“baby, how ‘bout this one?” you held up yet another mini skirt, looking over at your boyfriend. michael stood beside you, already holding three heavy designer bags from the previous stores, a patient smile on his face.
when you mentioned wanting to go shopping yesterday, you hadn’t expected him to buy out the entire mall. but, like the good boy he was, he’d cleared the place out just so his baby could browse in peace.
“that’d look beautiful on you, sweetheart,” he replied softly. he’d been trying to convince you to actually try things on for him all afternoon, a request you’d been actively avoiding. you had been doing a good job of dodging it, too. unbeknownst to him, you weren’t wearing a single thing under your sundress—you’d skipped the underwear entirely this morning out of fear that the thin fabric would show a panty line.
but your luck had officially run out.
now, here you were in the private fitting room. michael was settled into the plush armchair in the corner, his eyes locked on you as you finally slid the straps of your dress down your shoulders, letting the fabric pool at your ankles and revealing your bare body to him.
“wow…” michael breathed, biting his bottom lip as his gaze trailed slowly over your luscious curves.
“hand me the skirt, please?” you reached your hand out, trying to ignore the sudden heat in his eyes—he was staring at you like he wanted to eat you alive.
instead of handing it over, he held the skirt just out of your reach, a slow smirk spreading across his face. “where are your panties, mama?”
you felt your face flush. “they’re right here... what do you mean? can i just have the skirt now, please?”
“was this on purpose?” he teased, his voice dropping an octave as his eyes darkened.
“mike, you’re startin’ to piss me off now,” you mumbled, crossing your arms over your chest, even though it did nothing to hide the heat creeping up your neck.
he let out a deep chuckle, completely unbothered by your attitude. “y’know, you’re talkin’ a lot of junk for someone standin’ completely naked in front of me right now...”
the next thing you knew , michael’s hands were on you. he had shoved his sweatpants down just enough to free himself, gripping your waist and pulled you right into his lap.
you gasped as he guided you down, sinking you onto him all at once. your back pressed flush against his chest, and those big hands of his locked firmly onto your hips, setting a relentless, bouncing rhythm that had you clinging to his thighs for balance.
“baby... oh shit...” you moaned, your head falling back against his shoulder as the pleasure hit you in waves.
“atta’ girl, baby,” he groaned darkly against your ear, his breath hot and ragged. His grip tightened, anchoring you as he watched the white ring of your cum gather around the base of his shaft every time you pushed all the way down, burying him inside your tight heat. “squeezin’ me so damn good...”
the intensity was making your knees weak, even while sitting. you turned your head blindly toward him, completely desperate and almost out of breath. “kiss... can I have a kiss, p-please...?” you whimpered.
how could he say no to you when you begged so pretty like that? he slid one large hand up from your hip to your neck, fingers gripping gently as he pulled your face to meet his. he caught your lips in a deep kiss, your tongues gliding together in a messy, breathless rhythm that matched the pace of his hips.
shifting your weight, you let one hand slide up his chest to cup his jaw. your acrylics gently scratched against the rough friction of his growing beard—a recent look of his that you had become stupidly obsessed with. he let out a low growl into your mouth, pushing up higher against you as the thrill of almost getting caught outside those thin fitting room doors made everything twice as sensitive.
pulling away from the kiss just enough to catch your breath, your hand stayed anchored to his face. his gaze shifted through his glasses, from your face to the large mirror directly in front of you, his eyes fixed on the reflection of where your bodies continuously met. the fitting room was filled with the rhythmic, soft slap of your skin hitting his pelvis with every drop.
“look at you... look so pretty, mama,” he muttered, his voice a gravelly, low rumble against your skin as he watched the reflection. “takin’ me so good.”
“michael...” you whined, the intense friction pushing you closer to the edge, your voice growing dangerously loud.
