋆˙⟡♡: michael jackson. nct. the boys. gen v. invincible. chainsaw man. nana. parasyte. sade. pinkpantheress. fútbol. the pitt. the shining. interview with the vampire. ayo edebiri. it/pennywise. the last of us. resident evil. yuri manga. sinners. madonna.
°˖➴: new 2 writing, diving into new interests this summer break :3, i draw as well, selling art soon as well ^^ comments and reblogs r appreciated i want to hear want you want and ur ideas !!
(mostly) mature works. mdni! i don’t just write for mj, i am multifandom :,) feel free 2 always leave requests . ݁₊ ⊹ . please note: everything is purely fictional and has nothing to do with the real character/personality of the person i am writing about. if there are perceived similarities it is purely coincidental. happy reading!
title inspired by lovers rock by sade :p enjoy this nothing burger. I just couldnt get this out my mind. sorry this is just a mess i needed to get it out omggdgsggsgs ok enjoy
warnings: hypnosis/siren abilities, so much teasing, making out, oral sex(f.receiving), michael has breeeeding kink like crazy, sadly no p in v sex for now :( ;), fingering, cum eating, michael puts ur pleasure above everything else, he is a siren but like a mix of mermaid and has healing properties idK ok its 3am, mentions of wounds/licking (???), reader is a virgin, captain!reader, reader’s backstory inspired by moana/my family lololol,
note💌: hi i have never written anything a day in my life its very obvious pls go easy on me :( a lot of inaccuracies on the mythological aspects but im tired its 3am. this is also meant to be read for any era of mj! not proofread so like. grammar and point of view might be fucked up i CANT function im so sorry. luv you okay bye xx - dara
there are legends of the sea passed down from generations on your island. you were the first to sit front and center as your elders shared their experiences and stories of the sea. the sea was the greatest gift to your people, but it was also the greatest curse. the demons of the sea, was a repetitive story told over and over to you since before you could walk. scarier than sharks, these demons lured you in, their beauty…. their voices, irresistible. they wanted you, your soul, the satisfaction of your demise.
“when the fog clouds your vision and there is no land for miles, the demons gracefully swim around your boat, and the humming begins.” your grandfather gripped his cane tighter, voice more stern. “never ever go out at sea beyond the food post. nothing but trouble and death waiting beyond. we have everything we need here.”
as your grandpa finishes his story your small head turns towards the ocean as you watch the sun set. you didn’t believe it. the sea never scared you, you saw it as an extension of who you are. you loved the sea, it was your home, and home of the beautiful creatures in the waters. you respected the sea and never let the stories get to you. that was, until you were given the highest honor of being the captain of your islands ship vessel, in charge of the food supply.
you stare down at the compass in your hand, you’re way too far north. you have lost track of time at this point, but you needed to bring back enough fish for your people. being promoted as captain of the ship in charge of your people’s food supply was a heavy burden, but you could not come back empty handed. your people were relying on you, you could no longer survive on root plants. the migration pattern of the fish was becoming odd, as if they were outrunning something. every sunrise at the food post, nothing. you travelled around the perimeter of your island, nothing. you were at a loss, you could no longer rely on the post. you ventured forward. you knew how to deal with the thunderstorms and harsh waves while out at sea, but the more you sailed north, the foggier it became and you felt yourself giving up. you curse at yourself, going out toward your ship mates yelling orders to better combat against the heavy fog and crashing waves. you head towards the end of the boat, pulling the lure in to better focus on stabilizing the boat than catching the fish. pulling the last bit of rope you see a dark shadow in the water, not really able to make out what it was, it’s shiny tail flapping up into the air as it swims away. you try to follow its silhouette through the water when you were distracted by the yelling of your ship mates.
“we have to get the fuck out of here! we’re sailing straight into the storm, the fog is making it harder to see how to steer away from it! we gotta turn around!” one of your shipmates yell through the rain as he runs towards the wheel, steering to turn your ship around. you grab an oar and aid in steering it, as your ship turns to the side a large 30 foot wave crashes into your ship as lightning strikes. you and your shipmates are immediately knocked into the water, the forces of the wave knocking all the air out of your lungs, you body instinctively breathing in water in search of air. everything was happening too fast, you don’t know how deep you were but all you could think was swim, swim up. air, need air. you had no energy to swim up. it seemed a hundred miles away and your body was screaming as you tried to pump your arms to get to the surface. your vision was turning black, you began to relax, a sense of serenity and peace coming over you. you heard… humming. a familiar tune, the lullaby your mother always used to hum to put you to sleep. you relax in the water, sinking deeper as you fully lose consciousness.
you gasp as you gain consciousness, your hands gripping warm sand, your eyes shooting wide open. you look around frantically, your memory skewed, everything coming back to you as you look around. you begin to get up, finding a way to get out. you’re interrupted by singing and your body instantly stops, filled with warmth. your pupils dilate as your body reaches out, look for where the beautiful melody is coming from. a beautiful figure appears out of the water, skin glossy, hair so beautifully curly and voluminous, its lower half shiny and scaly, a beautiful gradient of turquoise to navy blue scales. you gasp, your body involuntarily kneeling in front of the creature. it smiles, the frequency of its hums making you feel warmer and warmer and has your whole body pulsating.
“i’ve been waiting for you..” he says, right in front of you, taking your face in his hands. he studies your features licking his lips and smiling. “my princess… my princess, i’ve been trying to get your attention, you’ve been avoiding me.” he pouts, leaning closer.
you begin to snap out of the trance, shaking your head lightly. “my… my ship… my mates.. please, i need to get home i-i-” you finally process whats in front of you, gasping and backing away, beginning to get up. he grasps your forearm, “its okay.. i will help you get back home, but first you need to heal up”
your eyes follow his, looking at your beat up body, a large gash in your palm, bruises along your arms and legs, deep scratches along your cheek. you open your mouth to say something but he swiftly grabs your hand, bringing it to his mouth. he shuts his eyes in bliss as he licks your injured hand, the gash quickly healing the longer he sucks. you pull away in shock,“w-what- what are you..” your breath becoming heavier, staring at your hand in awe – how did he heal you? you finally take a good look at him, he’s kneeling, hands resting on his thighs, staring at you with his big, beautiful doe eyes.
he giggles at you, “i’m your savior, of course.” he scoots closer, taking your hand in his. you don’t know how to feel. you know you should be scared, a half human half fish is speaking to you? you’re in a lit up cave, small waves crashing in front of you. you cannot tell if he means good or bad, but you do know that your body is thinking for you. you become mush at the closed distance between you two, your body leaning into it, hungry for the way it makes you feel so warm and buzzed inside. you couldn’t think, all you could think was him. you need more. not just physically, you need to understand this being, his soul, everything. you needed him.
“m-michael…” you whisper, not knowing how you knew his name, but it slipped off your tongue like you’d know him forever. he smiled, displaying his pearly whites. he bit his lip, you were falling so easily—he couldn’t wait to play with you.
you stare at him, pupils blown out, staring at him, forgetting how you got here – everything from the past 48 hours really. he hums as he tends to the smaller scratches on your body, unbeknownst to you, the frequency of his heavenly voice lures you in further. he knows hes got you, not just with his siren song, but because you’re finally beginning to realize it — he’s everything you’ve been missing.
“what’s the matter?” he asks in a teasing tone, tilting his head. you couldn’t utter a word, your face is flushed, staring up at him, the primal need visible in your blown out pupils. the way your thighs clenched, hands gripping the sand.
he smirks, leaning in closer, “let me heal you from the inside out, hm?” he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear as you nod eagerly, leaning into him,
“yes… y-yes..” you shut your eyes, letting yourself soak up in his attention. he smirks, slowly leaning in, his lips crashing against yours. you moan immediately, eager to taste him. his hands explored downwards, towards your waist, gripping you tight as he lays you down on the sand. he parts your legs fitting perfectly in between, feverishly sucking your neck. you moan, your hands finding their way into his damp curls, gripping his hair, your hips pathetically trying to buck up in need of any friction. his hands hold your hips down, kissing up your jawline.
he backs away slightly, hands gripping your damp shirt and ripping it open. you yelp in surprise and your face burns in embarrassment as your bra rips with the shirt. he pauses, fixated on the way your boobs bounce, so plump, so delicious. he immediately digs his face in between your boobs, kissing all over, finally taking one in his mouth, whimpering as he looks up at you. your eyes roll in pleasure. he looked so perfect. like he belonged here. hell, he’d die happily right here in between you and your plump beautiful body. you whimper and babble nonsense, needing more. saliva drips down his chin as he parts from your breasts with a loud pop. the purple reddish marks already beginning to appear.
he wastes no time going back to teasing you, kissing down you stomach painfully slow. you whine as you watch him, his beautiful dark eyes looking up at you as he kisses lower and lower towards your waistband. you can hear how wet you are, how your hole pathetically clenches around nothing as it weeps, crying out for more. you watch him kiss upwards towards your lower belly, humming as he sucks real hard to make marks. he pokes at your lower belly, looking up at you.
“so good f’me.. this should be full of me..” michael kisses your lower belly, signaling to your womb. you mewl as your thighs clench around his waist harder. “my princess wants that, hmm?” he gracefully slips off your pants and underwear, you cry out, tears threatening to spill, you needed him so badly, your senses were filled with him, you felt like your core was going to explode.
“s’beautiful..” he bites his lip, his fingers sliding up and down your slick folds slowly pulling away and licking them clean. he props your legs over his shoulders, looking up at you, his voice projecting, so beautiful that it could be mistaken for his siren song. “the sweetest meal ever, don’t think i can help myself..” michael giggles to himself, immediately devouring you. you gasp, your hips buck up into his mouth, his lips clamped around your pink pearl, fingers creeping up towards your hole, collecting your slick before pushing his whole finger in. you cry out, it was only one finger but he filled you so well. your hands find their way in his curls, gripping his locks tightly.
his finger curled deliciously inside you, and your vision went black. he knew how to make your body beg, your brain was straight mush. you whine as he adds a second finger, the stretch making you wince. the added stimulation of his mouth made your stomach tense — it was pathetic you were cumming this fast but you never experienced this level of intimacy, and something about michael just heightened the intensity of everything by 100.
it’s like michael knows that you are close, his pace quickening, lapping at your folds with expertise. through broken cries and gasps your hips meet up with his mouth, cumming, feeling your release leak down towards your hole. you try catching your breath as you hear his fingers sliding out off you, the sound so lewd, making you clench your thighs. before you know it michael is holding your thigh down, face buried in your folds, lapping up your essences as if it were the only thing he could survive off of. your thighs shaking like crazy, whining, “please.. michael i can’t-“ he hums against you as he continues lapping at your delicious slick. your body melts like putty in his mouth, your core tightens as you feel his tongue prod at your entrance.
“y-yes.. oh my god please, please-“ tears spill out your eyes, your body on cloud 9, the dirty sound of his tongue thrusting in your pussy makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. his tongue so, so so extremely warm, long, strong as it hits all the right spots. you felt it ripping through you — your second orgasm. it was too intense, or maybe your precious body was too sensitive. your hands grip his that hold down your thighs you moan, pushing against his hands as you cum, whining as he continues to lap at your essence as you ride out your second orgasm.
you pant heavily, leaning up on your elbows, staring at him, his lips glossy with your juices, his pupils huge, darker, and his hair messy. you stare at him in awe, desire, need, curiosity, everything. what is he? before you could ask him another question he comes in closer – taking your hand in his, you look down at your previously wounded hand, his healing left a small scar, a mark, that you were here, that this was real.
“shh.. ‘s okay, i’ll be back for you soon, princess” he whispered, caressing your hair, beginning to sing a small lullaby, the words making your body relax, falling asleep under his enchanting spell. the next time you woke up, you were in the break area on your ship, your ship mates gambling, a net full of fish hoisted up on your boats post, sailing back towards your islands dock. you were so sleepy, watching the sunset as your boat approaches closer to your dock. beneath your ship michael swam, watching you. you began to recollect your.. inappropriate dream you had. your mind was too hazy, but you couldn’t ignore the soreness of your inner thighs, your muscles shaking doing mundane tasks.
your family and friends wave as you dock the ship, back with enough fish to fulfill your people. all you hard work paid off! if only your people knew… you were now one with a “demon of the sea”. the beings that wrecks havoc on your people, that is a cause of so many of your people’s deaths, is now bound to you
michael is fixated on ur belly/womb and the talk of having kids has been coming up a lot more often! its only fitting that he makes it a game to see how fast he can put a baby in you!
note💌: hihi its me Again im blushing at all the support i got on my siren!michael fic!! more is coming, short blurb for now, i can’t get him out my mind!!! and this is really exposing me to writing/improving my confidence etc. etc. im so happy anyway take this as a thank u gift :p i dont know the layout/ how writing on this platform works Ok im sorry :’( enjoyyy!! :3
cw: mentions of pregnancy, michael refers to your pussy as “she”, porn w no plot, just absolutely filthy, cumming inside, unprotected sex, squirting, multiple rounds, breeding kink, i don’t know he likes painting you with cum inside and out, michael will analyze your pussy any day, he is hyperfixated on your tummy, can you tell thats his favorite part of your body, this can be read with any era!mj, i wrote the reader to be a woman of color but.. do what you want its ur fantasy bby!! how many times am i gonna say cum 😭😭, not proofread pls SPARE me
your drool stains the pillowcases, you lay on your stomach, a stack of pillows under your stomach, your ass up in the air. your shared bedroom filled with the wet sounds of skin slapping, sticky cum connecting your bodies together. the mix of yours and michaels essence stain your sheets, your eyes roll from the overstimulating pleasure, blabber nonsense as he continues to bully his cock into your slick wet heat. you are both glistening with sweat, music playing quietly in the corner of your room. you don’t how long you’ve been fucking, but this time around it seems like michael had extra energy..
behind you, michael grips your hips, hands traveling from digging into your hips to go deeper, down to the plush of your ass, gripping it as he watches in awe as all his cum threatens to spill out of you. he was determined to create a bigger mess, ensure that tonight was the night he finally knocked you up with his babies! he whines, muttering a whole bunch of praise.
“look how pretty she takes me.. everytime y’so tight..” he whines, he could do this forever. he cant stop staring, how mesmerizing it is, watching himself plunge in and out of you, how messy you both are. he was made for this, its so beautiful. he shuts his eyes, grasping your hips and picking up his pace as he feels himself getting closer. he moans at the sight of all his cum spilling out of you as his thrusts become sloppy.
he hilts himself all the way inside you, moaning as he cums, watching the way your thighs shake, how you cry out, panting heavily. he slowly pulls out, immediately getting hard again at the wet pop your fluttering hole makes as his new load spills out of you. he giggles to himself, gently turning you over so your lying on your back.
he leans down, pulling you in for a heated kiss. he buries his face into the crook of your neck, murmuring, “y’kno how addictive you are? can never get enough.. such a messy dirty girl…” he gently bites down on your neck, marking you up. you moan at his words, your hand instinctively coming up to his curls, gripping them tightly. his hands travel down your stomach as he gently pulls away, kneeling in between your legs, his gaze travelling to your lower stomach.
“look at this, baby…” his large hands gently poke at your lower stomach, right where your womb is. as he does that you hear the wetness of his cum dripping out of you. you mewl, breath getting heavy.
he kisses down your abdomen, whining, “baby please, let me have y’ one more time… y’dont understand how addictive you are…” his hands caress your hips, looking up at you with his pouty, dark doe eyes. you whimper, playing with his curls.
“one more? you said that 2 rounds ago..” you say breathless, you are unable to resist him, already missing how warm and full you feel with him inside you. he glides his cock through your cum stained folds, rubbing his tip against your pearl before completely bottoming out inside you. you both moan, the feeling never getting old. michael thinks this position is better, he gets an even better view of how your tummy bulges when he slams his cock inside you… all he can think about is how pretty your tummy is gonna look plump and round carrying his babies. he shuts his eyes, the thought of it making him too close to cumming. he watches your head loll, broken moans coming out of you, completely fucked out. he smiles to himself, picking up his pace and completely folding you in half. his cock is reaching so deep, you were so full, all your senses were full of him, his essence, his sweat, but you were right where you wanted to be.
he thrusts deeper, moaning—this was so filthy and messy…he couldn’t even recall what round this was, 4? 5? hm, oh well. he’ll count this as six, lucky number for the first six children he wants to have with you in the next 5 years! you were too much, you were sucking him in deeper, you were hypnotizing him. you didn’t know how badly he was obsessed with you. the more he thought about it, he felt himself get closer. his fingers find your clit, rubbing with the perfect amount of force–he knew you were closer, the way you were clenching around him, he was not going to last much longer either.
“c’mon baby… give it t’me.. want to watch you come undone while i put allll our babies in ya…” he breathes heavily, his pace and fingers getting faster. hot tears spill out your eyes, your core on fire as you feel your orgasm taking over. you gasp, yelling out, thighs shaking like crazy as you squirt all over michael, he grunts in satisfaction, spilling his final load inside you. he leans over, relaxing into you as you both catch your breath. he softens inside of you, staying inside just a little longer.. for safe measures! he lays next to you, engulfing you in his embrace, cock still stuffed inside you. it was just perfect. you look up at your husband, fulfilled and tired, giving him one last kiss before you fall asleep next to him.
“baby….?” you call out to michael, your eyes widen and you pause on getting ready. makeup half done, dressed up ready to see your girlfriends. he sneakily comes up behind you, arms wrapping around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder as he kisses your cheek.
you stare at the positive pregnancy test in your hand in shock. michael looks down giggling, excitedly picking you up, spinning you around. he grips your waist tighter, looking at the both of you in the mirror and nuzzling into your neck.
“i think y’should cancel your night out, hm? we got some celebrating to do..” he smirks, grabbing your hand, both of you laughing as you retreat to your bedroom for a celebratory re-run. michael smiled to himself. truly just turning into a baby-making machine. 𑣲⋆
pairing: famous!reader x michael (post-Bad) (post-breakup) m4f*nsfw. (fluff, smut) turns to phone sex okay 2.7k loosely edited/proofread. idk, maybe this is my new writing style. i take this shit too seriously sometimes.
description: michael calls late to make sure you know that he is not dating madonna
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ <3 <3 <3
your landline was ringing. that couldn't be right. it was 12:47 am.
your body never allowed you to react to late calls normally. your mind immediately went to unthinkable emergencies, sudden deaths or natural disasters. your most important people knew that you were in los angeles for movie press. not everyone had your hotel information. within seconds, your mind raveled over the few possible contacts on the other line. you really hoped it wasn't your mother. maybe it was your agent with news that couldn't wait. either way, why were your assumptions always so negative?
in a moment, just before you picked up the phone, your mind told you what your heart already knew. as you brought it to your ear, the ringing halted with a soft 'click.' it was him.
"uh, hey. hey." you shut your eyes and threw your head back. god, his voice was velvety. you couldn't find words just yet. it had been six months since he left you and michael's voice never failed to comfort you into regulation. three months since you heard his sweet voice. you'd thrown yourself into work as your biggest distraction. yet here he was, showing up in the middle of a work trip. Michael reached out a few times after your break up. it was usually just to check on you, but he never called this late.
“sorry to call this late, uh, hope it's okay….so how are you doing?" he sounded nervous, like he was sort of rushing. after being your boyfriend for just under a year, michael knew not to call you without clear grounds for a real conversation.
“…umm, good?” you hesitated, then it felt like you were being a little mean. “just uh, working. in LA right now,” you trailed off, palm to your forehead, trying to put on a much friendlier voice. you gave him a beat of silence to continue. otherwise, you were going to bed.
“i just wanted to tell you that i’m not with her. we’re not a thing.” your heart sank.
it wasn’t because he was letting you know, but because he knew how much the news of him moving on would pain you. as much as you worked on your tough persona post-break up, michael knew he hurt you. the way you tried to act tough sealed it for him. maybe that was why he made it a priority to have these talks with you every now and then. whenever you’d answer. "madonna, i mean."
are you trying to hurt me?
it began to ring in your mind. while the situation itself was upsetting, you were certain he never intended to hurt you. of course, you'd heard about it, never really giving it a second thought. everything about that pairing screamed stunt to you. in a way, it confirmed to you that he wasn't involved in anything romantically serious yet. at least, not with madonna. you only knew her loosely from friends but the little you did know told you the relationship wouldn't last.
you sighed in exhaustion. you didn’t have the energy required for this talk.
“michael, you really don’t have to tell me that. it’s okay. it’s your business.”
“i know,” he breathed out, there were some shuffling sounds followed. you imagined that he was shifting, rolling over to get more comfortable while allowing the phone cord to wrap around his torso. he did that often when you stayed together and it always bothered you to think of the germs the hotel receivers carried.
“well, i know i don’t have to, but i want to. i just, i just need you to know that it’s not like that. really. i wouldn’t be starting up something just six months after—well, you know.” you scoffed. he was just casually referring to the hardest time of your life as if he weren’t the cause.
“so, it’s not serious then?” you question teasingly.
“no, of course not! everyone thought it would look good and she was nice enough that i gave it a chance. it just didn’t work out…at all.” he laughed breathlessly. then, the line grew quiet.
your patience began to run thin. this felt like torture. you were listening to the man you love update you on his dating life. jealousy surged through your body. before you could even think about it, you found yourself needing to prove a point. to show him what's yours. why was he keeping you on the phone like this? did he forget who he was talking to?
“what do you want me to say, baby?” you cooed. no point in being nice now.
there was silence on his end. then, some shuffling. you didn’t need to see him to know he was already wrecked for you.
you closed your eyes and could see him instantly. somewhere in new york, probably fully dressed, desperate to take the layers off. or rather, desperate for you to take them off. the shiny buckle of his belt jingling as he jerked it around, needing to relieve some of the pressure growing. michael still didn't say anything. he didn’t have more to say but he wasn’t ready to let you go.
however, michael knew your annoyance for sitting on the phone with nothing. the silence grew thicker and your patience wavered.
as if he could feel your patience thinning, michael let out a shaky breath. “don’t say that.” his voice lowered with the last word. maybe a crack that he tried to cover up by pretending to clear his throat.
“s-stuff like that. you know,” he chuckled lowly, “'yknow how it gets me going.”
“so i can’t call you baby but you can call me at any time of the night to let me know things aren’t serious with your new girlfriend?”
“i just said-“
“oh, i heard what you said.”
you could hear michael sigh on the other line. this was how your calls usually went since splitting up. you being defensive, michael being needy yet withholding. each call usually ended with a deep sense of dissatisfaction and you could never figure out who was more miserable.
tonight, michael was the winner. or loser, depending on who you ask. internally, he felt a sense of accomplishment knowing this was the longest phone conversation you’ve had in six months. even if you were pissed the entire call, he was still spending time with you. this was what he needed.
however. after hearing your frustrations on the other line, michael found himself needing just a liiittle bit more. a little more push back from you. maybe just two or three sassy one liners in that deep voice you reserved for evenings. just a little more of that to hold him over for six more months.
the shuffling stopped. “did you really hear me, though?” his voice was soft again. you squeezed the bridge of your nose and considered hanging up.
“w-what? what are you saying mike?” you were shaking your head like it would help you understand.
“you don’t get it. i can’t say what i truly want to say right now.”
“and why not?”
silence again. you knew why. at some point, your annoyance turned to sympathy. michael had that effect on you. it all felt so toxic to you. he wasn't manipulative, you weren't even sure he knew how maternal he made you feel at times. it was just hard to set firm boundaries with the ex you knew had an unhealed inner child that spoke directly to your own. you always felt a little tug on your heart to reach out and let him know unconditional love existed between you.
"you know you can always talk to me," it was held in a whisper. to you, this was the danger. the flirty banter was fine. but, this? this kind of honesty was too intimate for you. it felt hidden, like a secret you had to hold onto. it was the main reason you'd kept your post-breakup interactions exclusively over the phone. speaking to michael in person would all but expose your deepest desires, waves of longing radiating from your eyes into his.
"oh, yeah?" shit.
"well, can i talk to you about how much i miss you? how much i need you, burn for you so much everyday that it's hard to function?"
now, it was your turn to go mute. you held your breath. it almost felt like a test. like michael was feeding you lines, trying to catch you admitting to missing him when that was most certainly not allowed. he was the one who ended things. these calls were just his sick way of checking in on you.
you didn't expect him to go on.
"you think this is easy? that any of this is easy now? how often i wish i could just get in my car, drive down there, and show you my devotion? because it's never left. it's all still here for you." michael was using his coolest tone with you. there was a softness there. almost enough to make you break, just enough to drive you crazy.
"then why'd you leave, then? huh?" you say in a squeak. the tears were brewing behind your eyes. the more you thought about what you were saying and who you were saying it to, the harder it got to keep from crying. your voice grew strained and raspy as you bare your soul to him. "do you even know how much i love you? how empty i felt in london? it was just…excruciating," you finally let out a light sob.
now, the silence feels heavy with his presence. like he soaked in every word you said. you both sat there in silence in between your sniffles. after a minute, he whispered i'm so sorry.
"i just, i was told it would be easier. i don't know. none of the shit makes any sense anymore. i promise that i was only ever thinking about you. how things could eventually hurt you."
you always knew he didn't want to outright end things, you always had your suspicions that someone was in his ear telling him to let her down gently or some shit. you knew he might eventually give in to the coercion and you didn't know how to stop it.
"i kinda knew that," you chuckle lightly for once, relieved that the feeling shifted into something sweeter. "knew what?" he voice was lighter as well.
"oh, just that people were telling you stuff like that. in your ear, trying to get between us. they tried it with me, so i knew it was happening to you too. honestly, i didn't have it in me to fight as hard as it i wanted to."
