A/N: Final day of kinktober! I'm so happy I managed to finish this on my first try!
It was very uncommon for Alastor to be the jealous type. He was always the more happy-go-lucky type of man, which is what drew you to him in the first place. So of course him pressing you against the door, hands digging into your skin and mouthing at your neck had you a little confused. Very horny though.
"Al, what on earth has gotten into you tonight?" You sighed and pressed your head against his hair the more he nuzzled, bit and kissed your neck.
"That man. The audacity of him, flirting with you while you're wearing your wedding ring." His growl was only a little muffled. "I should..." He shook his head, "Damn darling I... I want to tear his apart. I should take him apart for even trying to take you away from me." A there it was, that darkness in him that reared its head every now and then.
"What you should do darling," You spread your legs better so he could slot between them, your dress slightly more hiked up on your legs than before, "is mark me." It was your turn to growl now.
Alastor paused, looking at the little bruise already forming on your neck, "Mark you? You're wearing our wedding ring, what more do I need to do?"
You shook your head and hooked your finger on his bow-tie, pulling him closer, your leg wrapping around his back, his slowly hardening cock now pressed between the two of you, "Mark me. Claim me, all of me Alastor, inside and out."
"I-Inside... and out." He gulped. His eyes grew several shades darker as he watched you, from your face to your neck, your breasts, between your legs and down past your thighs, "If that's what you want my darling, I'll gladly oblige."
“Would you kill me, my love? If I betray you?” for the prompt thingy if it’s still open ^^ with any character you like ;)
Fyodor’s fingertips hover above the wooden chess piece— pawn. With absolute grace and consideration, amethyst eyes gaze back at you as he leans on the soft chair.
“My, my,” he rasps, head tilting to the side with his knuckles pushing against his cheek. “I have not foreseen such a question in the middle of a chess game.”
You laugh, toying with the chess piece in your delicate hand. For outsiders, the sound certainly resonates like a normal, amused laugh. However, for Fyodor’s ears, it is roses and silk; sultry with a drop of venom on its edge.
“Won’t you humor me, darling?” Your lashes flick gently, lips forming a smile. “Would you kill me if I betray you?”
Would— because you know that he can. Ending another person’s life does not keep him awake at night; it does not poison his conscience or the lack thereof. And yet the question repeats like a broken record, surrounding his head, consuming his thoughts the longer his eyes linger on yours.
Would he kill you?
Betrayal is the apex of imbecility, for both the traitor and the betrayed. Death is the only punishment for such a crime. If you were just another body in the throng, Fyodor wouldn’t even think twice.
However, you are not like many others. Not for the reason that you make everything you touch beautiful. It is the opposite. You cradle Fyodor with the heat of sin and devilry; you touch him with fire in your fingertips, burning all that is pretty to leave him with ashes and ruin. He takes you by the hand, allowing your claws to sink in and swallow him whole, because that’s all he needs, all he wants. To dance with the devil and be destroyed by you.
“Yes. I will kill you,” he finally says. “And then I will kill myself next.”
summary: you just can’t handle how good your husband looks before court so you give him a good luck charm.
contains: smut, p in v, cowgirl, dirty talk (duh), car sex
A/N: I’m getting to those requests promise guys! And I’m getting to that Jermajesty fic for the 200 followers, enjoy ;)
“Can you give us like 30 mins please? Alone” you asked the chauffeur. He nodded, existing the car, leaving you and Michael alone.
Michael looked at you, "Whatcha planning baby?" he asks a smirk tugging at his lip. He already knew what you were planning.
He knew since he saw your eyes fill with nothing but lust when he showed his outfit. Michael's court fits have been feeding you more than ever.
And he was loving every reaction he got from you. "Mmm want you mike.." you whispered in his ear as your manicured nails traced his jawline.
His smirk being put on full display now, you bring your right leg over his lap. Turning your body to face towards him, your back leaning against the car door.
Michael catches a glimpse of your white laced panties, wet patch right in the center, clear enough for him to notice your sweet spot.
"You see how much I want you baby? Just real quick yea?" you say out teasingly, biting your the tip of your pointer finger.
Michael bites his bottom lip, watching your right foot hover over his manhood, as it grows a tight tent in his pants.
"C'mere mama" he says grabbing your foot dragging you on top of his lap. You settled on top of his lap, finding yourself already grinding on top of his dick.
"Mama I still have things to do, can't mark me today" he says sliding your panties to the side.
He rubs his middle and index finger up and down your slit, feeling how wet for you.
"Mmm so wet for you Mikey" you moan out leaning back slightly letting him see the wetness he's caused.
He hums at the beautiful sight. "I can see that angel. Let take care of you baby" he says slipping down his zipper of his trousers.
You nearly drool at the sight. You don't know if you were ovulating but once he freed himself you immediately felt heat in your core.
Michael helped you slide down his girth. "Ohhh mmm mikee.." you moan out watching his expression.
His face filled with nothing but pleasure, his bottom lip hidden underneath his teeth, grinning, "my pretty baby loves when I fill her up huh?" he asks brushing your hair behind your ear.
You nod instinctively, you bring a hand to the middle of his chest. You roll your ass up and down slowly then speeding up your pace.
Moaning loudly like you two are at home, Michael bringing his lips to yours covering your moans. "Come on mama, gotta be quiet for me" he says in-between kisses.
"nghh—can't baby, filling me up so deep" you moan out, your head leaning backwards looking upwards to the roof of the car.
Michael feels you clench, causing him to thrust up in you. "Oh Mike! I'm ther-there" you whimper out. "I hear you angel, show me whose dick this is" he says out.
His words pulling you to the edge, "Oh baby" the last thing you say before your release washes over you.
You look over at the watch, 26 mins has passed, leaving you two four mins to make sure you look presentable for the press.
4 mins later you two exit out the car, hand in hand. Cameras flashing already, you feeling your panties already sticking to your core more than before.
Michael notices in the way you walk with your legs together. Entering with nothing but a straight smirk on his face.
hear me out. Aphrodisiacs/marathon sex w dazai x fem reader
⋆˚࿔ Lust haze °❀⋆
Warnings : Explicit, aphrodisiacs, fem!reader, multiple orgasms, squirting, public sex, fingering, MINORS DNI !!
A/N: Ok so I know I said I was gonna do older requests first... HOWEVER I got this and I just HAD to do it. I love Dazai and he's not on this blog nearly enough plus this prompt was lit perfect. (lmk if I've missed any tags & tysm for requesting anon!)
It was just another typical work day for you, until it wasn’t. Kunikida, too exhausted with Dazai’s antics and reluctance to work, had offloaded the maniac with no regard for his own life onto you, forcing him to accompany you on the field as you apprehended whatever criminals got sent your way. As much as you and Dazai got on perfectly fine on any usual day, there was no lying that he could get in the way when he wanted to, and apparently that particular urge to be a constant source of irritation was very common for him. Aside from the unrelenting teasing you had to endure from Dazai all day, it wasn’t turning out to be too awful, the only issue lying in a particular criminal you’d been attempting to track for the better part of the workday. You should’ve had Ranpo with you, at least his genius mind could be useful. Dazai on the other hand seemed content not doing a lot, hands buried in his trench coat pockets, strolling beside you with an overly casual gait whilst he rambled on about something you hadn’t had the mind to be paying attention to in that moment, far more consumed with different courses and tactics that could be utilised to find and take down this criminal before the work day was over, you’d rather not have to labour away doing overtime.
“So as I was saying, I asked for a double sui- are you even listening?” Dazai noticed you’d stalked ahead a meter or two, eyes trained on the ground with focused precision, tracking every mark, every imprint in the dirt for a single sign of recent activity. He rolled his eyes, why bother wasting time doing something so mundane as attempting to track a criminal, they’ll come to you eventually. You’d sure make some pretty bait to lure out a scumbag or two, though for once he refrains from sharing that particular thought, conscious of the fact he’d probably receive a slap in the face for such a sentiment.
“How mean Bella, I’m wounded you’d disregard me so” He huffs out an exasperated sigh that you’re not confident is truly sincere and turning around to throw an unimpressed glare his way you note the way one bandaged hand rests dramatically on his forehead, the other just above where his heart lies, the picture of theatricity.
That glare cost you more than you’d realised.