“shh,” he hushed you, pressing a hot, damp kiss right to the sensitive crook of your neck. at the same time, his hand slid down from your neck, pressing flat against your abdomen. It was a gentle but firm reminder, anchoring you to his lap. “don’t wanna get us caught, pretty.”
as you buried your face in his shoulder to muffle your next moan, you couldn't help but think that the next time you went shopping, you’d definitely be pulling this stunt again if this is what it got you.
Summary: Just thinking about CEO!Jaafar handles you on his desk when your attitude gets out of hand.
TW: black reader (DUH), smut (mdni), oral (f! receiving)
Author’s Note: so like… this was NOT the original post but like, tumblr didn’t save it. So here’s a lil sum sum for the ones who wanted CEO jaafar🙂↕️. vampire jermajesty next🌚? excuse any mistakes.
This content does NOT contain AI and may not be used to train AI.
Jaafar’s two fingers moved out of your wet, drooling pussy. Curling those two fingers in a come here motion. The way he moved his fingers at a slow, antagonizing pace had you losing your mind—you didn’t know if you wanted to push him away or pull him closer. All you could do was hold on to his wrist while trying to contain the moans that begged to be released from your mouth.
“Aww, my poor baby, talking all that shit, and you can’t even take two of my fingers–how pathetic of you.” Jaafar cooed at you with that mocking smirk on his face.
Your eyes rolled back as you made a whimper as his words affected you—that voice made you leak even more, creating a squelching noise that sounded off in his office.
Jaafar deliberately increased his pace as he felt you clench your fingers, knowing you were almost at your peak. “I don’t think bratty girls like you deserve to cum, so hold it.”
You let out a strangled sound as you felt his lips wrap around your clit, sucking softly. You felt the coil in your stomach getting harder to control.
“Jaafar, please.” You whined out, slurring your words. “Please, I’m sorryyy, I’ll listen next time.
He lifted his head from between your thighs, lips glistening with your slick. “You promise that you gone behave like a good girl, hm?” Jaafar sped up the pace of his fingers, knowing you couldn’t take it much longer.
“Yes, I promise J, I’ll be good for you.” You yelped out as you felt tears sliding down your face, the pressure becoming unbearable.
“Give it to me, pretty girl, show me how sorry you are.” Jaafar bent back down to suck on your clit, harshly.
That sent you over the edge as you felt the coil in your stomach snapping—feeling your soul trying to leave your body. Your back arched off his desk as your eyes rolled so far back that only the white of your eyes was visible as your orgasm crashed through you, violent waves. Jaafar gave you the mouth-and-finger combo as you came down from your high.
As you calmed down, he slowly removed his two fingers that were covered in your arousal. He put them in his mouth, eyes slightly rolling back as he moaned at the taste of you.
He pulled out his fingers with a quiet pop. Taking his other hand—he grabbed your hair with slight force, making you sit up, and his lips crashed onto yours. You moaned at the intensity of the kiss and the taste of yourself on his lips. He pulled away first, a small string of spit breaking once he was far enough.
“Imma clean you up, but don’t ever talk back to me like that again, you understand me, baby?” The only thing you could do was nod your head as you were still dazed from your lingering orgasm.
"show don't tell" this. "show don't tell" that. we've all been to english/literature class. we've all seen it. we've all lamented it, but what exactly is showing and what exactly is telling? i've encountered some teachers that would say the phrase and expect me to automatically know what to do. i had to figure it out myself.
telling is when the writer directly states facts about the character such as their personality, how they're feeling, their relationships with other characters, etc. showing is when the writer describes a scene through sensory details. it's the difference between
I went through a depressive episode.
and
For those weeks, I washed my hair only when the smell of stale oil caused my pillowcase to reek. I worked every day I was scheduled, but I didn't shake fancy cocktails the first. I didn't allow Bobo to touch me, not even in the morning, which was our favorite time to be together. He rested two hopeful fingers on my hip, but I just wiggled myself out of reach.