"i wish you could have. i needed you to. i just, i couldn't be strong enough for us. i guess."
those words stuck with you. i needed you. words you yearned for him to say for far longer than you could remember. there's silence. michael probably felt too exposed with that last confession. you felt the need to reach out quickly before he could retreat. the need to take a leap.
"do you still need me?"
"yes, more than anything," he exhaled without hesitation. you couldn't stop the smile from creeping onto your lips. it felt good to know you could still get him like that. you knew you'd gone past the point of no return. the silence had weight now. substance. before, the breathing was quiet. now, you could hear every inhale and exhale leaving michael's lips.
the heavy breathing was eventually followed by some dragging noises. michael's long breaths grew shorter.
"michael?"
"—yeah?" he said in that sweet coo of his.
"are you touching yourself?"
he sighed into the mic so hard, it made a 'shh' sound. "yeah," he whispered.
"just, just go real slow for me, okay? wait for me." sheets rustled as you moved to pull off your pajama pants.
"uh yeah, okay yeah." michael hummed and sighed softly into the phone. his breathing sounded sharper and tighter. you could tell he was obeying and awaiting more instruction.
you frantically rolled your cotton briefs to your knees and gasped at the wet arousal you'd started underneath. your thighs were soaked.
"michael," you breathed. his breath hitched in response.
"yeah?"
"i—i just gotta say. i need you, too. it's so hard to admit but," you slowly moved your palm up your thigh as you spoke, "i've never needed anyone the way i need you." it felt good to say it out loud as you gave into your deepest desires physically and verbally, knowing michael was sitting somewhere just taking it all in.
"and i'm gonna touch myself. the way i really need you to. the way only you can, baby."
michael's breathing was like white noise in the back as you dipped your middle finger into your soaking heat. his groans were your beautiful instrumental as you led yourself into much needed pleasure. you ferociously drew tiny swirls into your cunt with the pulps of your fingers.
you finally let out a deep moan into the phone as you relieved the wave of emotions.
"ah, baby. y'sound so sexy," michael wined. it was his favorite thing about being intimate with you. michael was obsessed with your moans. he loved the sweet noises you let out as he dug into you. he even kept little audio clips to get off when the memory just wasn't enough. you wondered if he kept them. you still had yours saved.
"you can speed up now, love." your arousal coated your fingers as you drove small circles into your mound. it felt nowhere near as intense as michael's focused digits. your actions were sloppy and desperate.
as you sped up, the sounds of your wet flesh filled his ears. images rushed michael's mind as he pictured the sight of you pleasuring yourself in your hotel room. thoughts of your sweaty chest warmed his own as he tried to focus back in on the sounds of your moans.
"oh, mama. do it just for me, my love. ah-" he halted his talk abruptly and you could hear his hand gliding faster against himself. you knew what he looked like when he got like that. the way he allowed his back to curve inward, to shrivel and retreat as if he's trying to escape from the pleasure. tight and closed eyes, wet curls sticking to his forehead, head hunched and only focused on his intense pumping. you knew he was thinking about fucking you. the sheer thought of it sent you over the edge.
and now you knew he was finishing. you knew this by the long strings of ooh, baby, oh oh. oooh ah, oh, ohhh. you smiled in your own whirlwind of pleasure at the predictability of your boy. he always said the same things when he would come undone for you.
the loud huffs grow deeper and you felt the pit in your stomach growing imagining michael releasing just for you.
"oh, baby. oooh, oh ah. ooh," he gasped, "hahh, oh. i love you. please, ah, just, oh. i love you." his words were putting you in a trance. the idea that his pleasure overwhelmed him to the point of confessing his love to you was incredible. he was locked under your spell, no longer able to conceal his feelings. you felt jolts fire through your abdomen. you jerked your pelvis upward with vigor as you chased your own climax.
"…i love you too," you felt the last of your breath come out with your delayed confession.
the silence was back and you finally relaxed into your bed. you felt as if you'd just gone through every stage of grief with michael, coming back up on the highs you once felt in august 1989 briefly after you met him. the room once filled with sinful noises and moans were now covered in the quiet hum of your fan. you hadn't heard much from michael after hearing him rustle in sheets before settling back down again.
sweat glimmered onto your shoulders and you grinned. you laid there in post coital bliss. chest rising and falling, you closed your eyes and silently wished for him to stay this close to you. at some point, you fell asleep and didn't notice until michael's voice startled you.
"i love you," he softly spoke. he voice was scruffy and strained. michael might've been more exhausted than you were. he was using every last bit of energy to express his love over and over again. god, he was so easy sometimes. folding in and out for you. your lovesick baby.
"you kinda already said that," you laughed. "you know, you're coming on kinda' strong. girls prefer it when guys play it cool."
"oh, really? and when should i start doing that?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ <3 <3 <3
hope you can enjoy! okay thank you please let me know if this is shit. michael's girlies, pls come here. let me know what you wanna see. send requests, ask for shit idk pls i'm thirsty. ok thanks. should i do a taglist? does that help me find an audience idk pls lmk mwah
⊱ Michael is hyper-aware of your mouth. If you're sitting together on a couch he will abruptly stop talking, lean in incredibly close, and just stare at your lips. When you ask him what's wrong, he'll reach out a long, slow thumb and trace your bottom lip, smearing your gloss slightly. He'll give a soft, breathy chuckle and whisper
"You just had a little something right there... looked pretty distracting."
He won't pull his hand away either; his thumb will linger, feeling the heat of your breath until you have to swallow hard.
⊱ If you're wearing a new dress or a tight pair of jeans, he will turn it into a full production. He'll make you stand up and do a turn for him, his eyes scanning you from head to toe with an intensity. He'll walk around you like a hawk, and then, his large hands will slide under your hair to adjust the collar or the zipper at the back of your neck. His fingertips will trail down your bare spine, giving you full-body chills, before he softly murmurs, "Yeah... fits you perfectly. Especially from the back."
⊱ He has a way of mixing absolute puppy-dog sweetness with pure flirtatious filth. He'll look at you with those big, soulful eyes and ask you about your day in the gentlest voice, but the second you lean in to whisper a secret to him in a crowded room, he'll use the cover to whisper something completely unhinged right back into your ear.
"You smell so sweet today, makes me want to find out if you taste the exact same way under that skirt."
Before you can even process it or yell at him, he's already pulled back, giving the people around you a polite wave and leaving you completely burning alive.
⊱ This man cannot stay out of your delicates. He will wander into your dimly lit bedroom, slide open your dresser, and let his long, shaky fingers sift through your panties. Touching the cotton, tracing the lace of your most provocative, see-through pairs. Just the thought of those flimsy pieces of fabric sitting snug against your skin is enough to make him strain hard against his trousers.
⊱ He's a total thief when he's desperate. He will literally bring a pair of your lace panties to his face, breathing in your perfume and the faint linger of your scent until it drives him crazy.
He'll lay back on your bed, close his eyes, and picture you riding him—envisioning your small hands on his chest, your hips bouncing, and your pussy gripping him tight. He'll wrap your underwear tightly around his girth, his breath catching in a broken whimper as he furiously jerks off right into the fabric.
⊱ While he's pleasing himself with your clothes, his mind goes to incredibly dark, possessive places. He isn't thinking about a gentle, friendly encounter.
He's imagining pinning your hips down, cutting off your whimpers with his mouth, and driving into you hard enough to hit your cervix. He loses his mind thinking about the exact face you make when you fall apart, picturing himself filling you completely to the brim, shooting his cum directly inside you until you're overflowing.
⊱ When he finally snaps out of it and sees the mess he made-your light blue lace entirely darkened and soaked by his release—he doesn't even feel guilty. He just gets a thrilling, wicked rush from the sin of it.
He'll carefully fold the damp panty back up, tuck it deep under a pile in the drawer so you won't notice right away, and act like a perfect, innocent angel the second you walk back through the door.
michael is fixated on ur belly/womb and the talk of having kids has been coming up a lot more often! its only fitting that he makes it a game to see how fast he can put a baby in you!
note💌: hihi its me Again im blushing at all the support i got on my siren!michael fic!! more is coming, short blurb for now, i can’t get him out my mind!!! and this is really exposing me to writing/improving my confidence etc. etc. im so happy anyway take this as a thank u gift :p i dont know the layout/ how writing on this platform works Ok im sorry :’( enjoyyy!! :3
cw: mentions of pregnancy, michael refers to your pussy as “she”, porn w no plot, just absolutely filthy, cumming inside, unprotected sex, squirting, multiple rounds, breeding kink, i don’t know he likes painting you with cum inside and out, michael will analyze your pussy any day, he is hyperfixated on your tummy, can you tell thats his favorite part of your body, this can be read with any era!mj, i wrote the reader to be a woman of color but.. do what you want its ur fantasy bby!! how many times am i gonna say cum 😭😭, not proofread pls SPARE me
your drool stains the pillowcases, you lay on your stomach, a stack of pillows under your stomach, your ass up in the air. your shared bedroom filled with the wet sounds of skin slapping, sticky cum connecting your bodies together. the mix of yours and michaels essence stain your sheets, your eyes roll from the overstimulating pleasure, blabber nonsense as he continues to bully his cock into your slick wet heat. you are both glistening with sweat, music playing quietly in the corner of your room. you don’t how long you’ve been fucking, but this time around it seems like michael had extra energy..
behind you, michael grips your hips, hands traveling from digging into your hips to go deeper, down to the plush of your ass, gripping it as he watches in awe as all his cum threatens to spill out of you. he was determined to create a bigger mess, ensure that tonight was the night he finally knocked you up with his babies! he whines, muttering a whole bunch of praise.
“look how pretty she takes me.. everytime y’so tight..” he whines, he could do this forever. he cant stop staring, how mesmerizing it is, watching himself plunge in and out of you, how messy you both are. he was made for this, its so beautiful. he shuts his eyes, grasping your hips and picking up his pace as he feels himself getting closer. he moans at the sight of all his cum spilling out of you as his thrusts become sloppy.
he hilts himself all the way inside you, moaning as he cums, watching the way your thighs shake, how you cry out, panting heavily. he slowly pulls out, immediately getting hard again at the wet pop your fluttering hole makes as his new load spills out of you. he giggles to himself, gently turning you over so your lying on your back.
he leans down, pulling you in for a heated kiss. he buries his face into the crook of your neck, murmuring, “y’kno how addictive you are? can never get enough.. such a messy dirty girl…” he gently bites down on your neck, marking you up. you moan at his words, your hand instinctively coming up to his curls, gripping them tightly. his hands travel down your stomach as he gently pulls away, kneeling in between your legs, his gaze travelling to your lower stomach.
“look at this, baby…” his large hands gently poke at your lower stomach, right where your womb is. as he does that you hear the wetness of his cum dripping out of you. you mewl, breath getting heavy.
he kisses down your abdomen, whining, “baby please, let me have y’ one more time… y’dont understand how addictive you are…” his hands caress your hips, looking up at you with his pouty, dark doe eyes. you whimper, playing with his curls.
“one more? you said that 2 rounds ago..” you say breathless, you are unable to resist him, already missing how warm and full you feel with him inside you. he glides his cock through your cum stained folds, rubbing his tip against your pearl before completely bottoming out inside you. you both moan, the feeling never getting old. michael thinks this position is better, he gets an even better view of how your tummy bulges when he slams his cock inside you… all he can think about is how pretty your tummy is gonna look plump and round carrying his babies. he shuts his eyes, the thought of it making him too close to cumming. he watches your head loll, broken moans coming out of you, completely fucked out. he smiles to himself, picking up his pace and completely folding you in half. his cock is reaching so deep, you were so full, all your senses were full of him, his essence, his sweat, but you were right where you wanted to be.
he thrusts deeper, moaning—this was so filthy and messy…he couldn’t even recall what round this was, 4? 5? hm, oh well. he’ll count this as six, lucky number for the first six children he wants to have with you in the next 5 years! you were too much, you were sucking him in deeper, you were hypnotizing him. you didn’t know how badly he was obsessed with you. the more he thought about it, he felt himself get closer. his fingers find your clit, rubbing with the perfect amount of force–he knew you were closer, the way you were clenching around him, he was not going to last much longer either.
“c’mon baby… give it t’me.. want to watch you come undone while i put allll our babies in ya…” he breathes heavily, his pace and fingers getting faster. hot tears spill out your eyes, your core on fire as you feel your orgasm taking over. you gasp, yelling out, thighs shaking like crazy as you squirt all over michael, he grunts in satisfaction, spilling his final load inside you. he leans over, relaxing into you as you both catch your breath. he softens inside of you, staying inside just a little longer.. for safe measures! he lays next to you, engulfing you in his embrace, cock still stuffed inside you. it was just perfect. you look up at your husband, fulfilled and tired, giving him one last kiss before you fall asleep next to him.
“baby….?” you call out to michael, your eyes widen and you pause on getting ready. makeup half done, dressed up ready to see your girlfriends. he sneakily comes up behind you, arms wrapping around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder as he kisses your cheek.
you stare at the positive pregnancy test in your hand in shock. michael looks down giggling, excitedly picking you up, spinning you around. he grips your waist tighter, looking at the both of you in the mirror and nuzzling into your neck.
“i think y’should cancel your night out, hm? we got some celebrating to do..” he smirks, grabbing your hand, both of you laughing as you retreat to your bedroom for a celebratory re-run. michael smiled to himself. truly just turning into a baby-making machine. 𑣲⋆
title inspired by lovers rock by sade :p enjoy this nothing burger. I just couldnt get this out my mind. sorry this is just a mess i needed to get it out omggdgsggsgs ok enjoy
warnings: hypnosis/siren abilities, so much teasing, making out, oral sex(f.receiving), michael has breeeeding kink like crazy, sadly no p in v sex for now :( ;), fingering, cum eating, michael puts ur pleasure above everything else, he is a siren but like a mix of mermaid and has healing properties idK ok its 3am, mentions of wounds/licking (???), reader is a virgin, captain!reader, reader’s backstory inspired by moana/my family lololol,
note💌: hi i have never written anything a day in my life its very obvious pls go easy on me :( a lot of inaccuracies on the mythological aspects but im tired its 3am. this is also meant to be read for any era of mj! not proofread so like. grammar and point of view might be fucked up i CANT function im so sorry. luv you okay bye xx - dara
there are legends of the sea passed down from generations on your island. you were the first to sit front and center as your elders shared their experiences and stories of the sea. the sea was the greatest gift to your people, but it was also the greatest curse. the demons of the sea, was a repetitive story told over and over to you since before you could walk. scarier than sharks, these demons lured you in, their beauty…. their voices, irresistible. they wanted you, your soul, the satisfaction of your demise.
“when the fog clouds your vision and there is no land for miles, the demons gracefully swim around your boat, and the humming begins.” your grandfather gripped his cane tighter, voice more stern. “never ever go out at sea beyond the food post. nothing but trouble and death waiting beyond. we have everything we need here.”
as your grandpa finishes his story your small head turns towards the ocean as you watch the sun set. you didn’t believe it. the sea never scared you, you saw it as an extension of who you are. you loved the sea, it was your home, and home of the beautiful creatures in the waters. you respected the sea and never let the stories get to you. that was, until you were given the highest honor of being the captain of your islands ship vessel, in charge of the food supply.
you stare down at the compass in your hand, you’re way too far north. you have lost track of time at this point, but you needed to bring back enough fish for your people. being promoted as captain of the ship in charge of your people’s food supply was a heavy burden, but you could not come back empty handed. your people were relying on you, you could no longer survive on root plants. the migration pattern of the fish was becoming odd, as if they were outrunning something. every sunrise at the food post, nothing. you travelled around the perimeter of your island, nothing. you were at a loss, you could no longer rely on the post. you ventured forward. you knew how to deal with the thunderstorms and harsh waves while out at sea, but the more you sailed north, the foggier it became and you felt yourself giving up. you curse at yourself, going out toward your ship mates yelling orders to better combat against the heavy fog and crashing waves. you head towards the end of the boat, pulling the lure in to better focus on stabilizing the boat than catching the fish. pulling the last bit of rope you see a dark shadow in the water, not really able to make out what it was, it’s shiny tail flapping up into the air as it swims away. you try to follow its silhouette through the water when you were distracted by the yelling of your ship mates.
“we have to get the fuck out of here! we’re sailing straight into the storm, the fog is making it harder to see how to steer away from it! we gotta turn around!” one of your shipmates yell through the rain as he runs towards the wheel, steering to turn your ship around. you grab an oar and aid in steering it, as your ship turns to the side a large 30 foot wave crashes into your ship as lightning strikes. you and your shipmates are immediately knocked into the water, the forces of the wave knocking all the air out of your lungs, you body instinctively breathing in water in search of air. everything was happening too fast, you don’t know how deep you were but all you could think was swim, swim up. air, need air. you had no energy to swim up. it seemed a hundred miles away and your body was screaming as you tried to pump your arms to get to the surface. your vision was turning black, you began to relax, a sense of serenity and peace coming over you. you heard… humming. a familiar tune, the lullaby your mother always used to hum to put you to sleep. you relax in the water, sinking deeper as you fully lose consciousness.
you gasp as you gain consciousness, your hands gripping warm sand, your eyes shooting wide open. you look around frantically, your memory skewed, everything coming back to you as you look around. you begin to get up, finding a way to get out. you’re interrupted by singing and your body instantly stops, filled with warmth. your pupils dilate as your body reaches out, look for where the beautiful melody is coming from. a beautiful figure appears out of the water, skin glossy, hair so beautifully curly and voluminous, its lower half shiny and scaly, a beautiful gradient of turquoise to navy blue scales. you gasp, your body involuntarily kneeling in front of the creature. it smiles, the frequency of its hums making you feel warmer and warmer and has your whole body pulsating.
“i’ve been waiting for you..” he says, right in front of you, taking your face in his hands. he studies your features licking his lips and smiling. “my princess… my princess, i’ve been trying to get your attention, you’ve been avoiding me.” he pouts, leaning closer.
you begin to snap out of the trance, shaking your head lightly. “my… my ship… my mates.. please, i need to get home i-i-” you finally process whats in front of you, gasping and backing away, beginning to get up. he grasps your forearm, “its okay.. i will help you get back home, but first you need to heal up”
your eyes follow his, looking at your beat up body, a large gash in your palm, bruises along your arms and legs, deep scratches along your cheek. you open your mouth to say something but he swiftly grabs your hand, bringing it to his mouth. he shuts his eyes in bliss as he licks your injured hand, the gash quickly healing the longer he sucks. you pull away in shock,“w-what- what are you..” your breath becoming heavier, staring at your hand in awe – how did he heal you? you finally take a good look at him, he’s kneeling, hands resting on his thighs, staring at you with his big, beautiful doe eyes.
he giggles at you, “i’m your savior, of course.” he scoots closer, taking your hand in his. you don’t know how to feel. you know you should be scared, a half human half fish is speaking to you? you’re in a lit up cave, small waves crashing in front of you. you cannot tell if he means good or bad, but you do know that your body is thinking for you. you become mush at the closed distance between you two, your body leaning into it, hungry for the way it makes you feel so warm and buzzed inside. you couldn’t think, all you could think was him. you need more. not just physically, you need to understand this being, his soul, everything. you needed him.
“m-michael…” you whisper, not knowing how you knew his name, but it slipped off your tongue like you’d know him forever. he smiled, displaying his pearly whites. he bit his lip, you were falling so easily—he couldn’t wait to play with you.
you stare at him, pupils blown out, staring at him, forgetting how you got here – everything from the past 48 hours really. he hums as he tends to the smaller scratches on your body, unbeknownst to you, the frequency of his heavenly voice lures you in further. he knows hes got you, not just with his siren song, but because you’re finally beginning to realize it — he’s everything you’ve been missing.
“what’s the matter?” he asks in a teasing tone, tilting his head. you couldn’t utter a word, your face is flushed, staring up at him, the primal need visible in your blown out pupils. the way your thighs clenched, hands gripping the sand.
he smirks, leaning in closer, “let me heal you from the inside out, hm?” he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear as you nod eagerly, leaning into him,
“yes… y-yes..” you shut your eyes, letting yourself soak up in his attention. he smirks, slowly leaning in, his lips crashing against yours. you moan immediately, eager to taste him. his hands explored downwards, towards your waist, gripping you tight as he lays you down on the sand. he parts your legs fitting perfectly in between, feverishly sucking your neck. you moan, your hands finding their way into his damp curls, gripping his hair, your hips pathetically trying to buck up in need of any friction. his hands hold your hips down, kissing up your jawline.
he backs away slightly, hands gripping your damp shirt and ripping it open. you yelp in surprise and your face burns in embarrassment as your bra rips with the shirt. he pauses, fixated on the way your boobs bounce, so plump, so delicious. he immediately digs his face in between your boobs, kissing all over, finally taking one in his mouth, whimpering as he looks up at you. your eyes roll in pleasure. he looked so perfect. like he belonged here. hell, he’d die happily right here in between you and your plump beautiful body. you whimper and babble nonsense, needing more. saliva drips down his chin as he parts from your breasts with a loud pop. the purple reddish marks already beginning to appear.
he wastes no time going back to teasing you, kissing down you stomach painfully slow. you whine as you watch him, his beautiful dark eyes looking up at you as he kisses lower and lower towards your waistband. you can hear how wet you are, how your hole pathetically clenches around nothing as it weeps, crying out for more. you watch him kiss upwards towards your lower belly, humming as he sucks real hard to make marks. he pokes at your lower belly, looking up at you.
“so good f’me.. this should be full of me..” michael kisses your lower belly, signaling to your womb. you mewl as your thighs clench around his waist harder. “my princess wants that, hmm?” he gracefully slips off your pants and underwear, you cry out, tears threatening to spill, you needed him so badly, your senses were filled with him, you felt like your core was going to explode.
“s’beautiful..” he bites his lip, his fingers sliding up and down your slick folds slowly pulling away and licking them clean. he props your legs over his shoulders, looking up at you, his voice projecting, so beautiful that it could be mistaken for his siren song. “the sweetest meal ever, don’t think i can help myself..” michael giggles to himself, immediately devouring you. you gasp, your hips buck up into his mouth, his lips clamped around your pink pearl, fingers creeping up towards your hole, collecting your slick before pushing his whole finger in. you cry out, it was only one finger but he filled you so well. your hands find their way in his curls, gripping his locks tightly.
his finger curled deliciously inside you, and your vision went black. he knew how to make your body beg, your brain was straight mush. you whine as he adds a second finger, the stretch making you wince. the added stimulation of his mouth made your stomach tense — it was pathetic you were cumming this fast but you never experienced this level of intimacy, and something about michael just heightened the intensity of everything by 100.
it’s like michael knows that you are close, his pace quickening, lapping at your folds with expertise. through broken cries and gasps your hips meet up with his mouth, cumming, feeling your release leak down towards your hole. you try catching your breath as you hear his fingers sliding out off you, the sound so lewd, making you clench your thighs. before you know it michael is holding your thigh down, face buried in your folds, lapping up your essences as if it were the only thing he could survive off of. your thighs shaking like crazy, whining, “please.. michael i can’t-“ he hums against you as he continues lapping at your delicious slick. your body melts like putty in his mouth, your core tightens as you feel his tongue prod at your entrance.
“y-yes.. oh my god please, please-“ tears spill out your eyes, your body on cloud 9, the dirty sound of his tongue thrusting in your pussy makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. his tongue so, so so extremely warm, long, strong as it hits all the right spots. you felt it ripping through you — your second orgasm. it was too intense, or maybe your precious body was too sensitive. your hands grip his that hold down your thighs you moan, pushing against his hands as you cum, whining as he continues to lap at your essence as you ride out your second orgasm.
you pant heavily, leaning up on your elbows, staring at him, his lips glossy with your juices, his pupils huge, darker, and his hair messy. you stare at him in awe, desire, need, curiosity, everything. what is he? before you could ask him another question he comes in closer – taking your hand in his, you look down at your previously wounded hand, his healing left a small scar, a mark, that you were here, that this was real.
“shh.. ‘s okay, i’ll be back for you soon, princess” he whispered, caressing your hair, beginning to sing a small lullaby, the words making your body relax, falling asleep under his enchanting spell. the next time you woke up, you were in the break area on your ship, your ship mates gambling, a net full of fish hoisted up on your boats post, sailing back towards your islands dock. you were so sleepy, watching the sunset as your boat approaches closer to your dock. beneath your ship michael swam, watching you. you began to recollect your.. inappropriate dream you had. your mind was too hazy, but you couldn’t ignore the soreness of your inner thighs, your muscles shaking doing mundane tasks.
your family and friends wave as you dock the ship, back with enough fish to fulfill your people. all you hard work paid off! if only your people knew… you were now one with a “demon of the sea”. the beings that wrecks havoc on your people, that is a cause of so many of your people’s deaths, is now bound to you
need more of bsf michael just wanting it in while watching something MOOOOREEE i luvvvvv the concept eeek
ughgjghghjghh, okay here it goes: manipulative bsf!michael convinces you to watch porn with him! (18+ mdni)
you fiddle with the frayed edges of your skirt, trying to cast down your gaze, away from the lewd images playing on the television. even the sounds are lewd— tearing your eyes away from the screen in front of you barely does anything. you still feel heat blossom in your ears, your cheeks. the dull throb down there.
and your best friend? you feel the steady beat of his heart behind you as you subconsciously pull down the hem of your skirt. his breath hits the back of your neck in soft puffs. “wha’s the matter, pretty?” he asks when his large hands come in contact with your waist. “never seen that before?”
you shake your head, the word “no” not completely leaving your soft mouth. you watch how the actress throws her head back in the pillows, and how she seems to enjoy it, even. especially when the man teases her entrance.
come on, you know what sex is. you’ve read about it in your romance books, and it has always sounded like something sacred, romantic, precious. something profound and vulnerable. but seeing it like this— the hard thrusts the actor is giving the actress, the mess on the sheets, the loud moans and heavy grunts. the skin slapping. it seems so vulgar.
your thighs tense together in a desperate attempt to lighten the arousal between your legs. your clit keeps pulsing under the cotton of your panties, and michael notices it too because all of a sudden his warm hand rests on the zipper of your denim skirt.