The second your back is turned, an overwhelming haze of rosy mist floods the area, seeping into every crevice of space, until it’s so thick it feels like you're choking on it as it fills your lungs with something vaguely tingly. You cough, waving your hands like it’ll waft the smoke away, “Shit- what the fuck is this?”.It’s like looking through tinted lenses, the way it plasters the world in glimmering fog and you unconsciously inch closer to a surprised Dazai who’s holding a sleeve over his mouth and squinting through the vapour. The air is thick, like the clouds have descended down to earth to perform an unusual phenomenon. It begins to faintly dissipate, subtly, and in the edges of your clouded vision you barely make out a figure clad in dark clothing, face obscured, rounding the corner of the building and skidding away.
Copying Dazai’s movements and throwing an arm across your face, you scramble after the person, pushing your way through the pulsating fog. Ducking around the same corner they disappeared mere seconds ago leaves frustration building inside you, adding to the already pounding headache you’re sure wasn’t there a minute ago as the suspicious figure is nowhere in sight, only vast alleyways that seem to stretch on for miles greet you. Sighing in resignation, you drop the arm still obscuring your mouth and nose to take a greedy inhale of air, clear of whatever peculiar mist had spread across the area moments before. Only then do you register the faint buzzing beneath your skin, like your nerves are vibrating with every brush of clothing against your body. You hiss as one step back towards your original location causes desire to immediately pool in your underwear at the feeling of your thighs making contact with one another. Fuck.
Ignoring the now insistent burning between your legs, you swiftly make your way back to see how Dazai’s faring, aware he was unfortunate enough to be enfolded in the ‘fog’ you’ve now determined to be some form of aphrodisiac powder. Every whisper of clothing against your skin sends rapidly intensifying shudders across your skin, restrained pleasure rippling through every contraction of your muscles. Desperately attempting to ignore the igniting desire overtaking your mind, you stagger back to where you once were, scanning the area for the lanky frame of your field partner through hazy vision. Your gaze locates him hunched over, arms leaning above his head on a moss clad wall, entire body heaving in time with heavy breaths, lips parted and panting. Oh. Oh.
He seems to be even more affected than you are, though you can’t deny the fog crawling into your mind has your thoughts jumbled in a mix of desire and fragments of shattering control. Your own body is turning on you, legs struggling to hold up your weight, skin flushed a furious pink and breath leaving you in broken pieces. You take one slow fumbling step after the other, closing in on Dazai. You’re not sure what solution you have to solve this predicament and it’s not like you even have the capacity to think of anything other than the feeling of your panties clinging to your soaked folds and the shuddering of Osamu’s body barely a meter away from yours. You’ve never seen him so uncomposed, so…unravelled. In a matter of minutes an aphrodisiac has managed to force his appearance unruly, hair messier than usual, tussled and sticking to his forehead with perspiration, prominent bulge straining painfully against ivory trousers, eyes purposefully darting away from yours - lidded and clouded with molten desire.
Seeing your own condition paling in comparison to the utter state of his, you reach out a hesitant hand to faintly grasp his shoulder, touch normally scarcely tangible through the thick cloth of his trench coat now concentrated, sending the blood rushing to his already agonisingly hard cock. He doubles over further and moans at the contact, unabashedly loud as a full body tremor can be seen physically running down the long planes of his body.
“Hngh- f-fuck don’t do that…” He narrowly manages to mutter out and you can see his knuckles, just peeking out of his bandages, turning fiercely white with the force he’s exerting on the wall. Your hand lingers but without moving your fingers along his shoulder the pleasure derived from such simple contact is muted to a vibrating tingle beneath the skin. You’re not sure whether not to withdraw your touch, and your better judgement is becoming hastily clouded with the same desire reflected in the stance of the man before you. Hesitancy causes your hand to slip from his shoulder, though not before trailing down his back to do so. Another deep groan erupts from the back of his throat and you immediately realise your mistake.
“Oh- sorry I didn’t ev-” Your words are cut off as his head snaps in your direction, and the sight has your knees weaker still and slick gushing out of your pussy, unconsciously forcing your thighs together to gain some sort of friction to relieve the pressure that seems only to grow with each moment. Osamu’s eyes are wild, heavily lidded, hues of amber and chocolate brown swirling together in one pool of pure need, and in that moment you’re confident that his gaze could drown you, and you’d go along with it willingly. One more owlish blink of your eyes and his control snaps like a string pulled taught. He’s on you in speed you’ve never witnessed, lips crashing onto yours, all teeth and tongue, not a millimetre of space between you as he moves against you, devouring you.
There’s nothing innocent or gentle about the way his mouth moves against yours, greedy and consuming, like he’s trying to swallow you whole with each possessive tug of his teeth on your bottom lip. His tongue wastes no time, layering over yours with lustful intensity that has your head spinning, hands grasping and clutching onto any part of him you can get. His hips rut frantically against your own, cock pressing onto you with fervour that has pleasure sparking like fire up your spine and his alike. You moan and gasp, and he swallows the sounds in every ravenous stroke of his tongue between your parted lips.
In a second he has you pinned against the wall he rested on moments before, hands clutching your hips like a lifeline and lips moving to bite and suck a trail of scarlet marks and teeth indents down the slope of your neck, growling low against your skin every time you gasp and keen out at his ministrations. That buzzing in your veins has developed to full on pulsing, with each overwhelming canine sunk into your skin sending vibrations of pleasure running through your bloodstream like it’s second nature. His movements are frantic, bordering on animalistic in a way that says you’ll be wearing his marks for days. You don’t even realise your blouse has been torn open, lace clad tits out for Dazai to rain down another flurry of heated open mouthed kisses onto the skin. Deft fingers work swiftly to unbutton your trousers, slipping into your ruined panties to swipe through your drenched heat without hesitancy. “Hahh…s-so wet for me, dirty girl” His tongue barely leaves your skin to mumble the statement, returning immediately to claim any area of skin that doesn’t already bear evidence of him.
“S-samu!” The word leaves your lips between shattered moans, hips bucking desperately, chasing the friction like it’s the only thing keeping you alive, “Wait- someone could s- hahh see” His fingers seem to speed up at this, dragging back and forth through the gushing slick of your folds, though for someone so desperate he’s cruelly avoiding inserting one inside you and the tension coiling tight in your stomach intensifies every time he just traces your entrance before he’s skirting away again, leaving you to let out a frustrated whine. Your fingers have an iron grip on his shoulders, trench coat slipping off as you scramble to ground yourself in the face of such immense pleasure.
“Don’t care” his response comes muffled against your skin and yet another wave of pleasure courses through you as sharp teeth mark the hollow of your throat again and again, “let them have a show”. The next few seconds pass in an indistinguishable blur of hands and teeth and heat, Osamu’s fingers finally find where they’re supposed to go, one then two inserted into the impossibly tight confines of your walls with lewd sounds that echo off the surrounding walls, your hands fervently shove off his trench coat and then his shirt until he’s clad only in the bandages that find home around his upper torso, neck and arms. Your back arches like a bowstring, hips meeting his as you unconsciously roll them in tandem with every press of his fingers into that sweet spot hidden inside you. His teeth have finally let up on your bruised skin, only now for him to swallow every pitched whine that escapes your parted lips as his mouth returns, greedy, to layer over yours again and again until your head is spinning with the lack of oxygen.
You pull away, chest heaving with every inhale and he chases you, lips locking onto yours like the only air he needs is coming through you. You can feel the strain of his cock against you, and as he brings his thumb to your clit to flick and tease at the sensitive bud whilst his fingers scissor and prod your g-spot, you release one of his shoulders to palm his cock through his trousers. His head drops into the crook of your neck, groaning and almost whimpering at the feeling of your hand on him. He adds a third finger, stretching you out impossibly more, and combined with the fact every touch is like an inextinguishable flame of pleasure burning against your skin, you’re quick to fall off the edge, hips writhing and twitching beneath his touch as your walls clench and spasm, “O-oh fuck! Osamu!” His name falls like a mantra from your lips as your orgasm rolls through you like tidal waves.
“Y-yeah go on, make a mess on my fingers” His ministrations don’t slow, still plunging deep inside you and every coherent thought seems to desert your mind as he repeatedly hits that sweet spot over and over again. You don’t even realise your hand has stopped rubbing his cock until the bucking of his hips alerts you to the issue still present. In the haziness of your aftershocks you manage to fumble and undo the button, shoving his trousers and underwear down just enough to free his cock and it springs up to slap his abdomen. He’s big, in a way you didn’t even think about, long with prominent veins running up the underside until they reach his tip, red and swollen with pre leaking from his slit. You wrap a shaky hand around the base, fingers just unable to fit around it, and he groans low from the back of his throat with the contact.