— Kin by Tayari Jones, p. 215
the second excerpt allows the reader to come to their own conclusion about the character's mental state through smell, failure to keep up with hygiene, and anhedonia (loss of interest in things you love to do). trust your readers. they don't need to be told everything. many readers have very active imaginations. telling can kill the imagination.
transitioning from telling to showing is easy. however, like everything else, it requires practice and some patience. the best ways to start showing is through using the five senses and personification. instead of writing
I heard her walking towards me.
you can write
The crescendoing clicks of her heels echoed in the room.
the sentence is simple, and that's the point. sentences don't need to be complicated or complex to effectively paint a scene. don't think too hard about it.
in that one sentence, i used sound, onomatopoeia, and personification. "clicks" is the sound heels make on a hard surface; it's also the thing doing the action instead of the person. "crescendoing" indicates that the sound is coming closer. "echoed" indicates that the room is empty and large.
for showing emotions, the easiest way to do it is by incorporating physiological responses with a metaphor/simile or two sprinkled in. this website has an emotions and emotion amplifiers thesaurus that give you physical signs, internal sensations, and mental responses as a result of a certain emotions. please be advised that a lot of these are, unfortunately, hidden behind a paywall. there is a 2-week free trial, and it's $11 for a one month subscription.
you can also use certain actions to indicate a character's mood. in that case, verb choice is important. verbs can tell you if an action is soft or rough, violent or gentle, and quick or slow. choose a strong verb or a verb that doesn't need an adverb to modify it.
if i wanted to a show a reader that the character is nervous, i would write
She fidgeted with her fingers, using her thumb to rub over her nails. Her eyes flitted from side to side. Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap. The sound grew louder in her ears. She sucked in a breath almost to the point of her lungs bursting.
if i were to give any more advice it would be to read, read, read. there is a reason why literacy includes the ability to read and write. if you cannot read, you cannot write. read great writers. read bad writers. read novels. read short stories. read, especially, poetry. you can get a lot of poetry because there is a huge reliance on figurative language and literary devices. poets are also masters at painting scenes in so few words.
I started to rehearse for hours and hours upon hours until one single move was right. Dancing until my feet would bleed or them go numb. There's so many times I would wake up sore and be like, "Should I go rehearse? Should I just take a break and let the body relax?" Then the other part of my mind: "No, what would Michael do?"
i automatically assume the reader has a silk press or box braids when y'all are describing hair in these stories. LMFAOOOOOO, you will NOT rain on my parade. i'll picture michael x reader being about a black girl every single time
Rest in peace, Michael Jackson. you have saved my life in more ways than I can imagine and I wished the world could’ve saved you. You are inspiration to everyone. There will never be another Michael Jackson. Never! He had so many greatness and beauty and he shared his god given talent with the world and we are so lucky we are left with his words, songs, and wisdom. As a little girl, sitting in the car with my dad listening to Michael Jackson songs i was instantly hooked, even though i never saw his face or been to a concert I immediately knew I was going to be a fan for life. And that’s how powerful his voice was. Michael Jackson will forever be relevant, I will forever play a Michael Jackson song, randomly because he had such an influence in my life. We miss you Michael, rest easy💕
the worst part about looking at jaafar “jojo” jackson jr, was that you were always looking at a miniature version of jaafar. the exact same deep, soft, brown eyes, the same curls, the same way his smile crinkled at the edges. during the divorce, looking at your son was a beautiful, agonizing torture.
he was the spitting image of the man who used to hold you until you fell asleep, the man who promised you forever before forever ran out of time.
having jaafar around so much after the split only rubbed salt in the wound, but you could never deny him his right to be a father. and honestly, you could never deny jojo either.
"can daddy stay for dinner? please, mama?" jojo would look up at you with those big jackson eyes, and your chest would just ache. "can daddy tuck me in?"
and who were you to say no? so jaafar would stay. he’d sit across from you at the table, talking about his day in that quiet, dreamy voice of his, making you feel like you were trapped in some twilight zone where the divorce papers never actually got signed.
jaafar made sure there was always money in your pockets, always food in the fridge, and that every single bill was paid before you even had to think about it.
on sundays, you still upheld the tradition of family dinners. you’d go out, and whenever you’d try to pull out your card or cash to pay for your half, jaafar would just sigh, gently grabbing your hand. he’d slide your money back into your palm, wrapping your fingers around it, and press a couple extra hundred-dollar bills on top of it.