“just, sit back for me, yeah?” your best friend suggests, slowly pushing up your top so that it rests over your stomach. he speaks into the soft skin of your neck, and just the feeling of michael’s mouth moving to close to you alone renders you crazy. “feels a little… awkward, that ache between your legs?”
you nod, “yeah, mike, how did y’know?” eyes fixated on the actress moaning out on screen. she gets louder and louder, her back arching in an impossibly round curve. damn, she must be made out of jelly for her to move like that.
and michael completely ignores your question. “want me to make it better?”
“plea— please.”
the sound of your zipper being pulled down is obscene. michael moves his head over your shoulder, peering down to your bare stomach, the cute print on your panties peeking out. “cherries? cute.”
his fingers slide over your mound, over the cotton. over your pussy lips, pulling the material taut over you as he rubs your slit. your entrance shyly drips out arousal. “feel so dirty,” you admit, voice dropping quieter. “like ‘m doing something wrong, mike.”
“nothin’s wrong with you,” the slide of michael’s fingers over your clit, your hole begging for his fingers has your eyes rolling back into your skull. your head lolls back onto michael’s shoulder as you mewl like a cat every time his fingers push slightly into your fluttering hole through your panties.
“just watch the screen—“ your eyes follow the television where the sex scene is playing out in bawldiness, you almost find it funny. “—and hump my hand, baby.”
his hand cups your cunt, the meaty palm of his hand almost scratching over your mound in the most delicious way as you keep spilling out transparent goo, the inside of your panties getting all gloopy and sticky. you feel wetness smear on the insides of your thighs as michael digs his fingers into the sensitive walls of your pussy.
you roll your hips into michael’s open hand like a puppy in heat, tits bouncing with every wave. you’re lazing on michael’s body, both of you practically slumped on the sofa. michael’s hand in your skirt seems so vulgar.
“that’s a good girl,” michael praises, his free hand sneaking its way under your shirt, palming your tits, one hand completely engulfing one boob. “usin’ your best friend for relief, huh?”
his palm grinds over your nipple as he gently squeezes. your thrusts into michael’s hand get harder. “what are other people gonna think of my sweet girl?”
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ MICHAEL JACKSON x fem!reader
synopsisৎ michaels 'odd' obsession with you, his muse, is hidden between the pages of his sketchbook.
porn w/ plot smut 18+ dry-humping inexperienced michael/reader switch!michael size-kink (if you squint) friends with benefits MDNI.
You were always considered an outlier in the earth’s hypothesis. Something to be dealt with rather than accepted.
You weren’t entirely ‘weird’, but being even slightly outlandish in a family that was all business, networking events, and societies twice your age made you stick out like a sore thumb.
You studied your parents' business partners, trying to understand the scripts they’d write and relay just to sell or be sold something. And when your mind refused to make sense of it, you decided you were okay with always being a step behind.
You were accepting the fact that your unwillingness to alter your oddities would leave you lonely–until him.
The evening you met Michael was clear. Its dim calm blanketed Encino in the type of silence only night could infect busy neighbourhoods with.
You’d been lost in your novel for hours on end, the book in your clammy palms consuming your attention whole, when a sound managed a miracle and drew you from your thoughts.
Leaking in through your unlatched bedroom window was the even steps of a four-legged animal. You were quick to disregard your story and made for the noise, sticking a head out into the night. Below you, lit by the flickering streetlights, was the silhouette of a boy.
In his right hand was the leash attached to what you eventually identified as a snowy-white alpaca.
You couldn’t believe it. Wonder finally spread through you and the ecstasy of it was glorious.
You raced downstairs and out your front-door ‘till you stood face-to-face with the boy and his companion.
You asked his name. He asked yours.
And when you asked of the alpaca's, your hand rubbing at the sensitive spot between his eyes, he was bemused when the beast lowered its head and heaved its way into your chest.
Louie collided with you and you wobbled, grin drawn eye-to-eye as you found your footing. The animal sniffed your oaky perfume and nestled his snout between your torso.
Michael felt he had no other choice than to ask for your company—'Louie says he’s lonely', the boy joked, gently tugging on Louie's bit 'till his snout was 'nodding' in agreement.
When you laughed, Michael swore the stars did too.
And when the boy with the alpaca turned up again the next night, you were quick to be by his side.
This habit soon evolved from strictly late-night walks to being granted access to his home-phone.
Often, if Michael was too preoccupied to visit, you’d simply wait for the chime of your landline. You’d wrap the chord around your finger and fidget as the world around you collapsed.
Warming to one-another came instinctually. It was as though your gut knew you were to be each other’s bandages, the thing to mend the wounds of your shared unconventional lives.
Conversation flowed, late nights sailed by, and when the time for sleep rolled around, putting a dampener in your babbling proved impossible.
Months came and left in short intervals as your friendship flowered. You began to understand Michael, and he developed his own deep-seated need to understand you.
To Michael, your entire existence became light itself. You came into his world like a new star in the night sky—bigger, better, brighter than the sun. Michael was your earth. He turned because you were his reason for a new day.
You became something he was convinced God endowed to him. A muse wrapped in odd socks and delicate eyes.
His muse.
You were in the studio when he needed inspiration. You were thigh-to-thigh with him when a movie resonated around Hayvenhurst's living-room late at night. You were by his side when his father found fault in his talents and were there to hold him if tears lurked in his doe-like brown eyes.
Your trust was carved into marble and cradled in silk only months after your first meeting.
With two existences that now move as one, you’re both encased by an unbroken ease of your own making. It’s a foundations built on questions, on answers, and was only finalised when you knew most things about Michael, and he you.
So, the discovery of his aptitude for art had been uncovered long ago—Michael has a fist-full of talent in nearly every hobby he toys with.
But what is new, unseen until now, are his recent drawings.
They were once stagnant in his A3 sketchbook. Today, they bare themselves to you.
Some are rendered; some just jottings of things you fight to find reason in. Though what grasps your attention is the lone illustration on the next page.
Eyes. Wide and glistening, filled with a life you would only ever distinguish in Michael’s—or your own.
“What d’you think?” His voice is a petal against a pond.
You can feel Michael eyeing you, trying to get a gauge of the thoughts running laps in that beautiful mind of yours. Your mute as your fingers delicately flip to the next page.
This one is a collage—outlines of collarbone, the back of a head of hair, a figure beside an assortment of animals homed in Hayvenhurst.
It’s one vast visual sonnet. And it is all you.
Your hair. Your collar. Your figure and feet and hands and limbs.
“Mike, this is…” You swallow your glee and feel it ripen into something sin-like when it reaches your belly. “These are amazing.”
“You really think so?”
You nod, turning to the next page only to find it bare.
“Your so talented, I almost think it’s unfair.” You flash him a smirk before he’s huffing out a timid grin, watching the floor when embarrassment turns his cheeks scarlet.
“That's only' cus’ you’re the subject.” There it is—those conflicting words that battle his body-language. He’s curled in on himself; knees tucked into his chest like he’s shielding his heart. Yet he succeeds in making yours stutter.
You give him a light nudge that has his limbs unfolding onto the floor before he’s returning that same shove. You tumble theatrically, meeting his delighted expression with a scandalized one.
“Oh, that’s it..” You tuck the sketchbook safely beneath his bed.
“Girl, you started it!” The words are torn apart by his giggles.
You lunge at Michael who’s already prepared for the fingers that jab at his ribs.
This breed of touch is habitual between you both. It’s easy to get lost in, normal to forget whose limbs belong to who as they twist and tangle. It’s almost like the parts of you he’d first touched had already been fashioned to his flesh.
Finally, the battle to uncover the ticklish spot that has him squirming to escape is triumphant.
You get Michael on his back as your knees flank his thin waist. The boy wriggles and writhes, but when his hips meet flush with yours, his entire body stiffens.
You feel something unfamiliar, something alien, perked between his thighs. An inaudible gasp is plucked from your lungs.
Your face doesn’t drop—glee is still sketched into every wrinkle—but now, with something solid lodged between his jeans and your skirt, every muscle coils beneath your skin.
The silence is paralysing.
Michael looks up at you with vast unblinking eyes, his chest rising and falling no longer in the cadence of laughter, but in something you’d both only ever seen fragments of in movies.
Lust.
The feel of lust is unfamiliar, consuming, and the throbbing it's buried between your thighs is almost unbearable.
It sneaks between the fissures of your bodies and has the boy beneath you falling into an unrelenting thirst. It’s like he hasn’t drunk in weeks—like you’re the first and last body of water he’ll ever see.
It drapes around you and pulls tighter than Michael’s boa-constrictor around a neck—and somehow, feels more threatening.
As you search your reflection in the boys auburn eyes, you wonder whether he feels that pull too.
You test your theory and shift ever so slightly. Not enough to stir up the dust on the carpet, just enough to have Michael shuddering beneath you.
The view leaves your vision hazed around the edges.
You do it again, just to make sure it wasn’t a fluke.
Michael mewls.
Immediately, his scarlet cheeks find shelter beneath his hands. Even though his shame is practically palpable between the cracks in his fingers, his once level legs rise from the floor and bow at the knee.
He’s urging your hips forward.
Your eyes slam shut at the sensation of the new angle, stomach dipping when he rolls once and, somehow, seamlessly inserts himself between you.
“Michael…”
Heaven cannot compare to the way his name descends from your tongue. It’s a hymn, something to be reminisced—something to be kept hallowed.
Finally, the boy’s hands expire from his face.
Embarrassment around you feels… wrong. Like shoving a puzzle piece into an unfitting form and expecting the picture to be whole.
His digits venture across his collar bones, his stomach, ‘till they reach the place where your thighs are bound around his waist.
You tear your eyes from the sight of enormous hands swallowing your skin and soak in the person below you in his entirety.
The dark curls caught in the sheen layer of sweat coating his forehead, the unblinking dark masses that are his swollen iris’s—the need to alleviate that incessant stabbing in your stomach becomes fatal.
You move against him in one concentrated, brutal thrust.
Michael tosses his head back and bites into his bottom lip, a whine pelting past his throat.
“What’s happening...?” You’ve barely moved yet your lungs already fight for air.
“Ion’ know…" A buffer, like he's noticed the cliff your both about to fall from, then;
"Do it ‘gain, please.” He jumps.
You circle yourself on him this time, testing the delicious current that burrows between your ribs.
Your name falls from his lips like he’s calling out to a deity rather than a woman. But when Michael’s eyes blink open, that line becomes one big blur.
With you on top of him, hair framing your jaw and lengthy lashes fluttering each time his dick quivers against you, you're becoming the only thing he believes in.
The thing growing under Michael’s slacks is so stifled, so tender, so full that he finds it impossible to halt his body's instinct to hump up and into yours.
The movement has you sinking forward as hands grasp at his flannel for balance.
“Feel s’ warm inside...” Michael gasps.
The first few times you meet his bulge it almost burns, pumping molten lava into the fabric of your panties. His dick swells beneath you and offers only a sample of what it’d feel like buried inside, polluting that space with a venomous hunger.
“T-think I need more, please...” Michael’s pleads to you through the slits in his eyes as your messy pace gradually builds on the already pulsating glides of his hips.
With each unrestrained jut, the longing which settles into Michael’s glossy skin shoves his usual bashfulness aside. It makes space for the petty need that only ever rises when he’s alone and thrusting into his pillow.
But your body is mountains away from his poor, overworked pillow.
He can feel your puffy clit through his jeans. Has the privilege of watching your features bend to the will of satisfaction. Listens to your mewling when each ridge of his dick entertains that honeyed spot concealed by a solitary piece of fabric.
This outshines any sexually fuelled scenario his lurid mind can conjure.
“D'you feel that heat too? It feel good?” Michael’s winded as each hasty grind breeds broken mewls.
“Yeah, r-real good.” You yelp when he revises the angle of his hips and punches up into you.
In this moment, Michael’s convinced that anything you feel, he feels two times over. The sentiment is silly—he’s not even sure he believes it—but when his eyes train to the stain tinting his slacks, how can he not?
“Is that…” His words wane before he can finish.
The direction of his eyes leads you to where you're divided by only a few layers of fabric.
Your pussy’s weeping against his jeans.
“That’s me, Mikey.” You hum at the way his eyes cement themselves to the stain every time it bares itself from beneath your skirt.
“Didn’t know g-girls could get so wet. Lookit’, jus’ there. Your leakin’ all ova’me—God!” Michael’s fingers dig into the plush of your thighs as his eyes drown beneath a watery gaze. You can’t tell whether he wants to pray or devour you whole.
You’d let him do both.
After two more merciless strokes, Michael’s palms find the confidence to uncover the flesh of your ass obscured beneath your skirt. He raises the fabric with one bulky hand and kneads your supple cheek with the other, until;
His hands still. Something’s wrong.
You watch his gaze grow bothered as the root of his troubles dawns on you—the fabric of your skirt is disrupting his view between your legs.
He gathers the front of the material, mumbles, “Hol’ this.”, before passing it to you. “Lean back, please. Use my knee.”
You follow his instructions blindly, fabric in hand as you swing an arm behind you and feel for his leg.
“Yeah, yeah, jus’ like that...” If Michael is anything, it’s a perfectionist. This is a man who knows what he wants and one that’ll do whatever to get it.
Right now, he wants the uninterrupted image of the expanse of your stomach and front-row seats to the arch in your spine when you seize his thigh for stability.
“Feel–agh! Feel s’ good.” You throw your head back as you work yourself on him, dick twitching when he eyes the tears of sweat dribbling down your clavicles.
“Don’t stop, please. K-keep movin’ on me like that.” He needs this moment to be infinite.
Your knee slips and loses its friction to the floor for just a second. The mistake has your swollen clit colliding with the cool silver of his zipper.
Another moan rips from your pretty pink lips.
“Oh God...!” Michael curses through bared teeth, “Sound so pretty… s’ pretty.” He’s all inexplicit obscenities braided into praises and pleads that sound like poetry.
“Wan’ try this…” Another slur of words you don’t quite catch, but feel when the hand on your ass begins its course over your sea of ribs to the swell of your breasts.
His palm wanders in efforts at finding your nipple above your clothes, but your fervour gets the better of you.
You snatch his hand into your own–able to hold only a few of his fingers due to their sheer size–and steer it to the hem of your top. You introduce the skin of your unadorned chest to his balmy palm.
“T-thank you.” Michael keeps you rocking on his bulge with one hand as the other examines the unmapped land.
It takes only a second for his thumb to discover the swell at the centre of your boob. His finger is tender against the bud, circling only once before studying your body's response.
His touch runs through you like an electric pulse, chest to core, igniting every nerve on the way.
“Do that again.” You whine through the stutter of your hips.
“Tha’ was good? Really? I did it right?” Michael purrs when you eagerly nod.
You shiver as the pad of his thumb teases your nipple again, circles it, tugs. Each swipe shapes another pulse that’s followed by an overpowering ache amid your thighs.
Your end is threatening you like a waterfall to river rapids. And by the blissed-out expression staining the boy below, you realise his too is an impending danger.
Suddenly, your world flies forward.
Michaels managed to heave you toward him by the hand hidden in your shirt.
For a few instants, you swear he’s about to kiss you.
His eyes are unmoving from your parted lips, like he’s been waiting all this time to taste them, so close that when your foreheads touch you can smell the mint gum he’d rid of earlier haunting his frenzied breath.
Yet your lips remain untouched.
They merely linger inches away from each other, wavering with the rhythm of your bodies.
This is just how you two are. The act of sharing breath, uncaring of where yours starts and his ends, carries a weight beyond that of lips locking.
“C-can’t hol’ it much longer if you keep–ngh–goin’, right there…” He exhales his words into your mouth.
“You’re goin’ to ruin your pants, Michael.”
The boy can almost—almost—feel a giggle rise in his chest. Only you’d be darling enough to have concern for something so inane.
“You already dirtied ‘em.” He returns, a flicker of a smile carving his lips as though cognizance fights for a space at the fore-front of his mind.
But when you grind on him just right and leave yourself to your pleasure, his tongue goes slack in his mouth.
“You’re the best fren’ for lettin’ me do this...” It’s that familiar silken tone he wears when he speaks to you like you're something he can break. “This is wha’ we should do, right? Help each other—God!—out.”
“Mhhm…Best, best frie-” You don’t know when it rose—or how long it’d been there—but you feel complete for a few moments, as though your bodies soaking in the sunrise of your relief. No muscle is spared as your body fizzles into the forefront of your orgasm.
“Y-you cummin’?” When your reply is a hefty head plummeting to the crook of his neck, shadowed by the quake in your clenched thighs, he figures your answer.
Your climax hits you like a freight-train. It robs you of your vision and stifles everything but the rise and fall of two synchronised sets of lungs.
“Your cummin’ on me, shit…”
Tears shadow your waterline when his bulge presses against your gushing clit, bodies so near that your certain Michael’s ribs are woven into yours. Yet the persistent pad of his thumb at your nipple has your spine curling and stuffing any stray gaps.
You strangle your sobs against Michael’s collar as your hips convulse with the swell of your release. While it wanes, leaving you only with ruined panties and locked-up limbs, you note the weightlessness in the hollow of your abdomen—the source of your orgasm.
“Wan’ keep goin'. Can I, please..?”
You try to find the strength to not only say yes to Michael’s plea, but to beg him to use your body ‘till the only thing you feel is him planting his seed between your legs.
Yet you're a drooling, sensitive mess against him. You settle on a nod.
The boy below revives your pace with his hands entombed into the plush of your thighs, your wilted body the only aid for his throbbing dick. “Thank you, pretty. Oh god, I-I’m s’ close!”
You ache—God, do you ache—but the filth fleeing Michael’s mouth only feeds the muscles that are jelly beneath your flesh. You fill your lungs with air and rise from his chest with a determined huff.
The unpolluted need to watch him fall apart blinds your frailty.
“Wan’ you to come in your jeans, Mikey.” Your sentence is one big slur as each syllable clings on to the next. “I wan’ taste it. Are you gonna be a good friend and let me have a taste?”
“’Is all for you. O-only eva’ been for you.” Michael nods through a disgruntled whimper.
“So kind n’ pretty… Smell s’ good, too. A-an’ you feel s’ soft ontop o’ me—s-shit, I’m-” The boy's mindless worshipping is devoured by the sharp teeth of his orgasm.
A gut-wrenching wail leaks from Michael’s wet, flushed lips as brown eyes wane to the back of his head. You watch every moment with broad and enquiring eyes, utterly engrossed in his ecstasy-charged expression—the slack jaw, his brows pinched on his forehead, the doleful, whiny little noises that flee in short bursts.
Even the way his fingers brace against your skin is sure to leave pretty prints on your soft flesh. Five dainty souvenirs of your devoutness to one-another.
Michael’s tempo wanes as he uses your overstimulated clit to wring himself dry in his slacks, dick pulsing with each throb, wracking his body ‘till his convulsing settles into tremors. His seed soaks into the head of his boxers, climax staining his eyes and ears with the echo of its might.
After a few attempts at forcing breath back into your lungs, you both wade in the soothed silence of post-orgasm waters.
Things are still. Things are safe.
Michael’s beneath you and he’s collecting the pieces of himself he lost between your slick, when;
His hands rising, reaching for the dishevelled hair atop your head. He loops an orphaned strand around his finger.
Michael's playing with your hair.
This is something he’d do when he was jaded during a movie and had you near, or on the phone to a producer with you by his side.
It’s a habit he’s built around the idea that your constant presence nearby is normal.
Was this where your shared path of oddity led you? To the point of naming a once indescribable sensation as lust?
Michael’s fiddling halts when he catches your movements in a sharpened gaze. He’s too fucked-out to question why your hands meandering lower, lower, ‘till it reaches the indent of dark skin that melts into his briefs.
Your supple fingers sink beneath the thin layer against his crotch, uncovering the tacky, balmy liquid that can only be one thing—your best-friends come.
Your nails caress his inflamed tip for only a moment, yet the faint connection has Michael sucking in air through his front teeth. His fingers intuitively fly to your wrist and are able to trap it with a single hand.
“You promised I could have a taste.” Your words sound like satin.
Michael nods dumbly, his brain melting in his skull.
Your fingers circle the leftovers of the slick mess he made before carrying it to your mouth, parting when you lap at the evidence of Michael’s orgasm.
“How do I taste?” His voice comes out as a whisper before he licks his lips, biting into the bottom one so hard you’re certain he’s broken skin.
You hum whilst cleaning your finger on your tongue, swallowing his seed. It’s salty, pungent, somewhat saccharine as it oozes down your throat.
“As sweet as you sound.”
A/N I don't exactly like this BUT! im desperate to post for mj so take it. i will start working on ur requests soon! I don't have a schedule as i am employed so stuff will b released as it's ready! thank you so much for the insane support on my first post, ily all𑁤
Authors Note: this is a request! I hope you all enjoy this - i rarely see any maestro au fics, so hopefully this can fill a void. not sure if this is exactly in mikey's voice that i have worked on building but i suppose it is a character he plays.. or an alter ego.
Pairing: Maestro! Michael Jackson X fem! paranormal investigator reader
Summary: The Maestro has been alone for twenty years with a question he cannot answer by himself. You trespassed on his property and now you will pay for your actions - not on the way you think though. You will leave this encounter… enlightened.
Word Count: 5096
Tags: smut, porn with plot, oral sex (f receiving) michael as maestro from the music video ghosts, so... ghost sex?, haunted, 90s,
update: I wrote this all through the night on a red eye flight so if there are any continuity issues,,,, I be sorry lol
18+ minors dnu!!!
You walked through the hallways, that were startlingly still.
The air itself seemed to hold its breath, a thick, dusty silence that swallowed the sound of your own footsteps on the worn parquet. Your flashlight beam cut a wavering path through the gloom, illuminating motes of dust that danced like agitated spirits. The dictaphone in your other hand felt both absurd and necessary, a tiny, plastic tether to the rational world you’d left beyond the iron gates.
“Log entry… seven,” you whispered, your voice hushed not just for recording but out of a deep, instinctive reverence. The house demanded quiet. “Time, approximately 10:47 PM. I’ve entered the main hall of the property known colloquially as the abandoned L’Estaque Manor. Initial impressions… the decay is theatrical.
Deliberate.
It feels less like neglect and more like a stage set waiting for its principal actor.”
You panned the light upwards. A grand staircase swept into darkness, its banister adorned with intricate, cobwebbed carvings. The wallpaper, once a rich burgundy damask, peeled in long, languid strips, revealing the skeletal lath beneath. It was cold, a damp chill that seeped through your jacket and settled in your bones. Yet, there was no malevolence in it. Not yet. It was the cold of emptiness, of a vast space long devoid of warmth.
“No standard paranormal signatures yet,” you continued, moving slowly toward a pair of towering oak doors. “No EMF spikes, no temperature fluctuations beyond the ambient chill. But the atmosphere… it’s heavy. It isn’t threat, maybe expectation?.”
You pushed open the doors to what must have been a music room. A sheet-draped grand piano dominated the space, a hulking white ghost in the center. Tarnished candelabras sat on the mantle.
Your light glinted off the glass of a large, gold-framed portrait above the fireplace, but the face within was too shadowed to make out. You stepped inside, your boots whispering on the Persian rug, its patterns faded into vague, blood-like smudges.
“This room,” you murmured into the recorder. “There’s a… resonance here. Auditory? Maybe. A memory of sound. If I listen…”
You stopped. You closed your eyes, letting the silence press in. And then, beneath the sound of your own nervous system, you heard it.
Or felt it. It wasn’t quite a melody, but the echo of one. The faint, phantom vibration of a piano chord—a minor, unresolved, hanging in the air like a question. Your eyes snapped open. The sheet over the piano was perfectly still. No dust had been disturbed.
“Did you hear that?” you asked the empty room, the dictaphone catching your quickened breath. “A chord. C minor, perhaps moving to… no. It’s gone.”
But it wasn’t.
As you moved back into the hall, it followed you. It wasn’t only just a sound, but a presence. The back of your neck prickled. The air, once uniformly cold, now seemed to stir with a faint, impossible current.
You entered a long gallery, portraits lining the walls, their subjects’ eyes seeming to track your progress from faces blurred by time and shadow.
Then you felt it. A breath. Not on your neck, but inside your ear. A cool, gentle exhalation that carried with it the faintest sound—a wordless, melancholic fragment of tune, the same one that had haunted the piano chord. It was intimate, paralyzing. You froze, your blood turning to ice water.
“Who’s there?” you breathed, not daring to turn. The dictaphone, still recording, captured the tremor in your voice.
There was no answer. Only the returning, absolute silence, now feeling like a held secret.
You forced your legs to move, driven by a compulsion that was equal parts terror and desperate curiosity.
The master bedroom was your goal. In these old houses, it was often the epicenter of residual energy.
You found the door ajar. Pushing it open, you were met with a spectacle that stole what little breath you had left.
The room was vast, dominated by a canopy bed whose curtains hung in tattered shreds. But it was the far wall that commanded attention.
The enormous windows were naked, their curtains ripped away or decayed.
They were thrown wide open to the night, and the wind poured through in a silent, powerful river.