Patience deserting him, his fingers are abruptly pulled from your heat, leaving you whining at the loss until his hand, soaked in your release, spreads your fluids on his cock, grasping your hand to guide it up and down his shaft. The irony of his cock fitting in his own hand isn’t lost on you but through your lust addled brain it’s a fleeting thought that goes as quickly as it comes. The aphrodisiac hasn’t calmed down at all, your stomach still coiling tight with sheer need, desire translated into a ravenous hunger for release that only Osamu can bring you. Hiking one thigh over his hip, you hook your arms behind his neck, grasping the short hairs at his nape before grinding your soaked folds along the length of him. His head tips back, and you take the exposed column of his throat as an invitation to trail heated kisses down it. You can feel him physically twitch at the feeling of your kiss bitten lips tracing his neck, and another bead of pre leaks down from his tip to mix with the already obscene amount of slick coating your pussy.
“O-ohh fuck.. Bella let me fuck you, have to- hah be inside you” His gaze meets yours, drowned in desire and want and you swear you see your reflection in his eyes, head half tilted back onto the wall, body heaving with lust and dizzy pleasure as your hips still grind slowly onto his length. He ruts into you, the head of his cock catching on your overtsimulated clit with every thrust against you, and the need to have him buried as deep as he can get is making you light headed. You nod as furiously as your brain will allow, but that’s all the signal Dazai needs to join himself to you in one agonising thrust. “Ohh fuck- you’re s-so fucking tight”, he hisses out as his cock practically splits you in half, and you wince, expecting pain that never comes. Instead, the pleasure vibrating under your skin reaches its peak, unravelling your mind until you can’t focus on anything other than the sensation of his heavy cock pounding into you with relentless force.
You attempt to raise your hips in time to meet his thrusts, but it proves difficult with the strength and pace he’s slamming into you with. “Shit- gonna fuckin ruin you-” It’s sloppy, in his haste to pursue release his rhythm is lost, fucking into you with hunger alight in his eyes, fueled by the lewd look on your face and the sensation of your fingers tugging at his hair like you’ll break apart without him, “till this pretty cunt remembers my shape”. Your head knocks back against the wall and your back jolts, scraping painfully against the concrete as his thrusts force your body backwards with the strength behind them. Your hands move down to his shoulder blades, scratching angry red lines into the pale skin. His hips drive into you with intense vigour, relishing in the tight clamp of your walls around his cock and the way you’re screaming his name over and over again.
You can see the peak of your desire swiftly approaching, clenching down on him as you chase the pleasure he’s giving you with desperacy. “Hngh- so c-close ‘Samu” He huffs out a broken laugh, interrupted by a moan as you squeeze hard, clit brushing against his abdomen as he draws you impossibly closer so not an inch of space remains between your bodies. Sweat beads and drips off his forehead onto your own, mixing with the perspiration soaking your own face. His pace never slows, hips continually meeting yours in a messy blend of your slick and sweat, colliding with lewd squelches that ring out into the empty space of the alleyway. “Go on, come for me- f-fuck you’re tight- come on this cock” He shifts deliberatley, assuring your clit grinds along his abs with every jolt of his hips. You’re so painfully tight around him, and your skin seems to tremor with pleasure with every contact it makes against his, so much so you can’t tell where his ends and yours begins. Wound in the unending spiral of desire, you’re swiftly pushed over the edge, stars bursting behind your eyes as you gush around his length, still pistoning into your sweet spot as Dazai chases his own release which follows almost immediately after yours. You feel his hips still for a split second, warmth blooming inside you as he spills deep inside, pressed flushed to the entrance of your cervix.
He takes you in, head tilted back and lips parted in a silent scream before your whole world shifts and suddenly your hips are being held up by surprisingly strong hands and your own are braced on the wall you’d been leaning on moments prior. You feel the filthy combination of your own sweat and a mixture of both yours and Osamu’s release trickling out of your abused pussy and down your thighs. His cock has barely left you before you feel the thick stretch of him pushing into you again, cock kissing the deepest spots inside you that he couldn’t reach before, “O-oh hahh.. Samu!” You keen out, pushing back onto him despite only having been filled up seconds before. You can already see your third orgasm of the night on the horizon, and yet you still chase it like it’s the oxygen you crave.
“N-not enough, need more, more” He’s not even directing his words at you now, just muttering into the skin of your back, finding another area that’s been unclaimed by his greedy mouth. His canines are sharp, sinking into your skin repeatedly as his hips collide with yours with renewed passion, aching to force another tidal wave of an orgasm out of your sensitive body. One hand releases its possessive grip on the fat of your hip, snaking around to draw tight circles on your swollen clit. Your legs shudder, struggling to keep you up, but Dazai’s other arm wraps tight around your stomach, holding you steadfast to him. It proves even more fruitful for him as he can feel the bulge of him in your stomach, unravelling him even faster as intended as the added stimulation tips him over the edge again, spilling another heavy load into you deeper still. The feeling of his hips stuttering and fingers still circling your bud causes another mind numbing orgasm to wash over you, gushing and spurting all over him, soaking the ivory of his trousers and his hand.
“Hngh- so- fuckk so fucking good for me” Yet again, you’re manhandled into another position, marked back now flush with the wall once more yet this time you’re completely suspended in the air, secure arms beneath your thighs as Osamu plunges his - still hard - cock into the consuming heat of your walls again, pounding and pounding into you like he’s trying to make you forget your name. “Shit baby- constricting me hah-”. His moans come in tandem with your own, raw and unfiltered against your skin, thoughts consumed by nothing other than getting you to squeeze on him like that again. He finds your sweet spot, abusing it until you can feel, what is this your fourth orgasm?, approaching you. This time it feels different, like the already present pressure in your stomach is about to unfurl in a tsunami of pleasure, and you realise far too late. “W-wait hah- Samu! I’m g-gonna p-” You’re cut off as liquid pressure comes shooting out of you, spraying his abdomen with your release as your body shudders with the aftershocks. His eyes widen for the first time since the aphrodisiac affected him, hips still pistoning into your gushing heat with inhuman speed but soon he’s following you again, and you’re surprised he’s not shooting blanks yet as another wave of heat floods your insides.
“Ohh shit- did you just fucking squirt on me? Fuck-” He doesn’t bother changing positions this time, just withdrawing his hips to start fucking back into you sloppily, skin meeting skin with a clap! Clap! Clap! “W-wait Osamu- m’still too sensit-” your voice morphs into another series of broken moans as you realise he won’t be stopping anytime soon. You’re relatively sure the drug has worn off by now, not that you could communicate that through the haze of lust obscuring both your vision and mind. This is going to be a long night.
Tysm for reading hope u enjoyed!! All likes & reblogs r appriciated and reqs r open as usual ^^ love u all <33
𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓈: established relationship, somnophilia elements, cnc (? idkkk), dom mike, sub reader, implied chubby/curvy reader, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, lotssss of dirty talk
𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉: 𝟒.𝟏𝓀
𝓁𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓈: navigation | masterlist
𝒯he roar of the crowd was a physical weight, a tidal wave of screams and frantic energy that surged against the stage.
But for Michael, the noise was nothing but a distant hum.
As he spun, his body a blur of precision and practiced grace, his mind was miles away from the stadium lights and the sea of reaching hands. It was anchored firmly in the memory of the night before, the taste of your skin, the way your hips arched to meet his, and the intoxicating, heavy scent of your arousal as he’d buried himself deep inside you.
Every time he hit a sharp, staccato movement or a deep hip thrust during The Way You Make Me Feel, a jolt of pure, unadulterated heat shot straight to his groin. He was performing for tens of thousands, but he was dancing for you.
As the bass dropped into a heavy, rhythmic thrum, the memory surged up so violently, it almost knocked the wind out of him.
He wasn't on a stage anymore; he was back in the dark, the air thick and humid with the scent of your bodies. He could feel the weight of his own body pinning you down in that deep, heavy mating press, his chest crushed against yours so there wasn't a single inch of space left between you. He remembered the way he’d leaned all his weight into you, forcing you deep into the mattress, making sure you felt every bit of him.
He remembered the way he’d looked down at you, his eyes dark and predatory, watching you squirm under his command. "Oh, my pretty baby..." he whispered, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that seemed to settle right in your bones.
He had leaned down, his lips grazing the sensitive skin of your neck, before his hand slid into your panties. He’d smeared your gushing, sweet nectar across your clit with his thumb, a slow, deliberate motion that made you whine. "Could give it t'ya all the time, everywhere... Ohhhh just feel how soaked she is f'me."