"i told you, i got it," he’d murmur, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand just a second too long. "you don't ever have to worry about that."
it was dizzying. the lines were so blurred they were practically invisible. jojo’s school still called you mrs. jackson, and you never had the heart or the energy to correct them. both his mother and father still called your phone constantly—sometimes to ask about jojo, but mostly just to chat with you, gossip, and check in on how you were doing. jaafar was still actively involved in your own mother's life, too, fixing things around her house and sending her gifts, random calls to check on her.
it was almost as if you were still completely married, just sleeping in separate houses.
but sleeping in an empty bed gets lonely, and eventually, the weight of being just jaafar jackson’s ex-wife and baby mama started to feel like a cage. you wanted to move on. or, at least, you wanted to try.
so, you finally agreed to a date. a nice guy, sweet, totally normal.
you were standing in your living room, adjusting your outfit, heart hammering against your ribs out of sheer nerves, when the doorbell rang. your date was early.
you pulled the door open, a nervous smile on your lips, but the smile instantly froze.
it wasn't your date.
it was jaafar.
he was leaning against the doorframe, looking effortlessly handsome in a way that made your stomach do an immediate, traitorous flip. his eyes scanned you from head to toe, darkening just a fraction at how nice you looked.
"jaafar? what are you doing here? jojo is already asleep," you breathed, your hand gripping the edge of the door.
before he could answer, a car pulled into your driveway. your actual date stepped out, holding a small bouquet of flowers, looking confused as he walked up the path and saw another man standing on your porch.
shit.
"hey," your date said slowly, looking between the two of you. "is everything okay?"
jaafar didn't even flinch. he didn't look angry; he just looked entirely, calmly possessive. he turned his head slowly, fixing his gaze on the poor man, and stepped inside your doorway just enough to establish his territory.
"everything's fine," jaafar said, his voice smooth, low, and completely unbothered. "but you can go ahead and take off. she's staying in tonight."
your date blinked, taken aback. "i'm sorry, who are you?"
"i'm her husband," jaafar replied smoothly, not a single hint of hesitation in his voice. "and we're working things out."
before you could even rebut, the sheer confidence in jaafar’s tone was enough to make your date take a step back, look at the flowers, look at jaafar's towering, protective stance, and decide it wasn't worth the trouble. a few mumbled words later, the guy was walking back to his car, leaving you standing there with your jaw slightly dropped.
you slammed the front door shut, turning on jaafar. "what the fuck? are you out of your mind? we are divorced, jaafar! you can't just scare off my dates and tell people you're my husband!"
jaafar just looked down at you, that signature, dreamy look in his eyes that used to make you melt into a puddle. he didn't look sorry at all. he closed the distance between you, taking a slow step forward until you were backed up against the wall near the entryway.
"you're still wearing the necklace i bought you," he pointed out softly, his fingers reaching up to gently brush against the gold chain around your neck, his knuckles grazing your skin and sending a violent shiver down your spine.
“so? that’s not a reason for you to show up on my doorstep-“
"our doorstep, baby. i let you have your space, i gave you all the time in the world," he whispered, leaning down so his breath fanned over your cheek. "but i'm not letting some random take you out. you're mine and you've always been mine."
and just like that, looking up into the eyes that your son inherited, feeling the warmth of his hands and the familiar, intoxicating scent of his cologne, you felt yourself entirely fold.
he captured your lips in a slow, deep kiss that tasted like a homecoming, and you couldn't even find it in yourself to fight it. you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, falling right back into his trap.
could you truly ever unlove jaafar jackson? as his hands slid down to grip your waist, pulling you flush against him, you realized the terrifying truth.
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