The moon, nearly full, cast a slab of pewter light across the floorboards, illuminating the dust swirling in the turbulent air. The curtains that remained on the sides billowed and snapped like the sails of a ghost ship, soundless in the vacuum of the room.
The night itself seemed to be invading, a cool, black ink flooding into the tomb of the house.
You stepped into the lunar wash, drawn to the windows, to the view of the overgrown gardens and the skeletal trees. The wind played with your hair, kissed your feverish skin. This was it. The heart of the strange stillness. You raised your dictaphone.
“The master bedroom. The windows are open. There’s a… a violent peace here. The wind, but no sound. The moon, is so creepy. I feel…”
You felt watched.
The sensation was so intense it was a physical weight between your shoulder blades. You slowly, so slowly, turned from the mesmerizing night.
He stood in the doorway.
You hadn’t heard a thing; footfall or rustle of cloth. He was simply there, having coalesced from the very shadows of the hall. Your mind, trained to document and analyze, short-circuited, overwhelmed by sheer aesthetic shock.
He was beautiful. It wasn’t in a modern way, but like a painting by a Romantic master who believed in the tragic allure of the sublime. Tall and imperially slender, he was dressed in an anachronism of elegant decay: a white poet’s shirt of fine linen, its ruffles at the chest and cuffs pristine, the top buttons carelessly open to reveal a expanse of pale, smooth skin that gleamed like marble in the low light.
It was tucked into tailored black trousers that emphasized his long legs, and over it all, a sweeping black velvet cloak rested on his shoulders, not quite touching the floor. His hair was a cascade of raven-black waves, stirred by a wind that didn’t touch you, framing a face of heartbreaking symmetry—high cheekbones, a strong jaw, lips that seemed carved from something both soft and cruel.
His eyes were the most alive thing about him, a burning, intelligent dark brown, with a glimmer of mischief in them.
And he was opaque, but only just. You could see, faintly, the outline of the doorframe behind him, the subtle suggestion of moonlight passing through the solidity of his wrist where he held the doorjamb. A ghost. A spectacular, gorgeous ghost.
Your legs gave out. The dictaphone clattered to the floor, but you didn’t hear it. The world tunneled into those dark benevolent eyes, and then into black velvet nothingness.
Consciousness returned without a jolt, but as a slow, cold seep. You were on the floor, but not on the hard wood.
You were cradled in an impossible chill, a sensation like being held by a statue carved from winter moonlight. Your head rested against the crisp linen of his ruffled shirt, and through the thin fabric, you registered a profound, deep cold, the utter absence of living heat.
“Open your eyes.” The voice was a melody all its own, low, cultured, vibrating with an old-world accent and a current of simmering anger. “I did not grant you the courtesy of my solitude only for you to escape into unconsciousness.”
Your eyelids fluttered open. His face was above yours, inches away. Up close, his beauty was even more devastating, and more unnerving. His skin had a faint, pearlescent sheen, and the cool air around him smelled of old books, dried lavender, and something metallic, like distant ozone.
“You…” you croaked.
“I,” he agreed, his tone icy. With a grace that was both effortless and unsettling, he shifted you, helping you to sit up. His hands on your shoulders were like brands of ice, a shock that cleared the last cobwebs from your mind. He didn’t release you. He knelt before you, his stormy eyes pinning you in place.
“Now. You will explain. Why do you trespass in my home? Why do you shuffle through my halls with your little machine, speaking to the silence as if it owes you answers?”
He was furious. It was not the rage of a monster, but a deep, personal offense of a scholar whose library has been invaded and ripped up by a vandal.
“I… I’m a paranormal investigator,” you stammered, your professional pride flickering weakly.
“This house… it’s famous. I thought it was empty.”
“Thought it was empty?” He released you as if burned, rising to his full height in a fluid motion. The white ruffled shirt he wore, flapped in the wind.
“You thought. Or you assumed? And on that assumption, you violate my peace? For twenty years I have curated this silence. Twenty years of moonlit rooms and echoing chords, and you believe you can simply… walk in?” He turned his back to you, a gesture of supreme disdain, looking out at his billowing curtains.
“Your world is so loud. So bright. It forgets what lurks beyond it. It bulldozes. And now it sends its curious little children to poke at what it has forgotten.”
You scrambled to your feet, your legs still unsteady. The dictaphone lay at your feet, its red recording light a tiny, accusing eye. “I meant no disrespect. I’m just… trying to understand.”
He turned his head, his profile a sharp cut against the moonlit window. “Understanding is not yours to take. It is mine to bestow. And I am not inclined to be generous.” He faced you fully again, his anger seeming to settle into a colder, more calculating resolve.
“However. You are here. You have seen me. That… complicates things.”
A new kind of chill, one of primal fear, trickled down your spine. “What are you going to do to me?”
A ghost of a smile, bitter and beautiful, touched his lips. “The traditional tropes? Frighten you to death? Haunt your dreams? How pedestrian.” He drifted closer, his movement so smooth on the rotten floorboards. The cold around him intensified.
“I am a man of intellect. Of passion. Trapped. For two decades, I have been a curator of memories, a prisoner of sensation I can only recall. The taste of wine. The warmth of a fire.” His eyes raked over you, not with lust, but with a desperate, hungry curiosity.
“The touch of a living hand.”
He stopped an arm’s length away. You were captivated, utterly. The fear was still there, deep in your veins, but it was subsumed by a terrifying fascination. He was a masterpiece of sorrow and anger.
“I will let you go,” he said, his voice dropping to a intimate murmur that seemed to reverberate in your very bones.
“I will unlock the doors and watch you flee back to your noisy, bright world, and I will return to my melodic silence. But you will have given me something in return. A… experiment.”
“An experiment?” you whispered.
“A confirmation,” he corrected, his gaze holding yours.
“A sensory recollection,” he added, with a whimsical tone.
“I have wondered, in my long solitude, if the memory of pleasure is a lie the mind tells the soul. If the mechanics of passion are lost to a form such as mine.” He lifted a hand, and his fingers, pale and slightly translucent, hovered just beside your cheek.
You felt the chill, a thrilling ache.
“I wish to know if, after twenty years, I can still… feel. In the most primal sense. I wish to know if I can still make a living woman sigh, and in doing so, remember what it was to be a mere mortal man.”
The meaning crashed over you, not in a wave of horror, but in a surge of electric, reckless understanding. He wasn’t asking for your life. He was asking for your body. As a test. As a sacrament. Your mouth was dry. Your heart hammered against your ribs. You should run. You should scream.
You looked into his eyes, saw the centuries of loneliness, the artistic fury, the haunting, fragile hope.
You saw the pale column of his throat above the open ruffles, the elegant line of his shoulders under the worn white shirt. His hair fell shoulder length, and was beautiful - an almost blue hue shone off of it in the moonlight.
He was the most beautiful, terrible thing you had ever seen.
“Yes,” you heard yourself say, the word leaving your lips on a cloud of breath in the cold air.
His eyes widened, a flicker of surprise, then a dark, triumphant fire. “Yes?”
“Yes.”
The word hung between you, a pact sealed. The anger in him seemed to transmute, melting into a fierce, focused intensity.
He closed the distance. Where his body met yours, there was no solid impact, but a gradual, chilling immersion, as if you were stepping into the shadow of a glacier.
His hands came up to frame your face, and the cold was piercing, exquisite. He leaned in, and his lips met yours.
They were soft, and colder than anything you could imagine, but not inert. They moved with a practiced, desperate skill, and a strange thing began to happen.
As the kiss deepened, a sensation bloomed within the cold—a memory of warmth, a phantom heat that seemed to generate from the very friction of your living spirit against his spectral one.
A low, shuddering sigh escaped him, a sound that was half moan, half sob, and it vibrated into your mouth.
The dictaphone was forgotten. The investigation was forgotten. There was only the Maestro and his experiment.
He pushed you backwards, his mouth never leaving yours, until suddenly he was gone. All that was left was a whisper of the feeling of him on your lips. You brought your fingers up to your lips immediately, missing the touch there.
All of a sudden he appeared behind you, as if by magic and grabbed your other hand and pulled you onto the bed.
With unseen force, the tattered remnants of the bed curtains fell away completely. He laid you down on the cold, silken coverlet, following you down, his form settling over yours with a weight that was more pressure than mass. His cloak enveloped you both, a dark tent against the moonlit room.
“Tell me you can feel that,” he murmured against your throat, his lips trailing icy fire down your pulse point. His fingers, deft and chilling, worked at the buttons of your jacket, then your shirt. “Tell me I am not just a dream touching you.”
“I feel it,” you gasped, arching into the shocking cold of his hands on your bare skin. It was a paradoxical feeling—the cold was so intense it burned, and within that burn, pleasure sparked, sharp and shocking.
“You’re real.”
You nearly yelped at the force in which he pulled off your jeans.
He made a sound, a raw, hungry thing, and his own clothing seemed to dissolve into mist and shadow at his will; revealing the pale, sculpted plane of his chest, the elegant taper of his waist. He was slender, graceful, beautifully made, and glowing with that faint inner luminescence.
His skin, when it met yours fully, was a shock—a deep, penetrating cold that made every nerve ending sing a desperate, alert song.
He explored you, focused, like a connoisseur rediscovering a lost art. His mouth, a brand of ice, traced the lines of your collarbones, the curve of your breast, his tongue swirling in a pattern that left behind a trail of goosebumps and fire.
Your voice gave out, the sound swallowed by the billowing curtains and the silent night. Your hands clutched at his back, feeling the powerful muscles shift under skin that was smooth and cold as polished alabaster.
You could fully feel him now, the reality of his form, even as your fingers sometimes seemed to sink into him a fraction too deeply, meeting a core of thrilling, empty cold.
“I crave the warmth between those legs,” he breathed, his voice ragged with wonder. He was between your legs now, his storm-cloud eyes holding yours, his dark hair cascading around his face, stirred by his own spectral energy.
“You are... A delicious, living thing. Something I have not been close to as of late. Let me… let me remember this.”
He prepared himself by using his index finger to rub the precum on his cock, and then entered you in one slow, relentless glide.
The sensation was beyond anything you could have conceived. It wasnt the friction of flesh, but something stranger, more profound. It was a bone chilling cold, a possession that reached into the very marrow of your bones and clawed up to your heart from below.
It was like being touched from the inside out by a icy winter river, shocking and pure and terrifyingly intimate.
Another choked and wordless sound of shock and overwhelming pleasure came from you; your back bowing off the bed, crazily, as if you were possessed. Maybe you were.
He stilled, his face a mask of agonized ecstasy. “Ah… it is… better than I remember….the memory is true. It is… worth the waiting.”
He began to move, and each movement was a study in contradiction—the solid, rhythmic pressure of him, coupled with the eerie, chilling diffusion of his essence spreading through you.
The feel of him became a drug, a stimulant. It sharpened every sensation, made every nerve raw, every pleasure point on the edge of falling apart.
You felt everything with a hyper-clarity: the silken slide of the coverlet beneath you, the rush of the moonlit wind over your heated skin, the exact, perfect angle of his hips as he drove into you, seeking his own forgotten culmination. His rhythm was diabolically good, you did not know that these feelings could overcome your body.
He was not silent within this endeavour. He whispered in a mix of broken words and song, fragments of poetry, curses, prayers. You couldn’t tell what was which - your brain unable to concentrate for the unbelievable pleasure coursing through your veins.
“Warm — you are so extraordinarily warm — I had forgotten — god, the scent of your skin alone is enough to have me—" He stopped. The sentence didn't finish. For the first time since you had met him, the Maestro had run out of words.
His hands were everywhere, icy points of contact that ignited wildfires under your skin. The juxtaposition of this feeling in your brain was hard to comprehend.
One hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head back to expose your throat to his marauding, freezing kisses.
The other gripped your hip, his fingers pressing in with a desperate strength that should have bruised, but only left a thrilling ache. You were unraveling, your own moans and pleas becoming a constant, ragged soundtrack to the act unfolding in this old gothic home.
The pleasure built not in a warm wave, but in a cryptic crescendo, a pinnacle of sensation so sharp and cold and brilliant it felt like nothing you’d experienced before..
“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice guttural, his form seeming to flicker with a stronger inner light. “Look at me when you fall from the precipice.”
You forced your eyes open, meeting his. They were no longer just stormy, but lit from within by lightning, wide with a shock of feeling so long denied.
The sight of his beautiful, haunted face, hovering over you in the throes of a passion both otherworldly and devastatingly real, was the final trigger.
The world dissolved into a ridiculous gothic black and white film. You felt like you’d fallen through the bed and into a whole other dimension - your body experiencing such extreme sensation it had never felt before.
Your climax was not a release of heat, but a vacuum of sensation, a pulling inward of all the cold and the pleasure into a single, singular point of absolute zero ecstasy. You convulsed around him, a wordless scream trapped in your throat.
It triggered his own orgasm. He threw his head back, the veins of his pale neck standing out in stark relief.
His climax was silent, a seismic event contained within the shimmering outline of his form. He grunted mercilessly at first.
A visible shudder wracked through him, a wave of distortion that made the moonlight behind him bend and warp.
His head still thrown back, his mouth opened in a soundless cry of pure, unadulterated release, and for a moment, he became almost fully transparent, a mere sketch of a man lost in feeling.
Then he solidified again, collapsing forward, his weightless form half-covering you, his face buried in the tattered pillow beside your head.
You both lay there, entangled in the wreckage of pure sensation.
You could feel the echo of him inside you, a fading, delicious chill. His skin, where it touched yours, was no longer just cold; it was thrumming with a low, resonant vibration, like a plucked cello string.
He was the first to stir. He pushed himself up on his elbows, looking down at you. The storm in his eyes had calmed to a dazed wonder. He looked… younger. The lines of ancient despair had softened.
“The hypothesis,” he whispered, his voice scraped raw, “was correct. I’m still able to make a woman come undone.”
A breathless, hysterical laugh bubbled in your chest. “Glad I could be of service… for your research.”
The ghost of a real smile, less bitter now, touched his lips. He traced one icy finger from your sternum down to your navel, making you shiver.
“Service implies a transaction completed. I find myself slightly… unsatisfied. The experiment had a singular parameter. Intercourse. It was a blunt instrument.”
His gaze drifted lower, down the trembling plane of your stomach. “I wish to get closer.”
The air, still crackling with the aftermath, grew thick with a new, focused tension. “Closer?” You asked.
“I want to taste you,” he murmured, his voice dropping to that intimate, bone-resonating register. “I felt your heat before. A glorious, enveloping feeling. But I was a clumsy guest, storming the gates.” He began to move, sliding down your body with a serpentine grace that left a trail of gooseflesh.
The silken coverlet whispered beneath you. “I wish to map the source. To taste the joys of your pleasure. To see if I can elicit the same symphony with my tongue as I did with… other means.”
He settled between your thighs, at the edge of the bed, his broad shoulders pushing your legs further apart. The moon cast him in stark relief—the fall of his dark hair, the elegant line of his back, the pale curve of his buttocks.
“I wish to break you open, in your pleasure. Make you question everything you have ever known about your sensory receptors in your body. It needs to be precise”
He was kneeling on the floor, and as he did, you saw his hand move. He took himself in hand, his length already stirring again, impossibly, from the aftermath.
It was graceful like the rest of him, and he gave himself a slow, thoughtful stroke, his eyes fixed on the apex of your thighs with the concentration of an artist contemplating a fresh canvas.
“You are watching me?” he said, without looking up. His thumb swept over the head of his cock, a slow, circular motion.
He sniggered at your lack of response.
“Good, I suppose. This is part of the process. The anticipation. The visual study.” He stroked himself again, a long, languid pull, his breath hitching with a soft, frosty sigh.
“I am reminded that women of this day like to watch solo performances…. However, you’ll be so overcome you won’t even remember I am touching myself too.”
The sight was mesmerizingly obscene. This beautiful, beyond the living man, kneeling in worship between your legs, casually pleasuring himself as he prepared to devour you. It shattered any last pretense of a normal encounter. This was a ritual. Unlike any intimate moment you had shared with a partner before - it was as if they never even existed outwith this moment.
He leaned forward then, and his breath washed over you first—a cold, damp gust that made you jolt and gasp. He didn’t touch you with his mouth yet. He nuzzled, his cheek and the bridge of his nose sliding through your curls, inhaling deeply.
“Extraordinary,” he breathed, the words a vibration against your wet cunt.
“The scent… alive. Musk, salt, sunlight trapped in flesh. I have missed this more than wine, more than music.” He finally looked up, his black thunder-cloud eyes glinting in the dark.
“Tell me to stop if you are frightened?”
You couldn’t. Your voice was gone, stolen by the spectacle of him. You could only manage a frantic shake of your head.
A dark, pleased hum escaped him. “Then we continue.”
His tongue was not like a living man’s. It was cooler, smoother, and yet impossibly deft. He didn’t attack; he was calm and slow when he devoured you.
A long, slow, flattened stroke from bottom to top of your centre, soaking in the feel and taste of you. You cried out, your hands flying to your mouth to cover the obscene sounds coming from you.
“Such a pretty and shy girl,” he murmured against you, the words almost indistinct, felt more than heard.
“Let me hear you,”
He continued to just marvel at your sex; you looked down at him, bewildered that this could even be really happening.
“The texture… the give… the heat is not a wall, it is a tide. And it welcomes me.”
He began to work in earnest, and it was clear he was, as he said, a maestro. His tongue was a precision instrument, tracing lazy circles around your clit before focusing on it with a pinpoint, icy pressure that made you see what felt like the expansion of the universe.
He alternated—broad, lapping strokes that cooled your entire core, then sharp, flickering assaults on that one hypersensitive node. His pace was deliberate, experimental, listening to every hitch of your breath, every twitch of your thighs.
And all the while, his right hand moved on himself. You could hear the soft, slick sound of it, a counter-rhythm to the wet, hungry sounds his mouth was making. He stroked himself in time with the flicks of his tongue, a slow, consistent pumping motion, his own pleasure feeding back into the attention he lavished on you.
It was a feedback loop of sensation, a closed circuit where his cold arousal and your burning need amplified each other.
“You taste of the world,” he groaned, lifting his head for a moment. His lips glistened. His eyes were heavy-lidded, his face flushed with a phantom of color. His hand never stopped moving on his cock.
“You taste of summer grass and night rain and… and life. It is an addiction.” He dove back in, his hunger less controlled now, more ravenous. He added his fingers, one, then two, sliding into you with that same shocking, perfect cold, curling upwards as his tongue lashed at your clit.
You felt obsencely overestimulated, the deep, filling chill of his fingers, the maddening, icy pinpoint of his tongue, and the visual, audible proof of his own mounting pleasure as he stroked himself faster, his breath coming in short, frosty pants against your skin.
You were babbling, pleading, pulling his hair, your hips rolling uncontrollably against his face.
The cold was no longer just a sensation; it was the fuel, the catalyst that made every nerve scream twice as loud.
“Is this the way?” he asked, his voice muffled, desperate for confirmation. “Tell me, my living beauty… does this path lead to the same peak?”
“Yes—God—yes, please, don’t stop doing whatever you’re doing, please—” you sobbed. “I am so close”
He redoubled his efforts. His tongue became a blur of cold, relentless motion. His fingers pumped, crooking just so, and his thumb pressed hard, circling your clit. His other hand was a piston on his own length, the rhythm frantic now, the soft slapping sounds filling the air. He was chasing it, chasing your climax with desperation; starving for proof of his own existence.
The build was different this time. Not a shatter or a falling apart that you’d have been used to, but a slow, inexorable melt. The cold he was pumping into you seemed to meet the core of your heat and create a thermal reaction, a swirling vortex of sensation that pulled everything you were into its center.
Your muscles locked. Your breath stopped. The world narrowed to the freezing, brilliant point between your legs and the sight of his beautiful, obsessed face buried there, pleasuring himself as he drove you mad.
It broke silently, a vast, wave-like submersion. Your climax washed over you profoundly, a drowning release, a slow-motion unfurling of every tense wire in your body.
You pulsed around his fingers, a long, shuddering series of contractions, a silent scream locked in your throat.
He felt it. He let out a choked, triumphant cry against you and his own rhythm stuttered, then broke. His back arched, a perfect, taut bow, and he spilled over his own fist with a ragged, gasping groan, his release pearlescent and faintly glowing in the moonlight, striping his own pale stomach and the dark coverlet beneath him.
He trembled violently through it, his mouth still pressed against you, drinking in the final aftershocks of your pleasure as his own wracked him.
Slowly, he pulled away. He looked wrecked, glorious. His hair was wild, his lips swollen and slick. His eyes, when they met yours, held a look of stunned, satiated reverence.
He looked down at the evidence of his own pleasure on his hand and stomach, then back at you, as if he couldn't quite believe either.
"The data," he whispered, his voice utterly spent. "Is... overwhelming. The hypothesis is not only confirmed... it is expanded upon. The variables are infinite."
He moved then, fluid and weary, coming to lie beside you. He didn't pull you into the full, chilling embrace of before, but he slid an arm beneath your neck, his body a line of cool pressure against your side. He was still stroking your hair with his other hand, his touch now almost gentle.
"You have," he said to the canopy above, "given a ghost a memory that does not hurt to hold. That is a rare gift, little trespasser."
You turned your head on his arm. The dictaphone was still on the floor, its red light a steady, distant pulse. The investigation was over. Something else had begun.
"What now?" you asked, your voice hoarse.
He was silent for a moment, watching the curtains dance with the night. "Now," he said finally, a new, contemplative note in his voice, "we discuss the parameters of further... experimentation. And you tell me your name. One should know the name of a beautiful, living creation, should one not?"
Can you do dating to marriage thriller!Michael to mature!michael pls?😔
okay this has been living in my head ever since i got this ask!
it would be so bittersweet because you meet him at such a high stage of his life, his record literally being the top selling in the world! i feel your guys’ relationship would be VERYY much on and off, seeming as he was very infatuated with d*ana r*ss (yes im censoring idgaf) he just couldn’t fully commit. but you two still stayed in contact and stayed friends & more sometimes.
that’s when bad era comes along and he finds out she’s engaged to someone else. not that he’s using you or your his second option, because you made damn sure he knew you weren’t NOOO second option. you guys talked and talked and talked just to get the situation cleared. and that’s when the relationship became 100% official.
he’d spoil you to the BONE, take you on trips, buy you things and even write songs for you. one special trip was to disney world in tokyo, one of the most romantic places he’d ever been and he wanted to be there with you. by this time, the two of you had been in the talks about marriage and possibly even children and the fact that you wanted a family just as much as him made him fall even more madly in love with you.
upon finishing his dangerous album, he really wanted to propose. you two had talked so much about where you would want to go to get married, what kind of dress, theme and even where to honeymoon. he was just so eager but you wanted to keep him on his toes until you were ready. and when you finally gave him clearance, he did. he wanted it to be super private and intimate so he proposed at the top of the ferris wheel, which was your favorite ride, at neverland ranch. you just remember being so smitten with him, you couldn’t stop staring at the ring or flashing it at him and going, “i’m gonna be a wife!” and the spoiling didn’t not end there.
he went as far as to buying you your dream car, just for his lady. when the time came to try on wedding dresses, you had wished the whole time that he was there to help you, but knowing michael he’d probably be no help at all. he wouldn’t be able to pick just one because he’d say something like “you’re just so beautiful in all of them, darling.” then the big day slowly approached, it was magical to say the least. and when michael seen you in your dress, the man could barely keep his composure. he wanted to cry, you wanted to cry, but you insisted that he doesn’t or else you will and you didn’t want to ruin your freshly done makeup.
you two honeymooned at disney, of course. the same place that you two had your first official date. honeymooning in a different country was something so special for the both of you, and it was the night you two first made love. you both wanted to keep it special by waiting til marriage and it was worth it. you two played, explored and relaxed together the whole month you honeymooned.
and that’s when he began working on his next record, which meant he’d be away more often. but when you two were together everything was so domestic. when he’d come home from recording or rehearsing, you’d have dinner and a movie ready then later on he’d help you clean up the kitchen with some soft music in the background. then that’s when you two began trying for children—well not so much trying, but the thought stayed in the back of your heads’.
showing him the positive test was both exciting and scary. he was in the midst of touring and you decided not to tell him til he came back to see his reaction. that might’ve been the first time you’ve ever seen michael cry in front of you, no matter how many times you told him it’s okay to be emotional especially in front of you but this time, he stopped caring.
leading into invincible era, michael was the best father you could ever imagine, sometimes you would sit and wonder how or why you got so lucky with him. he was so attentive to you guys’ children (yes yall had multiple 🤭) and never was aggressive towards them, which was your biggest fear as a mother. when he would tour, all they would ask for was him in which you’d turn on his short films for them to watch. you’d record them dancing to their daddies music and rewatch the tapes with him, giggling endlessly. your nights as a family would be filled with pillow fights, sneaking cookies before bed, and having them fall asleep in the king sized bed between you two. but honesty? you wouldn’t have it any other way.