You nodded quickly, your breath coming in short, frantic hitches, humming in response as his fingers worked you.
"Yeah you'd like that, don't you?," Michael had muttered against your skin, his breath hot and smelling of desire. "'Just pullin' your panties to the side, all slick 'n ready for me, 'nd just slide in this sweet lil pussy"
The memory of him casually smacking the head of his cock over your throbbing clit made the Michael on stage stumble for a micro second, his hips twitching in time with the phantom sensation. He remembered the way you had trembled in his arms, the way you'd gasped, "Oh!—"
Then, the sensation of his heavy cock stretching you out and pushing in in one heated, relentless thrust, nearly knocking the wind out of your lungs. He remembered the way your delicious walls clamped around him, the way your feminine essence covered his dick.
"That good, baby?" he had whispered, stilling just for a moment to kiss your cheek, his fingers digging deep into the soft meat of your thighs to keep you pinned. He had felt so fucking full, feeling the way your body tried to swallow him whole.
"Mhm, Mikey, pleasee..." you had whined back, your hands finding his his face, pulling his face back to kiss him deep.
"Don't beg, sweet baby, imma give it t'you..," he had hummed, a dark, satisfied sound.
The memory turned frantic, just like the music currently playing in the stadium. He remembered the harsh, speedy thrusts, his hips snapping with a raw, animalistic force to drive his flushed tip directly against your sweet spot with every single stroke.
"Love this pussy, baby... all wet and drippin' for me..." he had groaned into your ear, his teeth grazing your lobe. "Gonna make 'er remember me when I ain't there to please my lil' angel"
"Ohh yes, right there—!"
The sound of it the wet, rhythmic slapping of skin on skin, the way your moans had echoed through the room, the way the very furniture seemed to shake that you thought the damn thing would give out every second now with the force of his stamina. It was all playing on a loop in his brain.
He remembered the way he’d relentlessly ploughed into you, his face scrunched in pure, unadulterated pleasure as his huge, veiny cock was driving you into the bed until you were nothing but a babbling, incoherent mess.
It was a dangerous game to play. He was running, jumping, and sliding across the stage with the intensity of a man possessed, all while managing a stubborn, pulsing half erection that strained painfully against the fabric of his black trousers.
Every heavy beat of the bass felt like a rhythmic reminder of how much he needed to be back in your bed, feeling the lush, soft weight of your body beneath him once more. He was wired, his adrenaline spiking not just from the choreography, but from the sheer, desperate hunger to get the hell out of the spotlight and back into your arms and into your delicious cunt.
The final notes of Man in the Mirror echoed through the stadium, but they were almost immediately swallowed by the deafening roar of thousands of screaming fans. Their cheers followed him like a wave, growing louder and louder as the lights brightened.
Michael barely acknowledged any of it.
He offered one last quick wave toward the crowd before disappearing into the wings, moving at such a pace that several crew members had to step out of his way. His pulse thundered in his ears, his chest rising and falling with every hurried breath as he all but rushed down the narrow backstage corridors. Sweat still clung to his skin from the performance, dampening the curls at the nape of his neck, but he hardly noticed.
Normally, after a show, he'd stop to thank the dancers, exchange a few words with the band, or greet members of his crew. Tonight, none of that crossed his mind. He had somewhere else he wanted to be.
Every minute he'd spent on stage had only made the anticipation worse, and now that the concert was finally over, he could think of nothing except getting to you.
All he could think about was the faint, floral scent of your perfume that always seemed to linger on his skin long after he’d left you and a fragrance he'd come to associate with comfort. And the way you looked when you were lost in sleep.
He needed to see you. He needed to touch you. He needed to feel your heat again.
As he reached the door to the suite, his heartbeat still hadn't settled. It pounded against his ribs from the performance, though by now it had little to do with the concert and more with the thought that he'd be finally reunited with his pretty angel again.
His breathing came in uneven pulls as he fished the keycard from his pocket, his fingers clumsier than usual as he tried to slide it through the lock. The plastic clicked once... then again before the reader finally flashed green.
A heavy click echoed through the quiet hallway.
Michael let out a slow breath he'd been holding and pushed the door open. The suite greeted him with warm amber light spilling from a lamp in the corner, the rest of the room bathed in soft shadows.
After the deafening chaos of the stadium, the silence felt almost surreal. It was calm. Still. The kind of quiet that settled deep in his bones.
The silence of the room wrapped around him like a velvet shroud, a stark, jarring contrast to the loud crowd he had just escaped. It was heavy, thick with the quiet intimacy of the night. As he entered your shared bedroom, is eyes immediately swept the room until they landed on the massive bed.
There you were. The clock on the bedside table read 11:00 PM. You were sound asleep, lost in a deep, peaceful slumber that. It seemed that you had fallen asleep while waiting for him.
You were a soft silhouette against the silk sheets, the covers having slipped halfway down your frame in your sleep. He stood there, frozen in the doorway, his eyes raking over you.
You were wearing a soft pink baby doll nightgown. The lace was thin and delicate, hugging the curves of your body closely, and the neckline was low enough that your pretty tits were practically spilling out, the soft swell of them catching the dim light, making him groan inwardly in anticipation.
The hem had ridden up in your sleep, bunching high on your thighs and leaving just enough exposed to show the edge of your pretty panties peeking out from underneath. It was a sight that made his throat go dry, the sheer, effortless beauty of you making his pulse hammer against his ribs.
The sight of you, so soft and unbothered, sent a fresh, violent surge of lust straight to his core. His trousers felt impossibly tight, the fabric chafing painfully against his hardening dick as he stared.
He didn't move at first. He just stood there in the shadows, his chest heaving, eyes dark with a hunger that was borderline feral. He wanted to wake you up with a kiss, but he also wanted to just watch you for a second, to see the way the moonlight hit the curve of your plush hip, the swell of your ass and the lace of of that damn nightgown.
Without saying a word, he started shrugging off his clothes. His jacket landed on the floor first, followed by his shirt, both tossed aside without much thought.
He made his way toward the bed slowly, his eyes never leaving you. Being this close, he could finally catch your scent—a mix of warm skin and the lingering comfort of sleep—and it went straight to his head.
He reached the edge of the bed, the mattress sinking slightly beneath his weight as he climbed onto it. Every movement was slow and deliberate, careful enough not to disturb the slumber.
He stopped above you, his larger frame casting a shadow over yours, the warmth radiating from his body instantly closing the distance between you. For a moment, he simply looked at you, his gaze lingering as though he were committing every detail to memory.
Then he leaned down, stopping just beside your ear. His lips hovered only a breath away from your skin, and if you were awake, you would have felt the warmth of his uneven breathing against your neck.
"Hey, baby..." he rasped to himself, his voice low and unpolished, stripped of all the stage presence and replaced with pure, raw need.
He let out a shaky, heavy breath, his eyes dropping to where the pink lace met your skin. "God, you look so good, you got no idea how much I've been thinkin' 'bout gettin' back to this..." he whispered, barely audible.
He didn't wake you. He didn't want to break the spell, at least not yet; he wanted to savor the way you looked, completely vulnerable and blissfully unaware. Completely trusting him.
Slowly, tentatively, he slid a hand beneath the hem of that pink nightgown. His skin was hot, still buzzing from the stage lights and the sweat of the performance, and as his fingers brushed against the soft skin of your thigh, he let out a tiny, jagged exhale.
You didn't stir, only let out a soft, sleepy hum that made his cock twitch violently in his trousers.
"Yeah, just keep sleepin', sweet girl..." he whispered, his voice a dark, rough caress in the quiet room. "Just stay right there for me..."
His hand traveled higher, his long fingers tracing the delicate lace of your panties. He could feel the heat radiating from you, a delicious warmth that made his head swim. He reached the edge of the fabric, his thumb grazing the damp, swollen center of you through the thin material. You were already slick, already warm, and the mere sensation of him made your breath hitch just a fraction.
"God, y'so soft..." he muttered, his eyes hooded and dark as he watched his own hand move against you. He worked his fingers under the lace, sliding them deep into the heat of your panties, finding you slick and ready even in your sleep. "Been thinkin' 'bout you all night... every time the bass hit, all I could think about was how much I wanted t'be right here... sinkin' into you..."
He began to move his fingers in slow, rhythmic circles, his touch light but purposeful, teasing the sensitive nub of your clit through the silk. He watched your face, mesmerized by the way your features softened with pleasure even as you remained lost in dreams.
"Look at you..." he breathed, a low, hungry sound vibrating in his chest. "Just a sweet little doll, layin' here waitin' f'me. My sweet, beautiful doll..."
He slid two fingers deeper, stretching you slightly, feeling the incredible, velvet grip of your walls. He let out a low, guttural groan, the sound muffled as he pressed his forehead against the mattress near your hip.
"So fucking wet for me..." he rasped, voice thick with his arousal. "Drippin' just thinkin' 'bout how much you missed me. You got no idea, baby... how much I been starving for this delicious little cunt of yours. Just wantin' to bury myself so deep in you that we both forget where the bed ends and we begin..."
He increased the pressure slightly, his thumb working the clit with a steady, relentless rhythm, his eyes fixed on the way your hips gave a tiny, involuntary tilt toward his hand. He was practically vibrating with the effort of staying controlled, of not just stripping off the rest of his clothes and shoving himself into you right then and there.
"Almost there, baby..." he whispered, his voice dropping to a pitch so low it was almost a growl. "Just a little more... let me see how much of a mess you can make for me while you're dreamin'..."
The rhythmic friction of his thumb and the deep, steady pulse of his fingers finally pushed you over the edge. A soft, broken gasp escaped your lips as your body tightened, a wave of warmth rolling through you that pulled you upward from the depths of sleep. Your hips gave a small, instinctive twitch against his hand, searching for more of that incredible pressure.
Your eyes fluttered open, heavy and clouded with sleep, trying to make sense of the dark silhouette looming over you and the delicious, aching sensation between your thighs.
"Mikey...?" you murmured, your voice thick and honey slow, completely dazed. You reached out blindly, your hand brushing against the warm, bare skin of his chest.
"Just me, baby... just me," he rasped, his voice a low, vibrating rumble. He leaned down, pressing a lingering, heated kiss to your temple. "Go back to sleep, sweet girl. You looked so damn pretty layin' here... just waitin' for me. Just let me love on you all night..."
He didn't give you a chance to fully wake up before he was moving, his lean frame sliding close behind you in the dark. He settled in, molding his body to the curve of your back, his warmth seeping into you.
"Just relax, baby..." he whispered, his breath a warm, steady caress against the shell of your ear. "Go back t'sleep. Just stay right there 'n your dreams. Imma make you feel real good..."
Before he moved to push his heavy cock into your waiting pussy, he reached down, his arm sliding under your thigh. He lifted your leg, guiding it forward and hitching it up toward your chest so he could settle deeper against you. The movement opened you up, leaving you feeling beautifully exposed to him in the quiet of the room. You let out a soft gasp at the angle.
"There... just like that," he murmured, his voice a low, soothing rumble. "Perfect."
With your leg pulled forward, he slid your panties to the side and positioned himself at your entrance. He didn't rush; he wanted to savor the feeling of you. You felt the blunt, heavy tip pressing against your slickness, teasing your soaking hole before he finally began to slide in slowly.
He moved in an agonizingly controlled rhythm, guiding himself in one long, seamless stroke that filled you so completely it made your and his breath hitch at the same time.
"Mm, so warm..." he breathed, his head dropping into the crook of your neck as he buried himself inside you, big hands gripping your sides. "You feel so good, sweet baby. So wet..."
He began to move, but he kept the pace heavy and deliberate, the friction of his skin sliding against yours creating a delicious, rhythmic heat. He stayed tucked close behind you, his chest a constant, warm pressure against your back. His hands were never still; one stayed anchored firmly on your hip to steady you, while the other roamed feverishly up and down your side, his palm hot against your skin.
He reached down, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your ass, spreading you wide to make sure every single inch of him was buried deep within you.
"Just stay sleepy for me, sweet girl," he whispered, his voice a dark, hungry caress. "Just let me take care of you. Feels so good when I'm deep inside you like this, don't it?"
You let out a shaky, broken moan, your head lulling back against his shoulder. "Mikey..." you whimpered, your voice thick and heavy with arousal and sleep. "Feels so good..."
"I know, baby," he murmured, his lips brushing against your skin as he drove into you again, a little deeper this time. "Just let me hold you like this."
He never let up the rhythm, his hips continuing that heavy, deep grind that had you melting into the mattress. As he drove his cock into you, he reached around to the front, his fingers hooking into the neckline of your pink baby doll top.
He pulled the soft fabric down, exposing your tits to the cool air, and his eyes darkened as he saw your tits swaying with every thrust of his dick.
"Fuck yeahh..." he breathed, his voice a low, worshipful rumble. He reached up, his hand cupping one of your heavy breasts, his fingers kneading the soft flesh. "You got the prettiest tits, baby. Every time I slide back in, they just bounce so sweet f'me..."
He squeezed you gently, his thumb rolling over your nipple, teasing the peak until you let out a sharp, needy gasp.
While his hand stayed busy worshiping your tits, his other hand slid down, snaking past your waist and disappearing beneath the hem of your nightgown. His long fingers found your heat again, sliding straight back to that swollen, sensitive nub of your clit. He began to rub you with a steady, relentless pressure, his touch a perfect contrast to the heavy, blunt sensation of his cock filling your cunt.
"Mm, so messy f'me, girl," he murmured, his voice thick with affection as he felt your pussy clenching around him. "Pussy's just drippin' f'me... so slick 'nd ready for my dick."
The combination was overwhelming. The feeling of him stretching you open from behind, while his fingers worked your clit into a frenzy, had you arching your back, your hips searching for more of that friction.
"Just stay right there, my sweet baby," he urged, his pace picking up, his thrusts becoming more demanding as he felt you getting closer. "Just let me take care of you..."
You let out a broken, desperate sound, your voice barely a whisper as you fought to stay in that hazy, pleasurable state. "Mikey..." you whimpered, your head lulling back against his shoulder. He pressed a sweet kiss against your cheek. "It feels so good..."
"It is so good," he agreed, his voice a soft, gravelly caress as he drove into you again, his cock hitting that sweet spot deep inside your cunt. "So delicious, my angel. Just a sweet, beautiful girl, lettin' me fill you up like this..."
The tension in your body was coiling tighter and tighter, a frantic, beautiful pressure building deep in your belly. The sound of his heavy, ragged breathing was right against your ear, punctuating every deep, sliding thrust of his cock.
"Mmm, god, baby..." he groaned, the sound low and vibrating through your entire body, voice breaking as he felt the heat of your pussy clenching around him. "So perfect... my sweet girl.. you're so fucking— mmm..."
He trailed off into a long, low moan as he drove himself into you with a sudden, deep surge, his hips hitting yours with a soft, wet thud. His hand on your breast squeezed firmly, his fingers trembling slightly as he kneaded your soft flesh.
His fingers at your clit were relentless, a steady, rhythmic friction that felt like it was setting your entire lower half on fire. Every time his cock hit that deep, sweet spot, he let out a sharp, breathy moan, his head lulling against your shoulder as he fought to keep his rhythm.
He whimpered against your neck, a sound so pretty it made your heart race. "Jus' wanna hold you forever..."
He was losing his grip on that controlled, slow pace. His thrusts were becoming heavier, more desperate, driven by the sheer sensation of your slick cunt wrapping around his dick. He was huffing, his chest heaving against your back, his skin slick with a fine sheen of sweat.
"Almost there...baby" he groaned, his voice a wrecked, beautiful mess of affection and hunger. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he let out a long, shuddering moan. "Give it t'me, lemme feel you come all over me, girl..."
You were right there, your breath coming in short, jagged gasps that mirrored his own. "Oh fuck—"
"Yeahh, juuust like that," he breathed, his voice barely a whisper as he felt the first tremors of your orgasm begin to ripple through your pussy, his own moans growing louder, more primal, as he felt you tighten around his cock.
The tremor hit you like a wave, a sudden, violent clench of your pussy that caught him completely off guard. You let out a high, broken cry, your back arching as the pleasure became too much, radiating outward in hot, pulsing ripples.
Michael let out a wrecked, guttural whine, his entire body tensing as he felt your cunt milking him, the rhythmic contractions of your walls squeezing his dick so tightly it felt like you were trying to pull him deeper .
The sensation was too much for him. As your orgasm peaked, he gave one final, deep thrust, burying his cock as far as it could possibly go, his hips pinning you firmly to the mattress.