WHY DID I CRY WRITING THIS BYEEE 🥹🥹 thank you anon for this request, writing this fulfilled something inside of me ❤︎︎
biting and sucking on jaafar’s biceps!!!! bc that's hot
synopsis: you're basically horned out over jaafar's arms
a/n: little gift cuz arsenal won the league after 20 years and i’m feeling on top of the world
you’ve always had a thing for your boyfriend’s hands and arms.
you just can’t help but feel all hot and bothered when the tendons in his forearms tighten. or when he carries around heavy boxes with ease, seeing the muscles in his upper arms all bunched up and bulging under the material of his shirt.
or his big hands, whenever one rests on your thigh, fingers stroking your skin slowly, you can’t help but feel tingles in your stomach from anticipation of how badly you want him to use them to—
if you weren’t so horny, you would be ashamed to admit that you wanted to bite him. his hands, his arms. his fingers wedged between your teeth. sucking marks all over him, rightfully claiming what’s yours.
your favourite thing is how protected you feel when jaafar’s arms tense up around you when he lifts you up with only a low grunt, lips brushing over your forehead in the process as he calls you every sweet name in the book whenever you feel stressed or sad.
it all happens with one simple stare. well, not really simple, because jaafar knows you better than you know yourself sometimes. he always knows when your stares and glances mean something more.
you’re on the sofa, legs tangled together, you resting on jaafar’s chest as you listen to his heart beat steadily under his ribcage. your eyes aren’t really on the tv, but more on him. his arms, in particular.
“you’re staring, baby.”
it takes a couple of seconds before you answer back, eyes completely zeroing in on his biceps. “what?”
“i said you’re staring,” he sounds somewhat amused, a slight smirk on his face. “you like my arms?” he lazily extends one arm experimentally, muscles automatically flexing along with the movement.
and damn, if that doesn’t immediately make your mouth water. especially now that your stupid beautiful boyfriend is waving his left arm around, right in your face.
the muscles in his arms look like little hills, skin even like an iced cake, perfect to sink your teeth into.
you finally remember to respond. “i— i do, i think.” you downright admit, heat creeping up your cheeks. your thighs already clamp together from his teasing tone alone. “especially this part—”
your nimble fingers already settle over jaafar’s forearm to pull him closer to you. your fingers squeeze around his bicep, feeling the thick tendons underneath his skin.
without thinking, you press one tentative kiss to the area, just letting it linger there, gauging your boyfriend’s reaction. the amused grin is still plastered on his face, this time with a darker, heavier gaze in his eyes.
“do you now, huh?” he asks, cupping your chin with his free hand, thumb rubbing back and forth. you nod happily, pressing another kiss to the muscle, this time pinching the skin between your teeth before you suck.
one more. another. and another, until his arm is covered in your glittery lipgloss, purple marks and slippery with your saliva. “you're killing me over here, princess.” your boyfriend grunts, his head tilting back from the sensation.
before you can press another kiss to jaafar’s arm, he’s already flipped you over, caging you in between his arms, his breath ghosting over your swollen lips.
“you’re so sweet. such a sweet girl. kissin’ all over me,” he whispers — even though you’re alone — his hot mouth travelling over the column of your neck. “gonna show me how much you like my arms, baby?”
a/n: sorry i keep cutting scenes off before the smut I HAVENT WRITTEN SMUT IN SO LONG I THINK I FORGOT HOW TO (and haven't been intimate with anyone in a long time but that's too tmi) pls be patient with me, and sorry for cockblocking 💔
𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒔 ❤︎ desperately horny reader who gets princess treatment in the bedroom! 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭: missionary, dirty talk, size kink bc jaafar is big af. breeding kink, unprotected sex, creampie, jaafar is a soft dom because of course he is… also i just had to mention his ass twice sorry hehe.
today had been tiresomely long. your boyfriend had spent the day doing press for 𝑚𝑖𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑒𝑙 from 9 to 5, and you’d gone with him, watching from behind the cameras. of course you loved being there, but the problem was that he looked so fucking sexy in his silk shirt and those perfectly tailored black pants, and by the time you both got home, you were more than ready to rip everything off him. it was ovulation week, so that made sense…
⟡ ۫ . ✉️ — “woah baby, can you at least wait until we get through the door?” jaafar chuckled as you pawed at the collar of his shirt, pressing open-mouthed kisses from his jaw to his adam’s apple, faint lipstick stains marking him up. he kept one arm around your waist to make sure you didn’t stumble. you hadn’t consumed a single drop of alcohol—you were just ditsy with your desperation.
you’d both just stepped out of his car, and he'd forced you to behave in the vehicle during the entire journey, so now, back on the doorstep of your shared home, you decided you’d display your need as shamelessly as ever.
“no, you’ve had me waiting all day,” you murmured against his jaw, before kissing him with tongue. he hummed into the kiss, still smiling, then laughed and pushed your head back gently.
“most days we don’t have sex until evening.”
you gave him a pointed look, threading your fingers through his. “most days i haven’t had to stare at your gorgeous face for eight hours straight.”
“okay, whatever, i get it,” jaafar only chuckled again, and took out his keys to unlock the front door. “i didn’t realise i was that appealing just sitting and talking.”
you wrapped your arms around his neck, leaning into his chest—so, so desperate to feel him wholly. “you’re kidding me, right?” you hummed airily into his skin. he smelled incredible, as usual.
he kissed the crown of your head as the key rattled in the lock, and then he pushed open the door.
“finally,” you sighed as you clung to him. he shut the door behind you both, locking it with the free hand not holding you, and then after you each took off your shoes, both his arms moved to wrap around your waist, and he rocked you in his hold.
“what do you wanna do, baby?” he whispered into the crown of your head, where you still rested in the crook of his neck like a cub clinging to its mother.
“i think you know,” you replied sweetly, pulling back to look up at him with those eyes he could never say no to. not that he would even want for a second to say no to you this evening.
“i think i do too,” he smirked, running his hands up and down your back before resting them at your ass over your jeans. he gave the area a squeeze, and if you weren’t so horny you would’ve made a joke about the ass he was packing down there himself.
you batted your lashes up at him playfully, waiting for him to drag you upstairs and have his way with you, like you’d been waiting for all day.
“jump,” he ordered with a teasing smile, and with a giggle you kept your arms around his neck as you jumped up into his hold, wrapping your legs around him.
you let out a soft gasp as he bounced you a little in his arms, and then he was off up the stairs immediately, bringing you with him pressed against his chest like a princess being rescued. in your case, rescued from the mundanity and sexual frustration of the day.
jaafar brought you to your shared bedroom and let go of you to lay you down in the sheets, a graceful fall from his embrace as you anticipated all that you craved.
quickly, you shimmied out of your jeans and threw off your shirt, leaving you in only a matching set of baby pink underwear. jaafar was also wasting no time getting undressed—you watched as he too threw off his shirt, and began unbuckling his belt.
there weren’t many sexier sights (or sounds too, for that matter) on this earth than jaafar unbuckling his belt after a long day. you bit your lip as you looked up at him. he then pulled his pants down and off, before tugging off his boxers too and tossing them somewhere. now his thick and fully hard cock stood up against his abdomen in front of you, the tip flushed with need.
you moaned involuntarily at the mere sight of him positioning himself over you, and immediately you reached down to stroke his length.
he shut his eyes tight at the feeling. “oh fuck baby…”
“yeah, does that feel good, handsome?” you asked, loving to feel the ridges of each vein against your smooth palm.
“perfect, shit—” he moaned as you sped up your movements, but a few moments later you pulled away and his attention was brought back to your pleasure only. you had been waiting all day after all, and he had a feeling you were ovulating. in some insane way, he could often tell which point of your cycle you were at.
“j, i need you so fucking bad,” you moaned against his lips as he kissed you, his tongue swirling against yours.
“yeah i know, princess,” he cooed, starting to tug down your pink panties without having to be told twice. “patience, alright?” he flung them somewhere by his own underwear, and then lastly he removed your bra, pressing kisses and softly biting all over your chest as he did so.
“wait a sec,” he leaned over to his nightstand and pulled out a drawer, “i'm just gonna get a condom before we get carried away with ourselves and forget.”
but you grabbed his bicep to stop him. “no. i want it raw, please j.”
he raised a brow, having definitely not expected those words when you were completely sober. “you sure?”
“yeah, i’m sure," you said quickly. this didn't need to be a whole discussion—you just needed his cock. "now please shut up and fuck me, baby—i don’t think i’ve ever been more horny in my life.”
he laughed at your words, that beautiful grin lighting up his face, and he positioned himself over you again, thumb rubbing your cheek softly. “okay, i know you need it hard right now, so that’s what we’re gonna do, yeah?” he whispered so intimately.
you nodded, beaming.
“but aren’t you ovulating, baby?” he smacked the head of his cock over your clit several times, and your hips jolted with the force of the pleasure.
“mmph,” you whined against the pillows. “yeah, i am. how did you know?”
“i have special powers,” jaafar smirked, still sliding the weight of himself up and down your soaked pussy. every single slight touch and movement set your body alight with what felt like microdoses of ecstasy, you were that horny. it was almost as if your body truly was begging for a baby.
except that was ridiculous, because neither of you had ever once considered parenthood as a serious reality in the nearby future. the fact was that right now you weren’t thinking about the reality of anything. all that was on your mind was your gorgeous man and his equally gorgeous assets.
“okay, so you’re really sure?” jaafar asked for what felt like the millionth time.
“yes, baby—just fuck me,” you sighed, but the amused look on his face at this unrestrained episode of neediness made you chuckle.
“manners,” he ordered, brows raised in a playful scold, now teasing his tip at your entrance, pushing in ever so slightly just to pull out again, and repeat.
“please fuck me, sir,” you replied with a sweet smile, expecting more teasing, but instead he pushed in—finally.
jaafar's cock was so so girthy, length at least six inches, so he guided himself in gradually, letting you adjust. no matter how horny you were, he didn’t want to risk hurting you.
although, he knew you wanted no mercy tonight, so once he’d bottomed out, that first rough thrust felt like you’d ascended to heaven. he hit your spot instantly, as always, and his low groans above you only added to the perfection of the moment.
he’d worked out a lot in preparation for the movie, so his biceps were a beautiful sight for sore eyes, and you found yourself lost in that sight as he rested one hand up on the headboard behind you, his muscles flexing. with each harsh thrust the headboard knocked against the wall, a rhythmic noise that sounded in between the moans spilling from both of you.
his thick cock hit that spongy, sensitive spot inside you with every stroke, and you gasped and whined each time.
“jaafar, baby, fuck—”
“yeah, you good, princess?” he murmured through groans. he could barely contain himself. to him, it was a slice of heaven being inside you.
your response wouldn’t leave your lips because all that you sounded out were lewd noises as his thrusts never once let up or slowed.
“hm? tell me how good it feels, baby girl. talk to me.”
jaafar then shifted positions slightly, from hovering above you to now being pressed completely against you, skin on skin. his body suffocated yours in the most beautiful way, everything feeling so incredibly intimate. your hands went to his curls the second he moved, the strands always your favourite thing to hold while he fucked you into oblivion.
he was gazing down at you, your foreheads touching, and you tried to meet his eyes, tried to respond to his question, but the pleasure was just too much. your eyes only kept fluttering shut, your incoherent mouth exposing how much of a cockslut you were for your man.
“mhm—i—oh fuck j, i can’t—”
“no, talk to me, beautiful,” he murmured in your ear, kissing every inch of your face. “‘m making you feel so good, huh? you gonna cum for me soon, sweet girl?”
through more gasps and moans, you finally managed to respond lucidly. “yeah—mmh—gonna cum—i love it when you fuck me so deep jaafar, oh m…”
each time you called him by his name during sex, he always nearly lost his mind. it was the most perfect thing for him to hear you moan his name while all fucked out beneath him, his cock plunging in and out of your tight walls—he as the sole cause of your ecstasy-like pleasure.
“that’s it, my angel… keep telling me all about it…”
“baby, i can hardly speak,” you breathed out, giggling in his ear. he smelled so fucking good, and you could feel him everywhere with how his body was caging you in. now you reached one hand down to grip his ass—that ass the whole world was talking about—while your other hand remained tight in his curls.
he chuckled in your ear too, but never paused concentration. he bit his lip hard with the force of his relentless strokes, leaving you wondering how on earth he was managing to keep this up for so long without slowing down. his stamina was off the charts.
“i know, baby girl. but you like getting fucked dumb, huh?”
now your nails were running up and down from his ass to his shoulder blades, the pleasure building constantly.
“yes i do j—mmmh, that’s it baby, i’m close—”
“yeah me too sweet girl… i know… let me get you there.” he pulled back a little in order to reach a hand down and rub your clit, while the other kneaded one of your breasts. he twisted a nipple between his fingers and you almost screamed, having to smack a hand over your mouth because of the neighbours. jaafar only laughed, finding it all so amusing, and that famous smile never failed to give you butterflies even when you were already on cloud nine.
“i’m gonna eat your pussy after this,” he grinned, still toying with your clit expertly.
“yeah?” you half-sighed half-laughed, nails still raking up and down his back. “it’s my special day.”
“well, whatever my girl wants, she gets.”
“i’m so blessed,” you giggled.
now his thrusts were beginning to falter, but you could tell that was due to how close he was to his orgasm.
“j,” you gripped his strong bicep, “i need your cum so fucking deep, i’m serious—”
“i’ll give it to you baby,” he groaned, the pace turning erratic now that he was so close. “shit, this pussy is fucking insane… so tight, fuck—”
and then you felt it all. spurts of his hot cum filled your womb, and he thrusted through his release while you continued to react like a whore beneath him.
it was only moments later that you reached your own climax, toes curling, body seizing in the most ethereal pleasure. you couldn’t believe how jaafar managed to get you like this every time.
when you both caught your breath, jaafar collapsed on top of you, his head on your chest, cock gradually softening inside. you loved this part so much.
he took a deep sigh against your collarbone and then spoke. “i need to fuck you raw again. right now." he began pressing light kisses all over your chest.
you chuckled, playing with his hair. you were the only one who he ever allowed to touch those pretty curls.
"but first, i'm eating you out," he added plainly. "like i said."
you blushed, smiling down at him, a rush of contentment running through your body and down to your most sensitive area. you were in the mood to be overstimulated tonight.
“i love you, baby,” you whispered, beaming. “you’re so good to me.”
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synopsis: being michael jackson’s personal assistant had its perks — like being the woman he fucks & cheats on his wife with and promises the world and more to. but those promises are empty when you leave your husband for him — and he’s still with his wife because he can’t choose.
warnings: sexual themes, smut, cheating, angsty romance.
One look.
One conspiratorial, distraught look was enough for Michael’s stomach to turn — his guilty conscience gnawing away at him like a starved, rapid animal.
The way your eyes flickered had him twitching uncomfortably — irrefutable despair leaking from you like a burst pipe. It was unmissable the way your ceaseless gaze ignited tension in the room like no other — goosebumps crawling up his neck in sheer agony.
His expression spoke a thousand words with one guilty look — one that had you swallowing thickly, picturing how in the hell you managed to get yourself in this position, and cursing the day you took the job at Westlake Recording Studio’s.
It started on your first day — an old blouse too tight around your chest, fighting back as you attempted to pull it looser against your obvious bust, and a tartan midi-skirt that your Mother forced you to wear. You looked like a house wife out of the 40’s. You hated it.
You were nervous, oh so nervous. Rightfully so — this job was a big deal. Being a Personal Assistant was an important role in a successful person’s life — you made sure everything in their world ran smoothly. No fuck up’s — not even one to test the waters. And it didn’t help your nervous system that whom you were personally assisting was the King of Pop, global superstar, Michael Jackson.
The thought of him had your heart hammering in your chest — you had never even seen a celebrity up close, let alone worked for them. You had no idea how you even managed to land this job with how little experience you had — but clearly your street-smart book-smart combination pushed you to the top of the list of applicants.
Walking swiftly through the hallways of Westlake Recording Studio, your heels clicked so loud that you cringed — suddenly feeling so out of place in such an important building. This was where a superstar made magic with his voice — certainly somewhere you thought you didn’t deserve to be.
The reception area of the studio took you by surprise — oh so this place was serious about not letting just anyone in. You forced your saliva down as you approached the mahogany desk where an older lady resided.
"Hello there." You greeted, the woman peering up at sound of your presence, "I’m Mr Jackson’s new Personal Assistant. I-It’s my first day."
The lady smiled, "Oh, yes, I’ve heard all about you. Come with me, sweetie, I’ll show you around."
She introduced herself as Susanna, 65 years-old, who should be retired but revealed she just loved the job too much. As she guided you through each hallway, she told you she’d been working in and around the music industry since she was a little girl in the late 20’s and had never seen a performer and musician quite like Michael Jackson.
"Now, Michael isn’t the only performer we have here, but he’s the most frequent, probably why Frank wanted you to come here first." She said, referring to Michael’s manager, Frank DiLeo, "Over there’s the lunch-room, and to the right of it is the ladies room." She stared, your eyes following her manicured fingers as they pointed in the direction of the rooms, "And up ahead is Michael’s studio."
Your heart thumped wildly in your chest with anxiety — you’d always pictured yourself with a simpler, less demanding job. Something where people didn’t rely on you too much as to not embarrass yourself or get into trouble. But, being the Personal Assistant of the world’s most well-known man was far from that. Which, rightfully, had your stomach churning.
"Now, as you probably know, he’s a little shy." Susanna chuckled, the cigarette smoke puffed from her thin lips left a stench in the air that crinkled your nose, "But, he’s a sweetheart, honestly. I’m sure you’ll get along just fine. Don’t worry too much — he’s not as daunting as he seems."
Her words provided little comfort as she stopped in front of a door labelled ‘Jackson’, with a blurred glass window in its middle. You knew from the way she came to an abrupt stop and smiled at you wishfully that you were on your own now.
"Thank you." You managed to squeak out, ignoring the way your voice wavered, your nerves peaking as you reached for the door handle.
"Have a good day, honey." Susanna smiled. With a soft squeeze to your shoulder and a wink of good luck — she walked away.
Fuck.
A shaky breath left your lips as the door knob burned into your retinas — the power it had over you taking over your body as you stared, your hand hovering over the metallic surface.
If it wasn’t for the money, you’d have run for hills right now. Part of your future self wished you did — but instead, with a soft knock and a push of the door, you walked into what you’d soon regret in 3 years time.
The inside of the recording studio was nicer than you’d pictured — warm lighting, cosy interior with quiet laughter and soft voices filling the air, a relaxing environment evident in its walls. Two familiar faces met your awkward frame, confused expressions smeared across them.
"Hi there, little lady. You lost?" You could tell from the sweet-talking slickness of his voice and familiar laid-back persona that you were talking with famous producer Quincy Jones.
"No, actually, Mr Jones, I’m Mr Jackson’s new assistant." You started, a bead of anxious sweat crawling down your back, "It’s my first day."
"Oh, yeah, Frank mentioned you were getting a new PA." Quincy nodded, wagging his finger in the air, "Thank god, the last one was a complete bust."
You gulped, silently wishing your fate didn’t end up like hers.
"What’s your name, baby?" Quincy questioned, bringing a pen between his lips as you revealed it, "Hm, cute." He smirked, eyes trailing up and down your frame, "Well, you’ll be listening to Frank while you’re not here, but when you’re here with us, you can answer to me, honey, okay?" You nodded quickly, eyes never leaving his own, "And we don’t bite, so don’t worry. But, I suppose for your first task, you can grab us some drinks from the coffee house down the road?"
"S-Sure, anything, what do you like?"
"Michael here, will have an orange soda," He started, "And I’ll have a black coffee with a couple sugar’s — but I suppose you can just stick your finger in there, huh?"
"Quincy. That’s no way to talk to a lady."
Michael was even more beautiful in person — the soft and gentleness of his tone had you repressing a relaxed sigh that threatened to escape your lips. He sounded so calm and collected, more so than any of his gorgeous songs. And by God was he handsome — the ringlet curls that framed his face and the contagious smile that adorned his lips had you blushing more than you cared to admit.
Quincy laughed as Michael stood up, approaching you quickly, "I’m sorry about him. I’m Michael." He extended his hand out to you, a small smile on his face as he towered over you.
"I-I know." You blurted out, flustered, grasping onto his hand. Your words hit you like a brick to the face, suddenly flushing your cheeks pink, "I’m sorry, that sounded better in my head. I’m just nervous."
Michael laughed, a slight chuckle that left his smiling lips, "You’re okay. Everyone’s nervous on their first day of a job, no matter what it is." He reassured, "I promise there’s nothing to be worried about. We’re all great friends here. Like one big family."
You nodded, listening intently — absorbing in every word he spoke like a sponge in the ocean. You didn’t notice the way Michael glanced down at your connected hands, his smile wavering slightly.
"When’s the wedding?"
His voice baffled you at first, the question hitting your ears in confusion as you held your gaze with one another still, "Sorry?"
Michael glanced down to your hands once more, his own in contact with your engagement ring that clad your ring finger. You connected the dots as you laughed awkwardly, "Oh. It’s so recent, I’m still not used to that question." You admitted, tucking a stand of hair behind your ears as your hands slipped apart, coming down to toy with the gold ring, "November 8th."
"Ah, soon." Michael grinned, "What’s his name?"
"D-Daniel."
"Well, congratulations. Daniel is a very lucky man."
"Thank you." You whispered, peering up at him, noticing the flicker in his eyes at your words, as if there was nothing threatening to be seen. Envy? Disappointment? You couldn’t put your finger on it, but you could sense Michael knew you’d seen too, "A-Are you married?"
"Yes. Only recent, much like your engagement."
A similar, questionable feeling crept up your spine at his words — something you also couldn’t place as you nodded. This clearly wasn’t in the press yet as you hadn’t heard about it, either way, you definitely felt something about it, but you weren’t sure what. Yet.
"How about those drinks, sweetie?"
Michael rolled his eyes with a smile at Quincy’s words from behind him as he lit a cigarette, "Ignore him. Classic 80’s Producers." You giggled softly at his joke, "I know you’re more than that." Your heart throbbed, "Come and talk to me anytime if you’re nervous or upset or don’t know where to go. I’ll always be here to help. Just say the word."
Your nods of agreement grew increasingly more rapid as Michael went on, your eyes, bulging with adoration, peered up at him once more before leaving him with a smile.
And as you pushed the door open, glancing back to observe Michael joining Quincy in the swivelled chairs, scolding him for not being a gentlemen, you couldn’t help but smile — a burst of sensation in your chest swelling at the sight, one you weren’t used to. You left, grinning ear to ear, like a little girl with a crush.
And that’s how it stayed for the rest of your career at Westlake.
Every morning, you’d bring Michael and Quincy a drink — either a warm tea with a spoonful of honey or a freshly squeezed orange juice for Michael, and always a black coffee, accompanied with a ‘dip your finger in it, sweetie’ sugar joke, for Quincy, everytime without fail.
You began to adore your job working for Michael — running errands for him, refilling his tea, sorting out scattered papers in the studio, scheduling meetings with managers and potential features with other artists’ for his new album. Everything, as simple as bringing him his lunch, made your day.
But soon, as all professional male and female relationships do, things became not so simple.
Brushes of hands as you passed over a drink, a buzz of electricity shooting through your veins and an overly thankful smile back from him, accompanied with comforting hands atop one another when times got hard, or a gentle kiss on the cheek when he was nominated for his new album in congratulations, had you questioning everything.
Your relationship was purely flirtatious, subtle and under-wraps — something to toy with at the comfort of your employment, and never to take home with you.
But, in the immaturity of your heart, you let yourself get personal. You let the professionalism slip. You began to feel things you shouldn’t. Anyone unwed would call it a crush — something juvenile and invalid longterm. However, the way your heart fluttered as he looked at you, or how your cheeks flushed red as he touched the small of your back — you knew were more far gone than you cared to admit.
And fail to admit your feelings, you did. Every night you lay beside your now husband, every interaction between yourself and Michael replayed in your head, drowning out the man beside you’s snoring. You knew deep down it was wrong to think of another man as your husband slumbered next to you — but, he was your friend, your boss, someone you spent everyday out of the week with. You saw him more than your own husband — leading you to secretly often referring to Michael as your work husband.
But no marriage was perfect — your own was far from it. In the darkness of the night, when your mind would graze over your boss, it would also land on the evident feeling of numbness when you looked at your husband. You were practically forced into marriage by your Mother — Daniel being someone familiar from childhood, simple, reliable, and intelligent, someone easy. Someone to sign the leases, fix the pipes, file the taxes — all the mainstream, traditional marital aspects of a man. And every time he’d rock into you unprotected, hoping for a baby, you’d lay there, faking every noise and every orgasm — wishing and hoping for something more. Convincing yourself that when your mind slipped to Michael as your husband lazily thrust into you from behind, that it was simply platonic with no underlying intention, and just a way to escape from the sheer displeasure your husband brought you.
Your husband, clearly butt-hurt that he wasn’t the breadwinner, hated your job. He would often badmouth every aspect of your job, the outfits you wore, how late you worked, how many date nights you missed to attend to a request made by Frank. But, what he hated most was Michael. He hated how infatuated and dedicated you were to him — pulling a face of disgust every time you mentioned his name or answered a phone call about him. This lead to relentless arguments — him claiming you cared too much about another man, and you persisting that it was your job and he was being controlling.
Just like today.
"Daniel. For the last time - it’s my job." You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose as your knuckles flexed around the phone handle that was held up to your ear, "No, God—Daniel, are you serious? Cheating? For Christ’s sake, get a hold of yourself!"
The noise of his incessant rambling on at you had you zoning out, shaking your head as his voice drowned out in your head. You were so tired of this — the moment you took this job you knew he’d have something to say about it. He knew exactly what he was getting himself into when he proposed to you, but still decides to fight you about it every chance he gets.
"Daniel. I’m sick of this. I’m at work, I’m busy. Stop calling here because you’re bored at home with nothing better to do — go do something, okay? Get a hobby, find something to fix or clean — just leave me alone for once."
You slammed the phone down harder than intended — a wave of annoyance washing over you as his words repeated in your head. Accusations of unfaithfulness and infidelity once again — you were growing tired of it. And him for that matter.
You were ready to leave the studio for the night — now wanting nothing less than to leave and head home for the day. You couldn’t be bothered to continue the argument when you arrived home, something that you knew your bored husband would want to do. Instead, you took your time closing down the studio for the night. Deliberating taking longer to stroll the halls — switching off each light, locking each door, checking each room for stragglers. At last, you reached the familiar blurred glass door — one you’d come to grow fond of.
Knock, knock!
"Michael?"
In your many months spent growing closer to the popstar, you began to feel comfortable to address him by his first name. Pushing open the door, you peered your head around it, your eyes meeting the man you called for, all alone, his hunched over frame meeting your gaze.
"Hey, come in. Everything okay?" He spoke, glancing over at you briefly with a smile, before returning his focus onto the sound board.
"Yep, just wanted to let you know I’m heading out for night." You informed him, jingling your keys, "Shall I leave these out for you?"
"Actually." Michael started, "Would you mind staying for a little while? I would love your help with something."
Your eyebrows furrowed, ignoring the way your stomach flipped at the thought of the one-on-one interaction, "Oh, uh, sure." You let the door slide shut as you entered the room, "What’s up?"
Michael shuffled, pushing stray pieces of paper out the way of all the various buttons you weren’t familiar with, "Take a seat."
You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry and tight as you did as he asked — sitting comfortably in the chair next to him.
"Listen to this and tell me what you think."
Without allowing your words of protest to exit your lips — Michael pressed a few buttons before sliding one upwards to increase the noise of a demo that began sounding throughout the room.
It was his voice — his angelic, magical voice that hit your ears. You smiled softly as you looked down at your hands, ignoring the flash of your wedding ring as you admired the beautiful work that flowed around the room. He sounded amazing.
It ended abruptly, silence filling the space once more. He turned to you, "So?"
"Wow." You breathed, "Michael, you’re so talented. That sounds incredible."
Michael smiled bashfully, bowing his head at your kind words, "Oh, thank you. I really appreciate it." He started, "But, I just feel like something is missing."
You scoffed out a laugh, "Boy, do I know how you feel." You shook your head, eyes fluttering shut briefly at the thought of your controlling husband.
Michael peered over at you, eyebrows knitted together in confusion, "What do you mean?"
"Oh, hah, nothing. Just my husband."
Michael’s attention was fully on you now — his chair swivelled to face you as you spoke, "Why? What’s missing?"
"Nothing, nothing." You brushed off, fearing you said too much, "Just a joke."
"Didn’t feel like a joke." He spoke softly, pursing his lips together, "Hey," His hand came to fold over yours delicately, igniting flames over your skin, "You know you can talk to me about anything."
Michael missed the way your breath hitched in your throat. The touch and the closeness bringing heat to your body like a furnace as your breathing became irregular.
Your mouth opened as you went to speak, ready to vent about all your marital issues — complain about his lack of respect for your job, his boring attitude and his profound sexual incompetence, but words failed you.
Michael noticed this.
"It’s okay." He spoke, giving your hand a squeeze, "I understand how you feel."
Your heart lurched up at his words — your despaired expression meeting his own, "You do?"
"Yes." Michael breathed, "Marriage isn’t easy."
You despised the way your heart throbbed with hope.
"Are you having problems with your wife too?"
Michael peered up at you, revelling in the way your doe-eyes, fluttering through your lashes, gazed at him with more love and attention he’d seen from a female in years. He, too, hated himself for the way he looked at you sometimes with such captivation — longing to reach out and touch you further after a brush of a finger, or to lean down and capture your lips in a kiss after you laughed at one of his jokes.
And he, like you, despised the way he felt a sliver of optimism at the depleting description of your partner.
Michael nodded, a saddened expression present on his face — mismatching the twinge of anticipatory excitement that bubbled in his chest.
"Oh, Michael." You breathed, your voice soft and attending — playing with his damaged heart strings, "It’s going to be okay. We always have each other."
God, you were so sweet. It physically hurt him to look at you when you had that irresistibly spellbinding look on your face — like a single tug of your plump lips into a smile could send a man to Heaven and back. He thought you were utterly gorgeous — something he’d believed in since the moment he locked eyes on you.
Michael’s hand twitched above your own, knocking your attention down to your enclosed hands. With one small, calculated move — you managed to manoeuvre your hands upwards, now palm to palm with Michael. You noticed the intense silence that flooded the room, both your fixated stares latched into your hands — touching so subtly, yet fuelling the desire in both of your souls. Michael shuffled ever so slightly, forcing your hands to slide against one another — now connecting fingertips.
"Your hands are so soft." You whispered, breathing out a soft laugh, your voice hushed and tender — both of your gaze still on your touching fingers.
"So are yours."
The honesty in his voice paired with the feather-light touches had your head spinning — the potent smell of his cologne fogging your senses, rendering you brainless as all you could focus on was him. Him, and his beautiful eyes, beautiful smile, beautiful lips, hands, fingers, body—
You gasped in a quiet breath as your mind ran a mile a minute. Michael peered up at you momentarily, sliding his fingers in-between yours — interlocking your fingers so slowly, if he were anyone else, you wouldn’t have noticed. But, that simple gesture had your legs tightening as they crossed.
"Talk to me, doll."
The nickname had your mouth hanging agape ever so slightly — the sheer volume of desire that burst inside of you, oozing out of you like molten lava as your eyes fixated onto your interlocked hands.
"Michael, please." You whispered — the neediness in your voice so visible, Michael could’ve passed out.
"‘Please’ what, angel? Tell me what you need." His voice was so sincere, so full of warmth with an undertone you so desperately wanted to uncover, that it had you trembling against him.
Your eyes flicked upwards — landing on his pretty lips, the way they glistened in the light from his previous wetting of them, before sliding up his face to his eyes. He was staring down at your hands, the way they connected so perfectly, so intimately, something so dangerously beautiful about the way you slotted together.
When his eyes fluttered up to meet your gaze was when the mask slipped.
You lurched forward — your once connected hands now flying to his face, cradling his burning hot cheeks in your hands as you connected your lips in a ferocious kiss. Your body lunged at him — legs straddling his hips, forcing the wheeled chair backwards as the intensity of your jolt pushed you both in a dazzling smoulder flying across the room. Michael, kissing your eager lips back, slid his hands up your back in an attempt to drag you closer. The chair slammed against the wall, making no attempt to slow you both down as you attacked each others lips — whines and breaths of pure desperation exiting your needy mouth.
Your hand clutched at the wall behind you, nails scraping down the plaster as Michael’s swollen lips latched at your neck, licking and sucking your warm skin.
"No marks." You breathed, a hand snaking into his hair, clutching at his curls, "We’re married, remember?"
Michael hated the way his body had no reaction to your words — right now, he didn’t care.
"Happily?"
The one word rhetorical question he asked, huffed against your neck, before returning to grazing his teeth along your collarbone, had your back arching into his chest, a breathless moan leaving your mouth.
You hated that you didn’t need to give him an answer — he already knew it.
No, you weren’t happily married.
Your hips involuntarily ground down into his crotch, skirt bunched around your waist, a gasping whine leaving you as your throbbing nub nudged against him. Hard, thick and prominent — a proud statement of his arousal. From then on your hips didn’t stop — the roll back and forth on his hardened length had him whining into your neck, stopping every so often to regain his breath from the way you humped his clothed cock.
"Michael, please, need to feel you."
That was enough for him.
Michael was a gentlemen — and had been from the very moment you met him. But, right now, he had to fuck you like a greedy slut.
Michael picked you up quickly, wrapping your clothed legs around his waist and flailing you both to the floor, with a handle cradling your head to brace the fall.
He sat up on his knees, freeing himself quickly from his slacks and boxers, forcing them down his thighs swiftly. While doing so, you worked your way on the buttons of your blouse, fingers fumbling on each one as you shook in lust.
"Fuck this."
The profanity that left his gentle mouth had you gasping as he leant down to rip your blouse apart, buttons spraying across the room as your bouncing tits sprung free.
He didn’t stop there.
His hands, shoving your shirt further up your stomach, reached the crotch of your dark tights, before ripping a hole as wide as a basketball, revealing your soaked panties.
"Michael!—“ "Shut up — Need you, now. Can’t wait."
His bold, harsh words stung pathetically pleasureful in your chest as his nimble fingers pushed your panties to the side. They slid between your folds, gathering your slick on his digits, nudging your clit with each slide. You whined beneath him, a manicured hand reaching up to grasp his flexed biceps as he slid two fast working fingers inside your eager hole. Your back arched off the floor, head pounding as he worked you open.
"That’s it — give it to me."
His words only egged you on as they abused the spongy, sweet spot inside you, his thumb rubbing tight circles on your throbbing nub.
For the first time in years, or maybe even in your life, you were about to cum around a man’s hand.
"M-Micha—Michael, I’m gonna—I’m gon—"
"Cum for me, doll. Show me how much you need me."
The next twenty-three seconds had you reeling. You saw stars, your nails digging into his tensed arm as he worked you open — your first-time flowing juices oozing down his fingers as you squirmed and cried beneath him, sobbing into the air as your first real orgasm hit you full force.
Michael wasted no time lining his cock up to your quivering entrance after you came down — sucking your essence off his fingers before pressing the tip of his throbbing manhood into you.
You whined — the feeling of his cock forcing you open so perfectly had you huffing and whinging around him, your head falling back against the wooden floors.
"Lord — so fucking wet for me." Michael huffed, stuffing you full, inch by inch, too caught up in his own arousal to ease you open.
He bottomed out with a groan — head lolling forward into your neck, his hot breath against your chest perforated goosebumps over your skin. You were so full it rendered you speechless — his cock was much bigger than your husband’s, length and girth, forcing you further open than you’d ever been before.
His name left your lips like a chant as he moved with swiftness beyond belief — his hips snapping flush against you as he fucked into you like a slut on his Studio floor, which creaked and groaned beneath you. Michael lips remained hot and heavy on your skin, pressing kisses from your tensed collarbone to the sweetness of your mouth, as he pulled your legs around his waist, further up in the air so his cock angled deeper inside you.
With a cry he’d only ever imagined in his late night pleasures — Michael knew he was fucking you like you’d never felt before. The way you dragged your nails down his shoulders, ground your heels into his lower back to force him further into your tight cunt, and the way your noises refused to quieten — he was certain he was going to be the best you’d ever had.
His wife was nothing compared to you.
The way your pussy clenched and squelched around his twitching dick had him tightening his grip on your hair — his fingers tangling in the locks, tugging ever so slightly to make you whimper into his mouth.
"So close." You whined — mumbling against his lips, voice muffled from the feverish kiss he held you in, tongue swiping your lower lip to gain access to your filthy mouth.
You let him in — the hot muscle exploring your mouth, savouring the way you taste like spearmint gum and how you moaned even louder when muffled against him.
"You wanna cum for me again, baby?" Michael pressed, his pelvis rubbing so sweetly against your pulsating clit, "Let me feel it — let me feel you. Give me what you won’t give him — what he can’t make you do. Cum for me. Harder than he’s ever made you."
"He never has." You panted, eyes locking on his as your private confession hit his ears.
"O-Oh, Lord."
Michael’s broken prayer left his lips as his hips snapped into you a few more times — revelling in the way you admitted he’d made you feel better in one night than your husband ever has in two years. Whining as you came around him perfectly, legs tightening around his waist, before he spilled inside you himself. You both finished together — lips clattering together messily as you panted against one another.
As the climax fluttered to a stop — reality set in.
You, married, had just fucked your boss, also married.
Panic flooded your system. Instant, unwavering, unstoppable panic.
"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God — what the fuck? What the fuck, Michael!" You exclaimed, instantly shimming him from inside you, your breath hitching at the loss of fullness as he sat upright on his knees, panting, "We just had sex."
Michael furrowed his eyebrows, catching his breath, "Baby, calm down—“
"Don’t call me that! I’m not your wife! Oh my God, you have a wife. And I have a husband."
You were rambling — blabbering panicked nonsense as you scrambled to grab your clothes, forcing your unusable blouse around your breasts spilling from your bra. You shoved your skirt down your front, covering the gaping hole in your tights and Michael’s cum dribbling down your thighs, as you slipped into your heels.
"Angel, wait!"
You didn’t stop for a second after half dressing yourself before flying out the Studio door — racing down the quiet, darkened hallway before he could catch you. Michael stood in the doorway, chest heaving, guilt threatened to creep up his spine as he watched you sprint away.
Guilt never came.
For either of you.
It bugged you.
The way you got home, tears streaming down your face as you crept up to bed, after tossing all of your besmerched clothes into the trashcan outside, and slithering into bed with your husband, who only turned the other way as you weighed down the bed, and the only thing you could feel was ecstasy.
Sure, you panicked at first — but even in your frantic rant, not one bone in your body felt guilt or remorse for your actions. Just pure shock at what you’d done after waiting so long for it.
You hated the way you slept next to your husband that night — clit throbbing lovingly after getting the attention it so desperately needed as Michael’s seed drooled out of you, soaking your panties.
That was where your affair with Michael Jackson started.
The next day, after your late-night rendezvous, Michael sought you out at work. You’d been hiding from him all day — trying to do as much as Quincy asked you before actually having to speak to Michael. But, he found you and cornered you.
"Michael, please, not here." You pleaded, eyes darting behind him as he backed you into the small corner of a hallway, "We can’t talk about this at work."
"So, we can have sex here, but not talk here?"
Your eyes shot open at his words, "Michael." You hissed, sending a shove to his chest which moved him nowhere.
Michael grabbed your hand that thumped his chest, eliciting a surprised gasp from your throat at the sudden contact, "I’m telling you now, I don’t feel sorry about what we did last night." Your mouth fell open at his words, eyes meeting his meaningful, but serious ones, "My marriage is…ruined beyond repair." He admitted, "I needed you. I still need you. And I think you need me. Please. Don’t give up on me just yet."
Words failed you initially, the seriousness and vulnerability of his words setting in, "M-Michael, I-I do need you, but.."
"But, what? Can’t we just be what we are?”
"We’re married, Michael. That won’t go away."
"I know, I know. Things like that take time — I know." He spoke, reaching up encase both of his hand around your own, "But, I also know you’re not happy." He admitted, "And after all these years, I make you happy, don’t I, sweetheart?"
Your aching heart throbbed lovingly at his words and glint of adoration in his eyes as he gazed down at you — your lips parted slowly, before you nodded your head.
Michael leant down, pressing a long, tender kiss to the back of your hand, then another to your fingers — missing the shaken breath that slipped past your lips.
"Let me continue to make you happy."
In that moment, words failed you. You swallowed thickly at his promise — nodding meekly, blushing at the way he pressed another affectionate kiss to your knuckles.
From that moment on, Michael was no longer your boss. To you, he felt like the husband you were deserved but never got. Expensive gifts would show up at your door for your birthday —Flowers before he took you to a private, secluded dinner — Late-night talking as you nestled against his chest after an evening of love-making. He truly felt like your man.
Until you went home — where you were met with your legal husband, who had never felt less connected to you in your whole marriage. You were distant, cold, snappy — wanting absolutely nothing to do with him. And, every night when you trudged home, sheathed in Michael’s cologne, hair a mess, clothes battered and a soreness between your legs — your husband knew what was going on.
"You’re fucking him, aren’t you?"
You jumped — you thought he was asleep. His gruff, exhausted voice hit your ears like a horn as you froze. You knew you weren’t even trying to hide your affair anymore — but, you didn’t expect him to confront you.
"No."
"Don’t lie to me."
You gulped, not daring to move a muscle as your back faced him — not brave enough to look him in the eye. Silence filled the room as you failed to answer him — that speaking more words than you ever could.
"Do you love him?" Yes.
The word hit your brain faster than you anticipated— feeling surprised by your own inner dialogue as you tensed again, sleep suddenly feeling like a foreign concept as you glared at the darkened wall.
"Go back to sleep, Daniel."
Your dismissive response gave him every answer you failed to give — Yes and yes. You both didn’t sleep that night, just listening to the silence and the occasional shuffle of the sheets as the ever reminding final factor swirled your brain.
Your marriage was over.
He knew it and you certainly knew it.
By the time your husband woke up that morning — you were gone. Clothes packed and divorce papers you’d had saved for months on the countertop.
You were finally saying goodbye to this chapter of your life.
Walking into work that day, giddy with excitement, finger free of a ring, you couldn’t hide the smile on your face. You knew the secrets and the lies would come to an end now you had decided to take the leap of faith and end things with your husband. You’re only reasoning? Michael had promised you that whenever you decided to leave him — he assured you, he would leave his wife.
So, when you called Michael late last night, shoving clothes into boxes and whispering your plan to be gone by the morning, with nothing but a sticky note attached to the divorce papers demanding he sign, he promised you he’d leave her that coming morning.
You heard Michael before you saw him — his sweet laughter filling your ears before you turned a corner, clutching your clipboard of To Do list’s to your chest, your heart fluttering at the sound of his voice.
This was the moment you wished you never took the job as a naive, money-hungry, selfish young adult.
Your heart, once skipping beats at the sound of Michael’s laughter, was now threatening to stop at the sight before you.
Michael stood, arms wrapped around his wife, a genuine smile on his face as he pressed kisses to her face — revelling as she giggled into him, hands sliding around his back, pulling him closer.
"Oh, honey, I love you." His words forced bile into your throat as he connected their lips — fluttering her eyes closed.
Michael, pressing his lips into hers, opened his eyes for a split second. His heart stopped, too, once he caught sight of you. Tears streaming down your face, a distraught expression plastered across it as you watched in horror. He knew you knew he had lied — he was never planning to leave his wife.
His giggling spouse pulled away from the kiss, looking up at catch his eyes, fixated on a figure behind her. You turned away before she could see your tear-streaked face, your hand coming up to wipe away the tears.
Michael caught sight of your bare finger — his chest on the verge of collapse as the realisation of his actions hit him.
"Who’s that?" His wife asked, furrowing her eyebrows.
He stared at you, your eyes meeting for the last time, speaking a thousand words, before you turned on your feet, back the way you came.
warnings: 18+ (mdni). this is fucking disgusting, detailed and explicit. don’t wanna see minors in this bitch. oral (f receiving), pussy examination/pronouns/sniffing, panty nibbling. lots of cum. you’re disgusting and wet and it’s everywhere.
“look at that, baby,” michael whispers in fascination, eyes fixed onto your twitching pussy. he’s kneeling between your legs, the back of your knees hanging over his shoulders. “so responsive t’me.”
his thick thumb rubs up and down your lips through the already soaked lacey material. your pussy breaches open around him like a flower, lips almost hanging out, and every time his finger strokes over your gaping, puffy hole, you feel more wetness drool out of you in slow, stringy drips.
“need you so bad,” you beg back, voice high and needy. “so fucking bad.”
michael chuckles, lips merely inches away from your pussy. “yeah? i can tell princess,” the action sends a wave of heat over your skin. his hair tickles the insides of your thighs, and your legs are on the verge of closing around his head. “she’s fucking dripping. so wet f’me, all mine.”
you can feel your slick spreading over the fabric of your panties while he noses through your folds like an obedient cat. “smells so delicious, baby, fuck. gonna eat y’up.”
your legs shake every time the tip of his nose bumps over your clit, back arching off the bed as he presses a tiny kiss over the sloppy, wet material of your underwear, right over your empty, fluttering hole. “she’s so good f’me. can only reward my best girl.”
and that’s the moment his brown eyes flit up to yours. his tongue meets your clit through the thin fabric of your panties. your hips immediately shoot up from the bed, and you let out one, drawn out whimper.
the heavy weight of his tongue against your folds has your head lolling back into the mattress. “shit, mikey, i—” white spots flash before your eyes, unable to keep your eyes open due to the delirious friction from his tongue lapping up, sucking up, your essence.
“keep feelin’ it, princess. that’s it,” he praises you in between licks and soft nips to your clit, voice strained and broken. “can taste you on the fabric, baby. shit—”
at this point, the material of your panties is so soaked and wet, it clings to your lips, perfectly outlining you through the lace while michael eats you out like a man starved. he alters between gentle nibbles at the fabric and nudges of his tongue into your entrance, only a thin layer of lace separating his tongue from your cunt.
“swear y’have the cutest lil’ pussy i’ve ever seen,” michael mumbles as he distances his face a little from your sex. the lace is so wet and creamy that it stays poking into your hole from where his tongue prodded into you just moments ago. he slides one light kitten lick over your clit. “purrin’ for attention. don’t worry angel, i’ll give it to ya.”
“oh my— you’re so nasty, mike,” you whine out, hips bucking up into the air before michael pushes you back down.
“feel how i was juuust in there?” he pushes the thick tip of his middle finger right into the little dip his tongue made, slowly twisting his fingertip around at a maddeningly torturing pace, practically fingering you with a layer in between.
the touch of his fingers to your creamy, messy panties produces the echo of a squelching sound, like a sponge being wrung out, like honey sticking to his fingers. under the pathetically sodden fabric of your lace panties, your warm slick bubbles around your hole, your white cream mixing with his spit, dribbling over the crease of your opened thighs, meandering over the globes of your ass.
part of you feels ashamed of how filthy you are. how thick, slimey globs of cum just gush out of you with every contraction of your hole, and because of the barrier of your panties, it has no place to go. the only option to seep out the sides of the panties’ gusset, as if revealing a dirty secret of how aroused you really are.
“pretty, dirty girl,” the man beneath you praises, voice cracked open in admiration. “should see how messy she’s for me, baby. ‘s a fuckin’ work of art.”
later, when you find your panties thrown on the floor of the bedroom, you notice tiny, little, miniscule holes right around the middle part of the gusset.
“mikey, you nibbled on my panties. you ruined them!” you exclaim in disbelief, holding the pathetic excuse of what you’re supposed to call panties between your thumb and index finger.
BONUS (bc i’m disgusting)
when his fingers pry off your drenched panties, michael’s eyes stay directed on the transparent, white strings extending from your drooling entrance to the sloppy lace material. “so messy y’are for me,” he says, lopsided grin on his face. “push it out. wanna see.”
“see what, mike?”
“see this,” he holds up your panties, gooey remnants of your thick cum glued to the material. “wanna see it pour outta you, baby. up close.”
your bravery sickens you. you clench your abdomen together, gaping hole opening and closing as another sticky wave of white shyly oozes out of you. your face heats up out of embarrassment when you feel the cool, wet patch under your ass spread out.
you cover your face with your hands.
“d’awhh, baby. don’t be shy,” michael places a kiss on top of your bare mound. “don’t be shy w’me. you’re so sexy when you’re being nasty for me.” he coos as he places another kiss to your pussy lips. “y’r just your mikey’s nasty girl.”
what’s worse, you feel warm drops of wetness dribble out of you again at his praise, right against his soft lips.
“fucking beautiful. look at’cha, pretty.” your boyfriend puckers your pussy lips together, trying to coax another glob out of your sex. instead, your tacky lips stick together, and michael peels them open again. “don’t want my baby down here poutin’. gonna lick ‘er clean.”
you’re all mellowed out, his words not really getting to you. your chest keeps heaving, your skin coated with a thin filter of sweat, drool piling up at the corners of your mouth, trickling down your cheeks as you give yourself completely to michael. you just let it happen now.
he’s going to have his way with you, anyway.
this continues the entire night like so. michael just playing with your pussy, literally, whilst you’re trying not to go insane.
a/n: when he’s cleaning up your come with his tongue he flips you around to lick up those little meanders of sticky cum off of ur ass cheeks too btw! occasionally sucking purple marks on ur plump ass, cuz he likes to have a pretty view when he takes you from the back. and loves how you can’t sit down cuz he stretched you out too much 😊
ik i said i'd shorten it but this is the most i could do
requested by anon !!
the second the hotel room door clicked shut behind you, the entire night seemed to catch up to him at once.
jaafar let out a long breath, one hand reaching for the collar of his dress shirt while the other stayed planted on your waist.
the city lights outside spilled through the massive windows in blurred streaks of gold and white, reflecting softly against the marble countertops and dark furniture of the suite.
somewhere below, traffic moved in distant waves, muffled this high up. the air conditioning hummed quietly overhead, cool against your skin after hours spent in crowded rooms, camera flashes, and too many people.
but the room itself felt warm.
maybe because of him.
his suit jacket hung loose off one shoulder now, the fabric wrinkled from the car ride back and from your hands. his tie hung loose around his neck, completely undone, and the first few buttons of his shirt had come open at some point between the elevator and the room.
he looked too good.
you kicked your heels off near the door with a dull clack against the floor before looking back at him.
jaafar was already staring.
leaning against the edge of the dresser with one hand braced behind him, shirt slightly untucked, while his eyes followed you through the room with absolutely no shame.
his gaze dragged over you slowly as you crossed the room toward him, the silk fabric of your dress shifting softly against your skin with every step, catching the warm amber light spilling from the lamps beside the bed.
“stop looking at me like that,” you murmured.
a lazy grin pulled at the corner of his mouth.
“give me a reason to look anywhere else.”
you rolled your eyes, but the distance between you closed instantly as his hands slid around your waist, pulling you in. his palm felt warm through the thin fabric of your dress.
“see?” he whispered, his eyes dipping to your lips. “you can’t.”
your pulse quickened. it always did when he looked at you like this.
the expensive black dress shirt stretched across his chest as he leaned back against the dresser, sleeves rolled carelessly to his forearms.
his eyes looked darker than usual, heavy-lidded and intensely focused on you.
“you’re quiet,” he murmured after a moment.
your fingers drifted to the satin hanging around his collar, smoothing it between your fingers.
“so are you.”
a quiet breath left him through his nose before his eyes flicked back to your face.
“that’s because i’m trying very hard to behave.”
fighting a smile, you tilted your head slightly. “behave from what?”
amusement flickered across his face. “you know exactly what,” his voice had gone rough enough to send heat crawling down your spine.
you pretended to think for a second before narrowing your eyes at him dramatically.