He let out a long, shuddering groan that seemed to vibrate from his chest into your spine as he finally broke. You felt the hot, thick pulses of him filling you, his seed flooding your pussy in heavy, rhythmic bursts that made your toes curl and your head spin.
"Oh, god, s'good baby..." he gasped, his voice a broken, breathless wreck. He stayed buried inside you, his entire frame trembling with the aftershocks of his own release. He was huffing, his chest heaving against your back in the quiet room, the only sound the frantic, synchronized thudding of your two hearts.
Slowly, the tension bled out of both of you. He didn't pull away; he just stayed there, heavy and warm, his lean body a comforting weight that anchored you to the bed. He let his forehead rest against the back of your neck, his breathing gradually slowing from ragged gasps to long, heavy sighs.
He reached around one last time, his hand sliding up from your hip to tenderly brush a stray lock of hair away from your face. He leaned forward, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your cheek, his lips warm and damp.
"You're perfect baby..." he murmured, his voice barely a thread of sound, thick with sleep and adoration. "My sweet girl..."
He waited for a response, a sleepy mumble or a soft sigh, but as he watched the steady rise and fall of your shoulders, a small, tender smile touched his lips as he realized you had already drifted back into the darkness of sleep, lulled by the warmth of his body and the sweet, heavy satisfaction of the night.
A small, tender smile touched his lips as he watched you sleep. He leaned in one last time, his lips brushing the skin of your cheek in a ghost of a kiss.
𑣲⋆ bad! era michael jackson x reader ⠀₊⠀ ׁ⠀ word count — 767
summary : in which you cancel your plans last minute to nurse your husband back to health.
includes : fluff, marriage, kissing, sick michael, etc
based on this request
m.list
𝐌𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐢𝐧 before he was shoved back into bed and drowned in a pile of blankets.
you wouldn’t let him.
he sniffled lightly, watching you walk back in the bedroom with a bottle of medicine.
“baby,” he said hoarsely, “m’fine, rea—“
“say ‘aah’” you cut in, holding a spoonful of dark liquid to his mouth which Michael could already assume from looks alone it was going to be terribly bitter.
his eyes looked up at you, a frown breaking across his lips.
he opened his mouth to protest, but you beat him to it.
“your fever is at 102 degrees,” you reminded him, ushering the spoon toward him once again. “drink up.”
he reluctantly closed his eyes and opened his mouth, wincing once he swallowed and the taste registered.
it had truly tasted how it looked— bitter despair.
when he opened his eyes again, you were looking at him, faint traces of a coy smile on your face.
“Nicely done.” you cooed, “that wasn’t so hard, huh?”
Michael only shook his head, laughing softly under his breath.
but then once his laughter subdued, he looked over at you more seriously, watching as you began to put everything away.
you were still in that fitted, short dress that caught light from the room chandelier every time you moved,
your hair that still held lingering scents of hairspray and cascaded down your back in gloss ribbons,
and your makeup— lustrous, wispy lashes with glossed mocha nude lips.
Aside from replacing your Christian Louboutins with your cozy animal house slippers, everything on you served as a reminder that you had casted away your plans for tonight at the last minute because your husband had come down with a fever.
“your friends are probably wondering where you are.” he murmured.
you didn’t respond immediately, nor did you meet his gaze as you stored the medicine in the bedrooms cupboards.
“i can take care of myself.” he added, pushing himself up to rest against the headboard.
“Lay down,” you said simply, walking back over to guide him down with one hand on his shoulder.
Michael exhaled, settling back into the covers as he continued to search for your eyes, his hand weakly reaching for yours that now rested on the bedside.
“I'd hate to be the reason you’re canceling,” he admitted. “Go have fun, I'll be fine.”
finally, your eyes flickered over to him.
“You're a patient, you shouldn’t worry about those kinds of things right now.”
“I'm your husband first and foremost, am I not?” he tugged lightly on your hand. “You work hard enough already, go enjoy yourself.”
“Yes, you’re my husband,” you adjusted the blankets on him once more, tucking him in thoroughly, “but as your wife, I want to make sure you’re okay.”
Michael looked at you silently for a few moments.
as much as your admission tugged at his heartstrings, he couldn’t help but feel bad.
he looked away, his hands resting over his chest.
“You're going to get bored.”
“i’m very much engaged taking care of you.”
his eyes flickered back to you, slightly narrowed.
“you just always have to have the last word, don’t you?”
you smiled, patting his cheek gently before resting your hand on his forehead, “you’re only now realizing?”
it appears you truly hadn’t been upset, that you didn’t secretly resent him for ruining your night.
michaels expression softened slowly, a sheepish smile curling upon his lips because he felt he could enjoy being taken care of by his sweetheart without feeling shameless about it.
he let out a sigh, closing his eyes although a smile lingered on his face.
“i hate being sick.”
“i know.” you hummed, carefully swiping stray curls from his face before you leaned down to give a quick kiss to the side of his face, a faint mark the shape of your lips taking place like a token.
his eyes opened and his arms raised immediately, refusing your acts of affection.
“what are you doing? you’ll get sick!” he exclaimed to which you only laughed.
“what’s wrong?” you asked obliviously, trying to pry his hands away, “maybe i can take your sickness away.”
the absurdity of your words made him give a laugh of his own.
“through a kiss? that isn’t how it works,”
“what’s the harm in trying?”
you managed to get past his arms, pressing your lips against his to which once it landed, he couldn’t bring himself to refuse.
when you eventually backed away, looking so notoriously smug, michael could only smile.
a/: this idea is so filthy and cruel.. oh i love it sm.. btw u didn't mention what character u wanted so i assumed it was dazai based off your previous req. enjoy! ♡𐙚ּ ֶָ֢.
the room was dim, lit only by the low glow of a single lamp. dazai’s coat was still draped over the chair, your shirt half-unbuttoned but never fully removed. he had you on his lap in the middle of the bed, your legs straddling him, skirt pooled around your hips. his bandages peeked from beneath his shirt, and your hands trembled as you clutched at the fabric.
his mouth found yours again in slow, deep, unhurried kias, the kind that said he had already memorized every sigh you made. his tongue slid against yours lazily, while his long fingers slipped under your skirt to knead the soft flesh of your thighs. you whimpered into his mouth, shy even though you were already soaking, cheeks burning.
“still so quiet,” dazai murmured against your lips, voice low and velvety. “but I can feel how wet you are already, bella..”
you hid your face in his neck, embarrassed, but your hips rolled forward on instinct, grinding your clothed cunt against the hard line of his cock straining through his slacks. your panties were already embarrassingly damp, the cotton clinging wetly to your lips. the friction was obscene—the thin barrier of your panties and his pants doing nothing to hide it, the wet patch growing slowly as your pussy throbbed for him.
dazai groaned softly, one hand sliding up your back to press you closer, the other guiding your hips in slow, deliberate circles. “that’s it… feel me,” he whispered, “I love how desperate you get for me.. so shy, yet your body knows exactly what it wants.”
you whined in response as you rocked against him harder, every drag of fabric over your erract clit making your breath hitch, every grind sending sparks up your spine. he let out a chuckle, hands sliding under your shirt to cup your breasts through your bra, thumbs circling your already stiff nipples until they ached. the clothing made everything feel hotter, more desperate.
his lips moved to your neck, pressing long kisses while his hand slipped between your thighs, two slender fingers stroking your slick folds through the fabric, circling your clit over and over before slipping under your ruined panties—without pushing them to the side—his fingers circled your hole once, smoothly, before they sunk into your tight, wet heat with a slick sound.
“mhmm.. "samu…” you sighed against his ear, voice trembling. your walls fluttered around his fingers instantly, hot and silky, taking him deeper—his digits gilded easily, curling just right against that spongy spot inside you. “shh.. you're doing so good,” he replied before sucking a light mark into your skin, “feel how easily your pretty pussy takes my fingers?”
you bit your lip before you nodded faintly, clenching involuntarily at his praise, slowly leaking more slick down his hand and soaking the fabrics beneath you. “feels… s'good,” you breathed, barely audible, hips twitching to meet his hand. you clutched at his shoulder as he pumped his fingers deeper, scissoring gently to stretch you. the wet, lewd squelching filled the space between youp every time he thrust them in. he watched your face the entire time—savoring the way you looked—your glassy eyes, the way your lips parted on soft, needy moans you couldn't hold back, your skin flushed sl prettily.