“no,” you said thoughtfully. “i don’t think i do.”
jaafar just looked at you for a second, already fully aware you were messing with him.
you only smiled innocently back.
then his hands tightened around your waist before he pulled your hips flush against his.
and you felt it.
to say he was turned on would have been putting it lightly. you could feel the firm, demanding heat of him burning through his slacks.
“still confused?” he murmured.
your fingers stilled against the satin hanging loose around his neck. you didn’t answer right away. instead, you gave the ends of the fabric a slow, deliberate tug, bringing his face just inches from yours while a small, knowing smirk played on your lips.
jaafar studied your face for a second, his own grin fading into a look of cautious amusement.
“i know that look. you’re up to something.”
“maybe i am,” you hummed, flashing him an innocent smile before sliding your hand down to take his.
jaafar let you pull him away from the dresser with little resistance, following you over to the bed. he settled back against the headboard, one arm draped loosely over the pillows behind him as he watched you climb into his lap.
your dress rode higher against your thighs, the silk bunching slightly as your knees settled on either side of him. his hands found your hips again without hesitation.
you leaned in first, kissing him softly. both of your eyes fluttered shut almost immediately. the kiss stayed lazy at first – slow and unhurried. your lips moved against his, tongues brushing while jaafar kissed you back with a quiet eagerness that made warmth curl in your stomach.
you felt his fingers push into the supple skin of your waist as you kissed him harder, your hands sliding up his chest to grip at the collar of his shirt. it was intimate, wet, and slow like you were trying to coax each other to open up.
a quiet sound slipped from him at the feeling – soft and breathy.
your stomach tightened at that.
you loved watching his composure slip piece by piece whenever you touched him like this.
his hands drifted lower after, settling against the tops of your thighs while you shifted against him. the movement made your dress ride up further, until the only thing separating you and jaafar was his pants and your underwear. with one fluid motion, you shifted forward just enough that your center pressed flush against him.
his breath caught in his throat, fingers tightening at your waist. his hips pushed up without permission, grinding against you once – slow and filthy until the friction stole your own breath away.
jaafar caught your bottom lip with his teeth, nipping and tugging slightly, coaxing a breathy gasp from you. your hands slid down his chest just enough to gather the fabric of his shirt, gripping the collar tightly as your hips rose involuntarily into his grasp. his grip on your waist grew tighter, falling lower to hold the tops of your thighs. he pulled you even closer to him until you sat back completely on him, your weight resting against his hips.
you could feel him, hard and heavy, pressing directly into you.
you guided your kisses lower, mouth brushing the edge of his jaw.
his head tipped back slightly on instinct, exposing the long stretch of his throat to you like a silent invitation. and you accepted it.
you pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the sharp edge of his jaw, then another. his skin was hot. the second your lips met his skin, a low groan slipped from his throat.
your lips dragged along his jaw, your tongue flicking out to taste the warmth of his skin, the faint smell of his cologne clinging to his neck. he was so warm beneath you, his muscles tense, holding his breath like he was waiting to see if you'd stop.
you wouldn't, of course
you trailed lower, your mouth lingering on the smooth line of his throat. you pressed your lips wider against the sensitive skin just below his ear, sucking lightly just to feel him shudder beneath you.
you trailed the kisses lower, on his neck, down to his chest.
he rocked up again, a little more firmly this time. he was grinding you down now, hands tight on your waist, dragging you over the length of him like he needs the friction or he's going to lose it.
you bit your lip.
he was so hard already, it was ridiculous, and you were soaked. the damp material of your panties clung to your slit like a second skin, and with every slow grind, your clit caught just right on the thick ridge of him.
you felt dizzy.
drunk on the sensation.
your breath got stuck somewhere high in your chest, and all you can do was move with him – rolling your hips, letting him pull you back and forth over him.
“you feel…” jaafar groaned again, his eyes fluttering shut. his head dropped back onto the pillows as another roll of his hips met yours. “...god, you feel so good like this.”
your fingers gripped his collar. you were panting now, lips parted, flushed all the way to your chest.
your clit was throbbing, your thighs trembling.
all you were doing was rocking against him, barely more than dry humping, but even then, the friction was already too much.
you leaned in again, brushing you lips beneath his ear, and jaafar shuddered beneath you. his grip on your waist grew bruisingly firm, like he’s doing everything in his power to ground himself.
“feel that?” he mutters low against your shoulder, his breath ragged. “that’s what you do to me.”
you swallowed hard, head spinning. you couldn’t even bring yourself to answer.
you just leaned in again, kissing down the length of his throat while he kept rocking you, grinding you down like he’s trying to get you both off without taking a single layer of clothes off.
you couldn’t stop.
but you couldn’t let him keep setting the pace.
still catching your breath, you slid your palms down his arms, over the sleeves stretched across his biceps and along his exposed forearms, your fingertips skimming the faint veins beneath his skin.
he watched you with lips parted, chest heaving, his brows pulling together when you finally reached down and took him firmly by the wrists.
“what are you doing?” he murmured, his voice thick and rough.
you only leaned in to press a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth before pulling back.
your fingers found the satin tie hanging loose around his neck. the fabric felt cool and smooth against his skin as you wrapped it carefully around his wrists once… then twice.
jaafar looked down at his captured wrists, his mind finally putting two and two together. you could see the exact moment the haze vanished from his mind. when he looked back up, a hunger flared in his eyes, his gaze darkening completely as his chest began to rise and fall in a much slower, deeper rhythm.
“baby,” the word came out half-laugh, half-disbelief.
you tilted your head innocently. “what?”
“you can’t be serious,” he breathed.
your fingers slid along his wrists gently before guiding his arm backward toward the headboard. the hotel sheets rustled underneath him as he leaned back slightly to let you move him where you wanted. his eyes never left your face once.
the room felt quieter than before.
smaller somehow and more intimate.
you looped the tie around the bedframe carefully before tightening the knot just enough to hold.
you felt him again– how hard he was underneath you. how close he was to snapping. jaafar flexed his wrist experimentally against the satin before letting out a soft, disbelieving laugh under his breath. he was so hard, his cock twitching under you.
“oh my god,” he muttered.
you only smiled.
“you’re scary.”
but his voice came out quieter now, warmer. because, despite the words, he was looking at you like he wanted you to keep going.
you leaned forward, resting your palms flat against his chest and letting your full weight settle into his lap. the sudden, close heat of your body made him let out a low, rough grunt.
his jaw clenched so tight a small muscle ticked in his cheek, his eyes half-lidded as they locked onto yours.
“you’re driving me insane, baby,” he rasped, his voice dropping into a deep, gravelly tone that sent a shiver straight down your spine.
“i’m just taking my time,” you hummed, sliding your hands slowly down the front of his shirt.
you popped the remaining buttons open one by one, your fingertips brushing over the warm, smooth skin of his chest. every time your nails lightly scraped over his skin, his breath hitched, his chest rising in sharp, shallow swells beneath your palms.
leaning down, you let your breath brush against his lips, but you didn't kiss him right away. you hovered there, teasing him, until jaafar groaned and lifted his head off the pillows to try and close the distance himself. he couldn't quite reach, straining forward with a quiet huff of frustration.
a triumphant little smile pulled at your mouth. you rewarded him then, capturing his lips in a kiss that was no longer lazy.
it was deep and demanding.
jaafar poured all his energy into the movement of his mouth, his tongue tangling with yours with a desperate eagerness. he was completely matching your rhythm now, his chest heaving under your hands as you broke the kiss to trail your mouth down his chin.
you shifted on top of him, straddling his thighs, the soft press of your inner thighs brushing his trousers as you steadied yourself. all you could feel was him straining under you, bound above, eyes glassy with need.
he tried to jerk upward again, wrists flexing hard against the satin tie. it tightened with the tension, tugging against the frame, but it held.
and the way he groaned when he realized he couldn't move – when it finally sank that he couldn’t reach for you, couldn’t pull you closer, couldn’t take the lead the way he usually did.
it sent a shiver straight through you,
a pulse.
a throb.
a wicked ache that bloomed between your legs and crawled up your spine.
he was completely at your mercy.
your hands slid slowly up his chest again, spreading the panels of his dress shirt wider.
it was rumpled at his sides now, bunched in messy folds under your knees, completely open from the collar down to his waist.
you let out a soft, breathless laugh, looking down at the result.
jaafar couldn’t have cared less about the state of his clothes.
he was only looking at you.
“you’re terrible,” he groaned.
he had a smile, tugging at the corner of his mouth. teeth caught on his bottom lip.
but the second your mouth returned to his chest, his smile disappeared.
he was burning hot under your lips, his chest smooth and firm. you kissed down his sternum, open-mouthed, dragging your tongue along the hard dip between his muscles, feeling every shudder of his body as he struggled to stay still for you.
his stomach jerked, contracting sharply when you nipped the sensitive skin just above his navel.
your hands followed, nails grazing lightly down his sides.
“my god,” he breathed, his head slamming back against the pillow. “you’re–”
you glanced up again.
he was panting now, his pupils swallowing nearly all of the dark warmth in his eyes. his lips were parted, swollen, and you watched the muscle in his jaw lock as he tried to keep himself completely still because he knew you wanted him to.
and then you popped the metal clasp of his trousers.
his body tensed. a full-body shudder ripping through him, his hips fighting not to thrust straight into your hands.
you caught your bottom lip between your teeth and tugged the zipper down just enough, the smooth, metallic glide sending another wave of liquid heat rolling through your core. you hooked your fingers over the waistband of his dark briefs and pulled his dick out into the open air.
oh fuck.
he was thick, swollen, and visibily twitching against his abdomen.
at the tip, a bead of pre-cum had already bloomed, glistening against the flushed skin.
you swore you saw it pulse.
your mouth went completely dry.
there was something so intensely obscene about the sight of him like this – the way he was already leaking for you, the head straining for attention.
begging to be touched.
begging for your hands, your mouth, anything.
you settled your weight right back onto his thighs.
your own panties clung to you, soaked completely through, clinging tight between your lips from how wet you were.
but instead of pulling back, you ground down.
slowly.
your soaked panties met the leaking head of his cock, and the contact was electric.
it hit your clit just right, rubbing against the stiff, burning ridge beneath you, and you both moaned at the same time.
jaafar bucked upward on instinct, tugging on the satin tie. the restraint held firm, keeping his arms anchored and trapping him under your weight.
“oh my god– ,” he gasped, his voice breaking halfway through.
his eyes snapped open, locked onto yours, completely undone but still trying to hold your gaze. “what are you– shit, baby, please–”
“shhh,” you whispered, leaning forward to press another kiss to the corner of his mouth.
his lips chased yours with a desperate eagerness, but you were already pulling away.
you rolled your hips again.
slower, deeper, dragging your soaked heat across the full length of his cock like it was nothing.
“god– you’re gonna– ” his voice dissolved into a strained rasp.
his wrists pulled back hard against the satin tie, the muscles across his chest and shoulders flexing as his breath hitched deep in his throat.
“you’re so hard,” you whispered softly, rocking your hips against him again. “you’re dripping.”
your panties were grinding directly against his bare skin, slick, warm, and filthy between you.
the damp silk of your underwear smeared the mess directly over his head, spreading his pre-cum across both of you until everything felt friction-soaked and slippery.
“don’t say it like that,” he muttered, his jaw clenching as he tried to lift his hips upward to meet you.
you moaned this time, the sound catching in your throat.
the contact hit your sweet spot too perfectly. your body was starting to throb from the inside out.
your thighs trembled slightly as you moved again, your clit grinding along that burning, swollen ridge.
you leaned down to kiss his jaw, trailing your mouth along his neck. you bit down gently just below his ear as you rolled your hips in another slow, deliberate circle.
when he let out a wrecked groan, you felt the vibration of it low in your belly, twisting everything tight.
you were soaked.
your pussy found the exact shape of him, and you settled there, pressing down slowly, letting your full weight sink into his lap until the thick ridge of his cock was nestled snug against your folds.
it was too much and not enough all at once.
you stilled for a second. you felt him pulse hard against you.
you felt your own arousal spill, hot and thick, soaking the fabric of your underwear until it grew slippery beneath you. even with the layer separating you, it felt like he was everywhere.
jaafar’s breath stuttered.
you glanced up, and his face was completely undone. his head was tipped back against the pillows, his jaw clenched so tight a sharp muscle ticked in his cheek.
the tension in his upper body was immense, his sleeves bunched around his forearms as his arms remained taut against the bedframe, but he didn't move.
he just took it.
“shit, baby,” he whispered, his voice raw and gravelly. “you’re so wet… i can feel it. i can feel everything.”
“yeah?” you breathed, leaning forward until your palms pressed flat against his bare chest.
his skin was hot under your hands, his heart hammering hard enough that you could feel the rhythmic thud against your fingertips.
you ground again, slower this time, a deep, heavy roll that made your clit throb and your jaw tremble.
it was so messy now.
the squelch of your slick catching every time your pussy slid over his skin.
all he could do was watch you through half-lidded eyes.
he jerked once, but the satin tie binding his wrists held him firm.
“please,” he choked out, his eyes squeezing shut as his head turned into the pillow. “please, baby... if you keep doing that, i’m gonna–i can’t–”
you tightened your thighs, dragging yourself forward one last time, letting the tip of his cock press right beneath your clit. you held the pressure there, freezing in place.
you just felt him pulse.
you wanted him to lose his mind.
you wanted him to break completely.
but more than that, you wanted to ride that exact edge – watching every stutter of his hips, every ragged breath, while he fought against the restraints and begged for something you weren't ready to give him yet.
jaafar let out a quiet, broken whimper.
it punched straight to your core.
your hips faltered, your rhythm stuttering as a rush of heat flooded through you. you couldn’t help the sharp gasp that slipped out of your lips, your body shuddering as the head of his cock dragged just right over your sweet spot. you were close, too.
embarrassingly close.
“please,” jaafar begged again, his voice entirely broken this time. “baby, please, let me touch you… i need to… you’re gonna make me cum just like this–”
you sat up straighter, your hips still grinding in slow circles as you braced your hands on his stomach. he was flushed, panting, his wrists twisted uselessly above him. his cock twitched under your gaze, smeared entirely slick from where you had been grinding over him.
his skin flushed a deeper shade, stretched over the hard lines of his chest and abdomen. his abs twitched sharply when your fingers traced lightly down his ribs, catching the deep shiver that ran through his entire frame.
you bent forward again, slower this time.
you pressed your lips back to the heat of his lower stomach, your mouth open, your tongue dragging with slow intent. his cock rested just above your face now, so close that the swollen head brushed your cheek when you shifted your weight. your hands slid up the thick muscle of his thighs, your nails grazing lightly as you went.
he was panting through gritted teeth. you breathed against the head of his cock, and his entire stomach jerked. he tested the bound satin again, but the tie remained tight.
you met his gaze, your lips curling into a slow, smug smile.
then, without warning, you finally took him into your mouth.
just the tip.
just enough for your lips to slip warm and wet around the head of his cock, letting it rest heavy on your tongue.
jaafar groaned, sounding like even the lightest touch of your mouth was almost too much for him to take.
you pulled back slightly, letting him fall from your lips with a quiet wet pop.
his hips jerked instinctively, straining upward toward your face
you glanced up, watching the smooth muscles in his forearms tense against the fabric.
your fingers curled loosely around the base of his shaft, just enough to anchor him, your thumb stroking lightly over the thick ridge on the underside. your mouth hovered over the tip, close enough that your breath fanned out in steady, warm pulses, making the bead of pre-cum glisten even more.
you dragged your tongue along the slit.
slow and delicate.
just a taste.
he let out a choked noise that made your own thighs clench again.
then you did it again — slower this time, the flat of your tongue dragging down the head, tracing along the swollen rim before circling back up to the top.
you watched him twitch beneath you, watched the muscles in his stomach ripple and his chest rise in short, shallow bursts.
“shit, baby—” he grits out, his voice completely strained, his eyes squeezed shut.
you hummed softly against his skin, your mouth ghosting over the flushed head as if you were savoring it.
you pressed an open-mouthed kiss right to the tip.
then another, and another, working your way around him in slow, teasing circles.
your saliva mixed with his pre-cum, warm and sticky as your lips smeared across the head. you never took more than just the top inch into your mouth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of more.
“you’re killing me,” he groaned, tugging hard against the satin. “please–”
you looked up at him, your eyes bright. “please what?”
he swallowed, his throat working as he tried not to break completely. “please suck me. let me in your mouth.”
you smiled before dragging your tongue hard against the underside of the head, dragging it down with unbearable pressure.
you gathered saliva in your mouth, lubricating the shaft before wrapping your hand around the base.
once you were satisfied, your hand started to move, stroking the thick length with a lazy pace.
his hips twitched, his mouth falling open. “oh my fucking god.”
you took him again, a little deeper this time, lips wrapping snug as you sucked shallowly in soft, rhythmic pulls that made his back arch and his voice crack.
he was panting now, moaning under his breath like the sound was being ripped out of him.
you held his gaze, unblinking, and went even slower.
you let him slide out of your mouth, saliva stringing from your lips to the tip, before kissing your way back down to the base. every few seconds, you returned to the tip again, like it was the first time, making him work for every bit of attention.
he groaned, hands fisting helplessly against the headboard. finally, you opened your mouth wide and started to take him deeper.
slow.
so fucking slow.
the stretch made your jaw ache immediately, but you kept going, your hand stroking what your mouth couldn’t reach.
his voice was breaking with every sound, and you felt the vibration straight in your core.
he twitched against your tongue, leaking even more as his hips strained up into the heat of your mouth. you hollowed your cheeks and sucked harder, then eased up, dragging your mouth back with a long, slow pull until just the tip rested on your tongue.
his dark eyes found yours, wild and desperate with need.
you smiled sweetly and slid down deep again, pulling off gradually while dragging your tongue along the entire underside.
you made sure he felt every ridge and every flick.
your hand started moving again, wrapping tightly around the base.
his hips twitched, his mouth falling open as he tried not to break completely under the pressure.
“oh my god.”
he was panicking in the best way.
his hips jerked uselessly while his bound arms fought against the tension in his shoulders. the tie didn’t budge.
he was entirely helpless.
it was obvious he wasn’t used to being this wrecked from so little.
you licked a stripe up the underside of his cock, base to tip, then swirled your tongue once around the head before dragging your lips off him, slow and merciless.
“you like that?” you murmured against the shaft, your breath hot.
he nodded frantically, his jaw clenched tight. you gave him a teasing stroke of your thumb back up his slick shaft, and he writhed beneath you, his whole body tense and trembling.
he was beautiful like this.
tied up and completely unraveling right in front of you
a sheen of sweat glistened along his hairline, his lips parted and red as he tried not to cum just from this.
and then you gave him what he had been begging for.
you wrapped your mouth around him again and sank, going past that two-inch mark. you sank slower, letting your throat stretch around the thick shape of him as your hand gripped his base, guiding him all the way in.
his moan was guttural, torn straight from his chest. his legs shook. he tried to lift his hips and failed against the tight restraint, choking out a desperate, “baby, please–”
you moaned around him in response, the deep vibration buzzing through every inch of him, and his whole body broke. he was leaking down your throat, twitching uncontrollably, his thighs trembling against your shoulders as his mouth gasped open.
you pulled back slowly. you kissed the tip one more time like an apology, then rested your cheek against his thigh, letting him think he was getting a moment to recover. his chest heaved in broken, shallow bursts. his arms were still flexed and trembling, his knuckles pale from how hard he was gripping at nothing.
you smiled, not even pretending to be sorry. you watched the heavy, uneven rise and fall of his chest for just a beat before you slowly leaned back down, refusing to give him time to actually catch his breath.
your mouth returned to the head of his cock, slow and reverent, before you pushed forward until you felt the stretch again. the thickness of him pressed to the very back of your tongue, your lips stretched tight around the base of the head. your jaw ached, but the way he sounded like he was breaking apart under your tongue turned you on too much to stop.
he was muttering now, nonsensical praise and filth tangled together. “so good, baby, so good, that’s it, deeper– take it, yeah, just like that…”
your throat fluttered in protest, the heat and thickness pressing deep. you pulled back with a wet gasp, letting the crown rest heavy on your tongue while you sucked in two quick breaths.
jaafar watched you, his chest rising in hard, shaky swells. “you’re doin’ so good, baby,” he murmured, voice completely raw. “look at you.”
the praise made your core clench around nothing.
determined, you leaned forward, your tongue flattening beneath his weight as your lips slid lower. another inch, then another, past the soft give of your throat until you flinched, pulling back instinctively with a sharp gag.
your eyes watered as you sucked in air.
“easy,” jaafar soothed, his wrists twisting against the satin bound to the bedframe. “don’t rush. just breathe.
you nodded and lowered your mouth again.
guiding him with your hand as you eased your mouth open around him, taking him deeper inch by inch. you could feel every ridge, every twitch of his cock, dragging hot against your tongue.
tears stung the corners of your eyes as the tip pressed into that deep spot again. you paused there, breathing shallowly as your body adjusted. your thighs squeezed together, achingly wet from his breathless noises and the weight of him stretching your throat.
jaafar’s voice was thick with restraint.
“that’s it, baby… god, you’re taking me so well.”
you whimpered around him, a choked sound that made his cock jerk in your mouth. you gripped the base tighter and pushed down a little further. every time you hit your limit, you pulled back just enough to breathe before trying again.
“mouth’s too good, baby,” he gritted out. “you’re gonna make me lose it.”
finally, your throat gave.
jaafar choked. “oh– there you go.” his voice cracked. “there you go.”
his head dropped back, his eyes rolling up as his whole body twitched. his hips jolted slightly, but he froze immediately after, fighting every instinct not to fuck up into your mouth.
he was buried so deep you couldn’t even hum, your throat trembling around the intrusion.
you pulled back slowly, your jaw trembling by the time you finally slipped off him and gasped for air.
jaafar was completely wrecked – his face flushed dark, his hair damp with sweat, chest rising in uneven breaths.
you met his gaze, your own tear-lined.
you kept your eyes locked onto his as you immediately slid right back down, your hand wrapping around his base, slick and warm.
his groan vibrated through the mattress.
your mouth was stuffed so full that your jaw felt like it was about to cramp.
he threw his head back into the pillow, groaning so loud it vibrated through the mattress. "baby, don’t move. please don't–”
you froze, letting your throat flutter helplessly around him. you could feel the way the tight confinement drove him crazy, his hips twitching with the urge to thrust.
then, you started to move again, pulling back with a slick, obscene sound. you caught your breath in a wet gasp and then sank back down just as slowly.
you let your hands get completely filthy, smearing the copious amounts of his own pre-cum until the noise between his thighs was a constant, heavy squelch that filled the quiet room.
jaafar’s eyes heavy-lidded as he watched you completely dismantle him. “shit, you’re making such a mess,” he hitched, his bound wrists twisting weakly against the satin.
his jaw fell completely open. a high, broken whimper leaked out of him, his dark eyes rolling back so far only the whites showed for a second. “so good—baby, please, just like that, right there—”
you used your thumb to aggressively smear his own leaking fluid right over the sensitive slit at the tip.
his abdomen locked. the muscles went completely rigid, a violent tremor passing from his chest straight down to his knees. he didn't even have the breath to scream.
his chest just stayed puffed up, frozen, as the first thick pulse erupted from him, painting his stomach. a low, gravelly groan finally scraped out of his throat, his bound arms straining against the headboard as his body turned itself inside out.
but you didn't let him descend. you didn't give him that grace.
while he was still actively pulsing, your hand kept going — slower now, but heavier, dragging friction over skin that had just become a raw nerve.
jaafar’s eyes snapped open, instantly pooling with tears from the sheer, unadulterated shock of the sensitivity.
“no, no, wait. please, hold on–” he thrashed, his hips trying to sink back into the mattress to escape your hands.
“i know,” you whispered against his jaw, your voice dripping with artificial sympathy. “i know, baby.”
you twisted your palm over the head, a wet, bruising rotation that completely short-circuited his recovery. his legs shook violently as his nervous system misfired. before the first orgasm had even cleared his chest, his hips jolted upward in a second, desperate spasm. another wave forced its way out of him, completely unprompted, a pathetic, weeping sob tearing from his lungs as he came twice in less than a minute.
he was practically hyperventilating now, his mouth working silently as he fought for oxygen, the corners of his eyes leaking fat tears that tracked down into his hair. he looked completely ruined, entirely used.
the mess on your hands was obscene now, a thick, white-streaked lacquer of his own seed that made every stroke sound incredibly vulgar. you picked the pace right back up, showing no mercy to his overstimulated body, your fingers wrapping tight around the base to milk him completely dry.
“i can’t–” he cried out, his voice completely broken, his fingers twitching helplessly against the satin knots.
“you’re doing so well for me,” you cooed, your thumb tracing the underside of his head over and over until a clear, thin fluid started to steadily leak out, mixing with the heavy mess on your palms.
the overload took over entirely. he couldn't even form words anymore – only high, pathetic, rhythmic whines escaped him as his third climax hit, a deep, full-body shudder that left him completely paralyzed. you handled him roughly through the entire peak, forcing every last drop out of his trembling length before your hand finally came to a heavy rest over his slick skin.
jaafar stared blankly at the ceiling, his chest heaving in broken, shallow hitches. his skin was burning to the touch, drenched in sweat, his eyes glazed as tremors continued to move through him.
slowly, you shifted off his thighs and knelt by his head. the sharp edge from before was gone now, replaced by a heavy exhaustion.