“osamu… please… I need you,” your voice cracked with desperation, not able to take his teasing anymore as your hands fumbled with his zipper. he smiled, dazed before he kissed you again, slow and loving, "anything you say my love", he then withdrew his fingers with a wet glide, gently pushing you back on the bed, before he got on top of you. you kissed back, desperate and aching while he helped you free his cock—flushed, and already leaking precum onto your underwear. he settled fully between your spread thighs before finally pushing your panties to the side.
the slick, puffy lips of your cunt kissed the head of his cock before he slid in with one slow thrust. the first push was heavenly. you both moaned in bliss as his cock stretched your tight, dripping walls open inch by inch. the drag was slow, filthy, and perfect, your sopping pussy sucking him in greedily until he was buried to the hilt.
he started moving—deep, sensual rolls of his hips that made your pussy squelch loudly around his cock with every thrust. the clothes made it dirtier: your bunched skirt, your damp panties rubbing against his shaft, your shirt brushing his chest. he leaned down, messily catching your lips with his as he fucked you.
you whimpered into his mouth, clinging tighter, nails digging lightly into his back through his shirt. he shifted slightly, hooking one of your legs higher over his arm, folding it gently toward your chest, hand lazily caressing your calf. the new angle let him sink even deeper, grinding against that perfect, swollen spot with every thrust. “oh god— 'samu.. fuck, so deep-” you moaned louder, voice cracking with sudden surprise at how full you feel. your pussy clenched hard around him, oozing fresh juice that coated his cock and dripped down onto the sheets.
"shh.. it's ok baby 's ok.." he mumbled against your lips, voice thick with love as he kept that slow, deep rhythm. “my shy girl's taking me so well…" he pulled back just enough to watch your fucked-out expression—heavy-lidded eyes, flushed cheeks, swollen lips, that blissed-out, cock-drunk look that made his own breath stutter, before he dived back in.
"s'beautiful.. so pretty,” he angled his hips and hit your spot again and again, "you're doing so good, cum for me love.." his breathing grew ragged, ".. please, wanna feel it, wanna see you lose it.." his teeth gently grazed your lobe before he moaned right in your ear—breathy and sultry—that made you shiver and your stomach flutter.
you were getting closer by the second—and he knew it—could feel the way you squeezed violently around him. one leg was hooked high over his shoulder, the other still locked around his waist—molded and stretched tight around his length as you felt heat rush through your whole body and pool in your lower belly. you buried your face in his neck for a moment before whispering back, “..'m so close, so close, gonna cum, love you 'samu- I love you-” your words dissolved into a long, shaky gasp as the orgasm finally bloomed over you.
It crashed over you slowly at first, then all at once. your entire body tensed, back arching as a broken, keening moan tore from your throat—loud, needy, and full of love. your velvety walls spasmed in long, rhythmic waves, milking him with wet, pulsing heat. cum gushed out around him, soaking his base. your thighs trembled, toes curling, fingers digging hard into his shoulder.
dazai groaned deeply, burying himself as far as he could, grinding through your climax, drawing it out even longer. “that’s it… let it all out, I’ve got you,” he mummered tenderly, kissing your forehead, your cheeks, your lips while you fell apart beneath him—his pretty face was flushed, hair messy, bandages loosening further with each roll of his hips, lips parted as his own pleasure built.
"'m close too bella.. so much," he thrusted just a bit harder into your spasming heat, making your now slick panties rub lewdly against where you’re joined. the damp fabric added filthy friction that made his breath catch from sensitivity. "you're gonna take it so good like the good girl you are, right?.." he slurred, voice climbing higher just at the ends. you nodded frantically, shyly nuzzling inti his neck, voice hoarse and affectionate, “yes, yes.. cum inside me… please, I want to feel you..”
that pushed him over. he let out a low, broken groan that vibrated against your skin, sighing out your name. his cock pulsed hard inside your tight cunt—thick, hot ropes of cum spilling deep into you in heavy, rhythmic spurts. his brows furrowed in bliss as the release wracked his body. you felt every pulse—ropes of cum flooding your sensitive pussy, filling you until it leaked out around his cock, mixing with your own mess and smearing everywhere. your clothes were absolutely ruined, rumbled, askew, and stained with your shared pleasure.
when the long, shuddering orgasms finally began to ebb, you were still holding on to him, panting, whimpering weakly. your face was a beautiful mess—lips kiss-swollen, eyes hazy with love and satisfaction. dazai stayed buried deep inside you, his breathing uneven, holding you close through your clothes that were now damp with swest. he pressed chaste kisses everywhere he could reach, your neck, your jaw, your collarbone- “love you,” he muttered, so quietly you almost missed it. voice warm and reverent. “s'much.”
you manage a soft, breathless reply, curling into him more, hands stroking his back soothingly as you both came down,
Summary: Alastor Hartfelt’s life was delightfully simple. Host his radio show. Tend to his garden. Commit the occasional murder for funsies. And most importantly avoid people. The arrival of a young widow in the neighboring cottage threatens all four. Oh dear.
Series Masterlist
Warnings: Smut
Notes: Yall knew I wouldn’t make you wait a whole 24 hours ;)
Propriety Be Damned
Alastor POV
He could scarcely believe the forwardness of your request. But, he was no moron; he knew the way he had been looking at you did more than suggest his own internal struggle with the close proximity of your faces. He just had been a little taken aback by your requesting it first.
His mind was racing. He wanted to kiss you; he wanted much much more.
But then your sweet voice and those big eyes staring up into his made him stall. He was a monster. And here was this impossibly sweet thing, begging to be kissed by him. How could he allow himself to stain something so wonderfully good?
Then your fingers tightened ever so slightly against the front of his shirt. Your voice was quieter now, fragile enough to splinter his resolve.
“…Please?”
God. That single word undid him. Whatever remained of his restraint simply… gave way.
Closing the final inches between you, Alastor lifted his hands. His fingers disappeared into your hair, gently cupping your face with the same gentleness he’d just exercised on the flowers. Every movement was unhurried.
Your own hands rose to him of their own accord, settling against his chest drawing yourself into his embrace until scarcely a breath remained between you.
Alastor had imagined this kiss more times than he cared to admit. Dreamed of it. Denied himself the very thought of it. Now, with your permission whispered, he finally drew your face toward his.
His lips met yours with such gentleness. He refused to kiss you the way the monster inside him longed to. You deserved better than his hunger. You deserved devotion. And, God help him, you were the most beautiful thing he had ever been privileged enough to hold.
Sweet. Soft. Just like you.
Alastor smiled against your lips before reluctantly drawing back, his hands still cradling your face as though he couldn’t quite bear to let you go. He searched your expression, expecting to find the same shy uncertainty that had so often colored your features.
Instead…He found hunger. His breath caught. You, oh, you wonderful little devil. He didn’t know you had spent so much of your life being denied tenderness that now, having discovered what a kiss born of genuine affection felt like, you found yourself hopelessly greedy for it.
This… This was what everyone had been talking about. Oh, how you wanted more.
Before Alastor could utter a single word, your arms slipped around his neck, your fingers disappearing into the soft curls at the nape of it as you rose onto your toes.
With a courage you hadn’t known you possessed, you drew him back to you. This time, you kissed him. With the quiet confidence of a woman finally choosing something simply because her own heart desired it.
The startled sound that escaped Alastor only urged you on. The restraint he had held lasted all of half a heartbeat now that he knew what you were wanting of him.
Then, with a contented noise that seemed to come from somewhere deep within his soul, he melted into your embrace, returning the kiss with all the hunger he’d been denying himself for weeks.
His hand slipped to the small of your back, gently drawing you flush against his chest while the other remained cradled at the nape of your neck.
He met your kiss with an eagerness that mirrored your own,you were slowly but surely discovering, moment by heated moment, what it felt like to be kissed by someone who truly desired you.
Parting his mouth just enough to slide his tongue between your sweet lips you immediately gasped, allowing him entry into your mouth. Startled at first, your tongue soon met his. God how sweet you were, even better than he had imagined.
Your sinful moans spurred his greedy hunger on. His hands found the round swell of your ass, urging you up, you wrapped your legs around his slim waist and he kissed you with a passion he had not known himself to possess. Holding you to him, he stumbled the two of you backwards onto the work table, settling you down so he could slot himself between your thighs.
You gasped suddenly pulling back from the kiss to stare down at the scandalous sight in front of you. Both of your clothed crotches pressed up against each other in this newfound angle.
Your eyes widened when you caught sight of his arousal, hard and heavy straining against the confines of his trousers. Without knowing, only feeling you tentatively rolled your hips earning a hiss from Alastor.