“hey,” you murmured softly, brushing a damp curl away from his forehead.
a low, breathy hum came from his throat. he turned his head, blinking up at you through a lingering haze.
your fingers reached up to the headboard, patiently working at the tight knots. the second the tie fell loose, jaafar let out a long, shaky sigh.
he lowered his arms with a quiet wince, faint red marks circling his wrists.
he reached for you, his large, warm hand reached up, gently cradling the back of your neck to draw you down.
you collapsed against his chest, burying your face in the crook of his neck as his arms wrapped securely around your waist, holding you close.
“god, baby...” he whispered against your hair, his voice rough and quiet.
a tired laugh escaped him, the sound vibrating softly through his chest. “i think you actually broke me.”
you let out a soft laugh, peppering slow, soft kisses all over his cheek and jaw.
“sorry.”
the words might have sounded more convincing if you weren't smiling.
“yeah, keep smiling,” he said, the threat completely ruined by how exhausted he sounded.
“just wait until i can use my hands again.”
───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───
this was wayyyyy longer than i wanted it to be
idk if i'm happy w/ it, but i hope u guys enjoyed it regardless :D
— SUMMARY: After 6 months of being together, Michael decides that tonight’s the perfect time to ask for just one anniversary gift; he wants you to start controlling him in the bedroom.
— WARNINGS: sub!mike, needy!mike, lots of tension, body worship, size kink, angst (if you look through a microscope), dumbification (kinda…?), face sitting, oral (f receiving), mike has a big dick, handjob, unprotected p in v, nipple play, dacryphilia, no use of ‘y/n’, soft!dom reader, mean!dom reader, use of mommy (kinda), use of ma’am, mike is kinda pussy drunk, timestamps are unimportant, kinda slow burn, gets kinda fluffy at the end, implied aftercare.
— WC: 5.1k (I got carried away…)
— A/N: The winner of this poll. I fs got carried away lmaooo. Like, comment, n reblog! And don’t be shy to flood my asks, i don’t bite..always.
It wasn’t even noticeable at first. Well, not really, until you connected every small instance like one huge puzzle. A particularly suggestive flutter of his eyelashes, a nearly crimson blush on his cheeks whenever you praised him for anything. Then, there was that one time when you called yourself ‘mommy’ as a joke.
You’d just arrived home from your 4-month anniversary dinner date. Your feet were aching; clad in a pair of deep red 8-inch pumps that Michael practically begged you to wear. “I think it’s sexy that you’re taller than me in those heels. Your legs look extra long and beautiful. Please m-, baby? Please, wear them.” That just about undid you.
You’d started regretting letting him sway you like that, though, because you swore that with every step, you could feel a new callous forming on your pinky toe.
“Come help mommy take these things off, baby.” It was said so casually, because it was. Yet, his reaction had you thinking you’d said something offensive. He’d just finished taking off his own loafers, one knee on the floor. He nearly toppled all the way over, and he looked up at you with this almost pained expression. You could’ve sworn you saw tears welling up in his eyes.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so direct. It’s probably the wine…I’ll take them off mys–” He’d waved off your thought with his left hand, cleared his throat, and mumbled something along the lines of “…seriously driving me insane” under his breath, but it sounded lighthearted enough for you not to question him further. The two of you had your best sex yet that night.
Last week, though? It got to a point where Michael damn near made you lose your mind. You put on a pair of jeans that were slightly too long, and you didn’t have time to get them hemmed, so you asked your boyfriend to cuff the bottoms for you, playfully pretending to press your stiletto onto his chest while he knelt down.
“Yes ma’am,” he responded earnestly. He looked up at you while he said it, eyes glazed over with sparkles and something else you couldn’t quite place. There was a faint, crooked smile playing on his lips. One that read: I’m right where I want to be. He clasped his hands behind his back and bowed his head like he was in the presence of royalty, then continued on with the task.
Really, it was a very quick exchange. Almost even casual; you just so happened to remember every aspect of it because it ruined you and your panties for the next two days.
That’s what’d been on your mind all afternoon. The two of you decided to spend your 6-month anniversary at a beachfront resort. Michael rented the whole thing out nearly two months in advance, your display of subtle dominance on your 4-month anniversary influencing the idea. He had a plan, and all he needed to do was gather up the confidence to act upon it.
You two took a series of photos on the digital camera he gifted you, involving various activities; a photo of you eating the breakfast he cooked the two of you in your suite’s kitchen, one of him almost missing his step on the jetski he was gonna race you on…One of you towering above him as he adjusted the delicate golden anklet he gave you the day prior, the cursive M glinting in the sunlight. He coughed hysterically to cover up the sound of its shudder, internally chastising himself for forgetting to turn off the sound in its settings.
When you two got home, he seemed overly eager about the evening, his attitude rubbing off on you. The both of you were a giggling mess, and you were completely sober. Just high off of the presence of the other.
The two of you had dinner reservations at 6:30pm, so you decided to shower together to ‘save water’ and time. Michael basically did the showering for the both of you though, making sure to do every step like you would. You’ve showered together enough for him to know your whole routine, and it made your heart swell with warmth, and your thighs unnoticeably squeeze together with want. He even rinsed and dried the both of you, making sure you didn’t lift your pretty fingers to do anything but grip onto his shoulders for balance.
It made you insatiable.
While you put on the finishing touches of your makeup, Michael approached you with a pleading look settled onto his face.
“Does this shirt look weird untucked? Should I button it up some more?”
You turned around, your unset makeup almost plastering onto his black button up. He looked delicious. Your mouth actually got watery at the sight right in front of you. You gulped down your lust, and met his eyes.
“Michael, you look beautiful. Leave it untucked and unbuttoned just like that. Wow.”
He ducked his head slightly, a faint blush crawling up his neck, as he let out a nervous chuckle. For a man so gorgeous, you’d think he’d be used to compliments from his own girlfriend by now.
“Y-you sure? Tonight’s important. I wanna look like we belong together. Like I belong with you.”
It took everything in you not to ruin your dinner plans and prove it to him right there, your hands fighting the urge to push him onto the bed and show him just how pretty you thought he was.
You cleared your throat and answered with a joking, “Michael, I’d swear you have a praise kink or something, because there’s no way you don’t see just how tasty you look right now.”
You turned back to the mirror, powdering up your face and putting on the remainder of your lip combo.
You didn’t notice just how badly Michael was holding it together from that point forward.
The two of you played the rest of the night cool, though. Nothing out of the ordinary, save for Michael fighting off his neediness when you ordered for him because you noticed him get shy, and when you wiped enchilada sauce off of his face, calling him your ‘clumsy baby.’ Or, the instance where you almost dragged him to the bathroom when you asked if he wanted dessert, and looked at you all lovesick with a, “Yes, please.”
He aggressively adjusted his black jeans, not so subtly, after you told him to pick up the napkin he (purposely) dropped. He felt like he was drunk. His nerves and his body were on fire. He started to down the bottle of wine he purchased for the two of you, for liquid courage. You quickly followed suit. It did nothing to help either of your states.
On the walk back to your suite, Michael’s demeanor nearly killed your buzz. He looked terrified.
“Mikey, baby. What’s wrong?” you asked, stepping in front of him and tilting his head up by his chin so he’d look you in your eyes. The heels you wore had you standing taller than him, and, unbeknownst to you, that only made it worse.
“It’s nothin, baby.” he responded, but his voice wasn’t matching his actions.
“Michael, come on, it’s me. What’s going o-”
“I said it’s nothin’,” he cut you off sharply. His voice was loud- too loud- and he wouldn’t look you in the eyes. He grabbed ahold of the hand that you had underneath his chin, and rushed the two of you the rest of the way to the hotel.
You were furious. Concerned by his terror-stricken face, mostly. But, his sharpness with you stirred something inside that you thought you’d buried, only fueled by the ache in your feet from nearly running in stilettos.
As you made it to your room, you pushed past his usually taller frame, and sat down onto the nearest plush chair, bending over to undo the straps of your pumps. You heard the door close with a click and looked up to see Michael rushing his way towards you, trying to stop you from removing them yourself. The two of you had your hands tangled in a mess; his fingers trying to gently push yours off, and yours almost aggressively shoving his.
“Enough, Michael.”
He gulped loudly, seeming almost embarrassed to look at you.
That was almost enough to ease the fire on your lips. Almost.
“Look at me while I’m speaking to you. What happened, and why are you acting so weird towards me?” Your voice quivered on the latter half of your question, insecurity starting to creep its way through your tone. Your cleared your throat and waited for him to speak.
He sighed visibly at the beginning of your monologue. The words affecting him in a way you couldn’t understand.
He continued removing your shoes as he answered, needing something to keep his eyes away from yours, due to the vulnerable truth behind his actions.
“I…” he cleared his throat. “I want you to control me.”
That was not what you were expecting. You waited, scared that you’d misinterpreted the intentions behind his words, hoping he’d expand on it further. By this point, both of your shoes were off, and he was still kneeling in front of your legs, both of his hands opting to massage on one of your aching feet. He still wasn’t looking at you.
“Mike…?” you asked. Your voice slightly deepened with a lust you were fighting so hard to control. You ran your fingers through his hair softly, eliciting a soft whine from his throat. You used the hand in his hair to gently guide his face up to yours. He obeyed your silent command as soon as you slightly tugged, actions already proving that he meant what you thought he did. Your stomach did a flip. The alcohol in your system was making you extremely sensitive to your emotions, everything heightened. Apparently, Michael was going through the same.
“I-I mean. Well look at you…Your legs are so long, ‘n you take care of me so good. You’re so good at telling people what to do and I always wish it was me on the other end of that. I- I think about you doing things to me. Things that I can’t control. I sometimes try ‘n push your buttons just so you can finally snap at me, but you’re so patient, even though your energy is kinda scary, and that somehow drives me even crazier.” The alcohol had him saying quite literally every word that came into his brain. He’d managed to fully massage all the tension from your feet during the rambling. He gave them each a quick peck and set them down gently onto the plush carpet beneath you. Then he sat up on his knees, properly. Both of his hands were placed on his lap like he was preparing for prayer.
“Please, baby. I can’t take it anymore. I want you to use me and control me and take everything I have. I want you to be mean to me and I want you to punish me for being rude earlier. Put me in my place, please. Please, pleasepleaseplease. It’s embarrassing, but I really do want this.” He added the last part after he noticed you weren’t responding, embarrassment and alcohol settling into his bones. He started sniffling, his eyes rimming with tears.
You didn’t say a word. Silently, you stood up, gripping Michael by the collar, dragging his frame up with yours, and then crashed your lips into his. He whimpered loudly. The sound shred the last bit of sanity you had left. The two of you tumbled through the doors that led to your room, his socks being kicked off and your shawl strewn onto the floor on the way there.
You turned him around and shoved him onto the bed forcefully. Michael looked up at you like you held the universe up just for him. Your hands made their way to his shirt first. The opened buttons were driving you crazy all day. You started unbuttoning, but grew impatient, opting to just aggressively pull them apart instead, buttons popping off and flying onto the floor in the act.
Michael was a whimpering mess beneath you, and you hadn’t even touched him properly. His hands were at his sides and his body was rigid. He hadn’t even tried touching you.
“Mikey, baby. You know you can touch me, right?”
“I just wanted your permission first ma- ahem. Baby.”
“What was that?” you questioned, catching his slip-up.
“Nothin’,” Mike said, clearly embarrassed. He tried kissing you after to cover it up, but the alcohol in your system made you not care. You pushed his torso back down onto the bed.
“Don’t lie to me, Michael. I can stop all this right now,” you said sternly.
“I..Uhm. It’s just.. sometimes I kinda wanna call you..mommy…?” He phrased it like a question.
That’s how you ended up the position the two of you were in right now. Him with his head propped up on the spare pillows he requested earlier, and your body propped up on his face, straddling it. Michael was going dumb beneath you, fully letting your core and the alcohol in his veins consume him.
“Mmm, Mikey. I didn’t know you had this in you,” you say with surprise laced into your voice. And it’s true. The two of you had sex a few times, but he usually seemed okay with taking over for you. Only now did you realize that it was more of him servicing you than taking control.
“I’ve always had it in me, m- ah baby,” he says, slightly pushing his head further into the pillow so he can speak.
You grab one of his nipples and pinch it harshly.
“Did I say you could stop? Don’t think I forgot about your little attitude earlier.”
That only turns him on further though, his hips jutting into the air immediately at the rough contact.
“N-no. I’m sor- ah- sorry baby. You’re right. I’ve been s-so bad,” his voice melting into a needy whine on the last word.
“Yeah, so bad. I- mmm- s-should teach you a lesson, shouldn’t I?”
“P-please. Please do whatever you want to me. I’ll make it up to y…ou, mmm.”
In one swift movement, you climb off of his face, and settle your soaking core onto his bare chest. You take your right hand and place it onto his neck with no pressure- yet.
“How sorry are you?” you question, his fucked out face only fueling your actions.
“Really sorry. Sorrier than I can even put into words,” he jumbled out. Not good enough. You give him a slight slap on the face, and then grip onto his neck with more fervor. He moans like it’s his first time being touched sexually.
“That’s it? You’re sooo sorry you can’t even say it?” you scoff at him, playing up your anger just to see him fold beneath your grasp. You begin grinding down hard onto his chest, reveling in this.
“N-no! I mean, yes, b-but, fuck keep using me like that please. I just, I have to show you. Let me show you?” he says, still trying to work your pussy between each word.
“Hmm, go ahead then,” you respond almost immediately, intrigued by his request.
He tenderly grabs onto your thighs and lifts your body up off of his chest, and places you next to him, sliding from the bed in the same movement. Then, he eagerly walks to the foot of the bed and sinks onto his knees, beckoning you toward him with two of his fingers, his twinkling eyes never leaving yours.
“Join me, please?” he asks, voice laced with desire.
You seductively crawl toward him, his body looking meek in this position. You can feel your core drip more at the sight of him. He uncrosses your legs for you, making sure to do all of the work. He’s gonna prove to you just how sorry he is for not being a good boy.
He takes one of your legs and starts to press hot, open-mouthed kisses to every inch of it; from the tips of your toes, to the backs of your knees. His eyes never leave yours. He’s waiting for some sign of approval, a praise, anything that tells him he’s making up for it, but you sit there in shock, staring at the submissive man beneath you. You’re almost too scared to move, afraid that any action or sound will break the spell.
Then he starts to speak. “You’re so beautiful. Your body’s like a painting that only Michelangelo himself could’ve imagined. How could I have been so stupid? You deserve everything. I’m gonna give you everything,” he says between kisses.
“This?” he says, kissing your inner thigh, “I don’t even deserve it. I’m lucky to be able to touch you like this. Lucky ta even see you like this.”
He grabs onto your hips, and looks up at you, pleading.
“M gonna make you feel so good. I promise.”
Michael kisses up the soft skin of your stomach, making sure to save what’s beneath it for last. Then, he makes it to your breasts, and drool dribbles out of his mouth as he speaks.
“I don’t even deserve these,” he says, almost to himself with a sigh. He peppers kisses to the undersides of them, teasing his way up to your erect nipples. Then, he takes one into his mouth, suckling like a man starved. You nearly scream from pleasure at the contact, causing Michael to look up with worry, only for him to see your blissed expression. He grabs your other nipple and rolls it between his fingers, still holding eye contact with you.
“F-fuck Michael, that’s it baby. Just like that.”
He switches his ministrations to your next nipple, replacing his mouth with his hand, and his hand with his mouth. He starts whimpering louder and louder with each gasp you take, your arousal fueling his tenfold. You feel high. You try clamping your legs together, but his lanky body is blocking you from doing so, eliciting a whine from your lips. He notices this. He notices everything. He removes the hand from your nipple and immediately starts rubbing languid, deep circles on your clit. You let out a loud moan straight from your diaphragm, internally thanking Michael for renting the whole resort out for the two of you.
Michael’s lips detach from your tit with a pop. “You like this?” he questions genuinely, wanting to be good for you.
“Mike- fuck- yes! L-love it! So good!” You can barely even think properly, your mind only focused on how his long fingers work your clit with ease.
“Mmm,” he responds, not fully satisfied with himself. He doesn’t want you to love it. He wants you to crave it.
He gets up and straddles your waist, fingers still slowly rubbing your clit, searching your neck for its sweet spot with his lips. When you buck your core into his hand at a particular area, he starts licking and biting on it, hungrily inhaling the perfume on your neck in the process.
“You-ngh. You smell so sweet. Did you wear my favorite perfume for me?” he asks, a wave of gratitude crashing onto him.
“Y-yes Mike. Come on- more. I need more. Give me more.” You’re desperate now. You have half a mind not to start fucking yourself on his fingers right there, but he’s one step ahead.
His fingers slide straight into your pussy, and your walls clenched around them immediately, not expecting the intrusion so suddenly. Your back arches up off the bed, lifting both of you in the process.
“M sorry. I’m gonna get you there baby. I promise.” Without another word, he carefully slides back down your frame, and starts suckling at your clit like he’s tasting ice cream for the first time ever, his fingers still curling and pumping in and out of you. Your eyes start to water.
“Ohhhh my- fuuuuuck. Mikeyyy, baby mmm. S-shit. I feel sososo good. So good. You’re so good to me baby. My perfect- ah. My perfect angel. S-so pretty on your knees for me.” You smile at him weakly and squeeze his head in between your thighs forcefully, grinding yourself onto his mouth and nose. The dichotomy is giving him whiplash.
The praise that you give Michael is driving him halfway insane. He moans erotically into your squelching pussy, pumping his fingers into you faster and harsher, squeezing his thighs together for his own relief. The sight of you using him like this is making his brain go numb, the only thing on his mind is making up for his behavior earlier. Making sure you’re feeling good.
Your legs start to shake uncontrollably now, a telltale sign of your orgasm approaching.
This fuels Michael further.
“Please cum on my face. I wanna taste it, ma.”
You almost do it on the spot, but you have other plans. You lightly kick his face from between your legs and his mouth detaches from your pussy loudly. He looks at you confused, his face glistening with your arousal.
“I’m sorry. Did I do something wro-” You interrupt him by slamming your lips onto his, the force of it pushing his torso onto the floor. You moan at the taste of yourself on his mouth, your tongue searching for his in the process. You break the kiss and lean into his ear with a seductive whisper. “I want to fuck you, Michael.”
His entire body goes rigid and he gasps loudly. You palm him through his jeans, feeling his dick straining against the black fabric. He sucks in a sharp breath, wanting so desperately for more friction, while simultaneously wanting to show you he can be good.
“Ohhh, were you this hard all this time, baby?” you coo at him, loving how the condescending tone in your words feels.
“A-ah yes. I just wanted you to feel good,” he replies between choked breaths, seemingly trying not to pass out. He loves how dumb you’re making him feel.
“Aww my good boy, you did so well for me. I think it’s time for us to both feel good together, hmm?” you ask him, eager for his response. He looks so pretty like this, and his whimpers sound even prettier.
“O-only if that’s what you want. Ngh- everything’s your choice. Everything, everything,” he slurs out, already losing his grasp on reality due to the way you’re speaking to him and the way you rub hungrily against his clothed erection.
You unzip his jeans faster than he can even process and pulled them down off his legs along with his boxers, his leaking erection slapping against his abdomen harshly.
“Look at me,” you command him. He obeys without a second thought.
You take your pretty manicured hands and begin to jerk him off slowly, enjoying the way he tries not to grind up into your hands because he’s your good boy.
You speed up your actions faster, faster, faster, until you see Michael nearing his climax. He’s warning you over and over that he’s gonna cum, not wanting to before you do. Not after his behavior today. He didn’t deserve it, and you agree.
“Baby, pleeeeease, ‘m so close. Can’t do it. You have ta first. Iss too good ‘n i can’t hold it,” he whines, tears threatening to fall from his eyes. You kiss them away and go faster, ignoring his cries. The tears only turned you on further.
“F-FUCK! BABY I’M GONN-” You stop moving your hand entirely, and squeeze down on his dick hard.
“Wh-wha..” Michael trails off, not knowing how to speak anymore.
“Thank you,” he says, looking up at you with tear-filled eyes, chest heaving. He knew better than to complain- you touching him at all was enough.
You lean up to give him a quick kiss, before lining his dick up with your entrance and sinking down onto it. The stretch was enough to make your legs shake and almost make you fall over. You can’t take it all at once, opting to go slowly, grinding yourself against it in the meantime.
“Oh my GOD,” Michael cries out, propping himself up on his elbows so he can look at you. You look like an answered prayer.
“Mikey, you’re too big,” you whine out, drawling the last word out on purpose.
“I’m sor-ry,” he sincerely apologizes. It would’ve made you laugh if you weren’t so turned on by his facial expression. You sink the rest of the way down, too impatient to care about the burn. You grip onto his neck for support and start riding him slowly, your thighs burning with pain and pleasure. Michael moans at the feeling of your delicate fingers around his neck again and he loses his filter completely.
“Please choke me again. Hard. Control when I can breathe,” he begs you. You do just that and start bouncing against his length, the begging and whimpering from your boyfriend turning you on more than you’ve ever been.
His eyes start to roll back, and you loosen your grip so that he can gasp for air, his lungs greedily swallowing the oxygen creeping in. He starts rolling his hips up into yours to help, knowing riding isn’t easy for women. Always the gentleman, even when you’re fucking his brains out. He looks into your eyes, grabs your free hand and starts sucking on your fingers, muffling his moans with them from embarrassment. You don’t know whether to be angry that he won’t let you hear them, or turned on from the sight, so you grind and choke him harder.
His eyes fog over and he drools onto his chest, arching his back up to meet all of your grinds. You loosen your grip once again.
“Let me hear your pretty voice, baby,” you drawl at him, removing your fingers from his mouth and using them to play with your nipple. That basically does it for him.
“Baaaaaaby. Oh my god I-I can’t even think. You’re s-so good to me and- YEAH keep touching yourself like that please. You’re so beauti-f-ful. I’m never letting you go. You’re t-too perfect iss driving me crazy. Plea-” you choke him again- “Mmmfuck. Please cum on me. Please use my body to cum.”
“Then fuck me like you want it, Mike,” you order, dragging your fingers down from his neck, using your nails to scratch all the way down to his chest.
“Yes, ma’am.”
He flips you over and pins you beneath him, and begins thrusting into you the exact way he knows you like it, totally focusing on your pleasure.
“I won’t, baby.” He presses a hand onto your stomach for comfort, but what he felt flipped a switch in him. He looked down and saw himself moving inside of your belly.
“Oh my god…” he gasped out, making you look at him with concern. “B-baby. I can see myself inside of you,” he says, genuinely surprised.
“It’s ‘cause you’re so big,” you say, pouting at him. “G-go ahead, baby. Fuck me until m’ cervix is shaped like your dick.” He groans at the filth in your words, doing just as you say. His body begins to shake with pleasure. He feels so good, too good. Like something only his imagination could come up with. He starts drooling again.
The sight above you is getting you so close to your release. You reach your hand down to your clit and started playing with it, making sure to tilt Michael’s face down to watch before you do so. You want to put on a show for him. It is your anniversary, after all.
“M gonna cum for you Mikey. ‘M gonna make a mess of that pretty dick of yours,” you say nastily. You can feel the knot in your stomach start to tighten more and more.
“Y-Yes! Please cum all over me. Please turn me into a mess,” he begs, and that did it. Your entire body locks up and your vision turns blurry.
“Michael FUCK!” you scream- genuinely scream- out in pleasure. You grip onto his shoulders with all the force you can muster, mumbling out praises of “You’re so pretty” and “Did so good” until your lips fall numb. He rides you through the whole thing, legs shaking and forehead dripping with sweat.
“C-can I please cum? It hurts…” You look at him with surprise, not realizing he was still going for you, and it almost does enough for you to want a round two.
“Oh, Michael. You’re so obedient. I didn’t realize you were still going, love. Cum inside me, baby. Fill me up.”
He whimpers and cums on command, his body stilling and his toes curling up in pleasure. His eyes roll so far back into his head that you can’t even see his irises anymore.
“Thank you, thank you, thank y- ahh, thank you. ‘M so so-ahhhgghh, so sorry. I’ll be good forever ‘m sorry my pretty girl.”
His sweaty body collapses onto yours, and you two lay there for a while, his dick still inside of you, fully softened up.
After at least ten minutes of this, Michael speaks.
“So…Can we do this again?” he asks hesitantly.
“Michael,” you start, “I don’t think I can ever go back. Do you know how sexy you are when you’re submissive?” Your thighs start to clench again at the thought of what you two got up to tonight.
“O-oh. Really? It wasn’t too much?” he asks shyly as he rolls off of your body.
“Really. You should’ve said something sooner, angel face. I prefer being dominant,” you reveal, although you’re sure it was obvious.
“I was just shy, is all. But you? I don’t think- no, I know I’ve never seen anything or anyone as sexy as you were tonight. I feel like I died from bliss and met God. Truly, you were heavenly. I didn’t want any of it to end.”
“It doesn’t have to…We still have a whole weekend to spend here,” you offer, wiggling your eyebrows playfully. He blushes a deep red.
“I’m gonna go get our stuff ready for a bath,” you say. “Tidy up the room for when we’re back, yeah?”
“I’ll do anything for you,” Michael says, clearly still pussy drunk. He grabs your hand before you head to the bathroom.
“I love you. I’m not just saying that because of what we did tonight, you know that. But I love you. Thank you for being the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’ll cherish you for all of my days, and even afterwards, if I can.“ He gives you a brief, yet passionate kiss on the lips. “I’ll be as quick as possible. Happy anniversary, pretty girl.”
“Happy anniversary, Michael,” you say, trying not to cry. You don’t know how you’d gotten so lucky.