“I’m, I’m trying my hardest to be a gentleman here cher, but when you do that it makes it very hard to think as a decent man should.”
“But…I don’t want a decent man, Alastor.” You practically whimpered rolling your hips again grinding into him, eliciting a thrill through your core you had no clue you could feel.
“Fuck,” Alastor moaned as he bunched your skirt up around your thighs exposing your already soaking panties, you wanted to blush, turn away, but your mind was screaming for his touch. In one swift movement he helped you wriggle out of them exposing yourself to this man, begging him to touch you.
“I need you to be very sure of this cher,” Alastor said, eyes glued to your soaking core. You had never known your body could react this way to another person. You were more than sure.
“I know the situation we are in is a little difficult. But I’m not looking for a quick fuck. You bewitch me, woman,” Alastor whispered, his voice scarcely more than a breath. “And I fear that after tonight, I shall no longer be content with fleeting moments. You have made me greedy enough to desire forever.”
Your breath hitched as he moved to rub his thumb over your core. He had found a little nub you yourself had never explored, nor known of. Moaning you threw your head back. His touch was electric, the response it drew from your body immediate. This was not like anything you had ever known. His thumb over that little pleasure pearl had your mind numb to anything but desire.
“So I need you to understand that while I know we will have to be discreet because of your situation I want…” your body instinctively bucked into his hand, responding to his ministrations. “Fuck, I want you. Do you understand?” Alastor stilled long enough to find your gaze, your eyes half lidded beneath the heat of his touch.
“I don’t want fleeting,” you whispered. “I only want you. I never knew love could feel like this… nor that I could feel it.”
The admission escaped before you could stop it, carried not by courage, but by a heart that had finally found the words it had been searching for.
A slow smile curved across Alastor’s face as he leaned in to steal another bruising kiss, his lips lingering against yours. When he drew back, it was only far enough for his mouth to graze the delicate shell of your ear, his warm breath sending a pleasant shiver down your spine.
“I want nothing more than to fuck you with my fingers until I make you scream my name, but I’m afraid I don’t have enough patience to run to the house and wash them cher. Can I take you as you are now?”
Nodding quickly your breath hitched. This felt nothing like your wedding night.
When Alastor unbuckled his belt and pulled his trousers down you were suddenly very aware of just how inexperienced you were. His cock was long, thick, and glistening at the tip with his own desire.
“Fuck, I’m not… I don’t know if it will fit Al” you gasped as he pumped himself a couple times to ready himself to breach your entrance.
“Nonsense cher, I’ll make you feel so good, so much better than your husband ever did.”
Slotting himself between your legs he rubbed the tip along your slit covering himself in your slick, you worried now might not be the time to mention that you and your late husband had never actually…done the deed. His age had played a large factor in the lack of intimacy. Not that you had ever desired him that way either.
But your little secret seemed impossible to ignore because as Alastor tried to push himself inside you hissed in pain trying hard to play the part of a woman who had done all of this before.
Alastor worried you just weren’t turned on enough, so he moved his thumb back to that little bundle of nerves, pulled back and plunged his length into your sore needy cunt.
You cried out in pain, fingernails digging into his back, undoubtedly leaving bruising marks on his shoulders as he tore through the proof that your marriage had never been consummated.
His eyes widened in horror as his gaze dropped to where the two of you now met as one body. The tale tale trickle of blood that dripped along your thigh all the evidence he needed to understand what had just happened.
“Fuck, cherie, I thought you were married” he gasped at the realization that he had indeed, just taken your virginity dawned upon him fully.
“We um…he was very old we never…actually….” You managed to gasp between sobs as your body adjusted to the sudden feeling of being wholly and completely filled by Alastor.
A moment of horror flashed across his face before his whole body shuddered as you involuntarily squeezed around his length, as the pain had begun to fade into something else entirely.
“I’m so sorry, had I known, I would not have let my hunger overtake me and I would have made it more romantic. I’m sorry your first time is in a greenhouse on a table, amor.” Alastor said softly as he stilled trying to gauge where to go with this next. The little squeezes your cunt was giving him were driving him mad.
But he felt terrible for hurting you, little did he know the pain had subsided and now you wanted nothing more than to feel him move. You prayed he’d take your fluttering squeezes and do something, anything…but he didn’t.
“Move Alastor.” You said finally.
“What?”
“I said move. Do something. Please for the love of god just fuck me.”
That did it. He was already teetering on madness. Four months of want had driven him to the brink of insanity and finally he had the permission to do what he had longed to for far longer than he wanted to admit.
He drew back and you whined at this momentary absence, before slamming back in, fuck too hard. He needed to go slow. But you cried out, a sweet pleasured sound so different from the pain he had caused you moments ago. He wanted to show you how good he could make you feel.
“Fuck you’re so tight. I, fuck, shit.” He cursed as he found a steady pace at which to rut into you. The sound of the table squeaking lost amongst your pleasured gasps, his nonsensical talking, and the explicit noises of your bodies slamming together.
“Fuck yes, Alastor, oh my god that feels so fucking good.” You gasped too entranced in pleasure to worry about how dirty you might sound.
“You’ve got quite the mouth on you don’t you.” Alastor smirked, grabbing your knee to angle himself better so as to thrust deeper, hitting that soft part deep inside of you that had you seeing stars.
He was loving every second of this. The sensual squelching sound your cunt made as he drove into it like a madman. Again and again.
“Shhh mon ange,” he crooned, grabbing your chin to force you to look at him, “we wouldn’t want anyone to hear us would we? What would they make of you?”
You shook your head fighting back pleasured tears, this felt…Amazing.
“Taking my cock so well. Fuck you feel like you were made for me.” He chanted, slamming into your needy slick cunt again and again, steadying a hand on your hip he leaned down to capture your lips in a kiss.
Perhaps later, he would regret taking you so roughly. Especially since it was your first time. But in this moment all he could focus on was those sweet sounds you were making, the clenches of your velvety walls around his thick cock that told him you were close. Oh. And the fact that he himself had never felt this good in his entire life.
Releasing your face and pulling back from the kiss he moved his hand down to rub your clit again, he was close and he needed you to finish before he did so he didn’t do anything stupid. How he longed to finish deep inside you, painting your womb with his hot white seed, he knew that was not something the two of you would be able to engage in for some time.
Another day. He told himself as he worked your clit and your orgasm came crashing down. He fucked you slowly through every spasm, withdrawing himself just in time and finishing on the greenhouse floor.
He held you as you gasped, coming down from your very first high. Cradling your face with reverence he peppered kisses along your face and nose. Pulling away only to pull up his trousers, not even bothering to refasten his belt, as he steadied you and helped you off the table. Smoothing your skirt down before taking you in his arms as the two of you took a seat on the bench.
Gasps gradually gave way to slow, steady breaths as he held you close, quietly savoring the feeling of your heartbeat settling beneath his hand. Neither of you spoke. There was no need.
Alastor did not like to be touched.
He had spent most of his life avoiding it, shrinking from idle brushes of hands or well meaning embraces as though they were inconveniences to be endured rather than comforts to be sought. Yet somehow, without a second thought, he had gathered you into his arms and now found himself making no effort whatsoever to let you go.
God help him. He knew it with startling certainty, so plainly there was no use attempting to reason his way around it.
He was in love.
Hopelessly, irrevocably in love with the sweet young widow nestled in his lap. A woman he could not call his own publicly for another eighteen months.
Summary: Alastor Hartfelt’s life was delightfully simple. Host his radio show. Tend to his garden. Commit the occasional murder for funsies. And most importantly avoid people. The arrival of a young widow in the neighboring cottage threatens all four. Oh dear.
Warnings: lots of oral and masturbation
Series Masterlist
Spills
It is safe to say neither you nor Alastor had any notion of the floodgates the two of you had opened with one single fuck. He was starving. You were just as hungry.
The two of you found any and every excuse to steal one another’s time. Beneath the respectable guise of tending the garden or exchanging harmless neighborly favors. He would appear to mend a loose gutter or “borrow” a bit of baking soda despite having a perfectly full tin sitting untouched in his own pantry. You found yourself lingering on your porch just a little longer each afternoon, hoping to catch the familiar rumble of his automobile or the sight of his handsome figure making his way across the property line.
And each night he would come to you. The two of you would quietly explore the intimacy your marriage had been void of. He’d given you a couple days to heal, even after you begged him otherwise.
“Nonsense cher, you need to let your body heal after your first time. We aren’t animals.” He had whispered into your hair when you had tried to draw him into your bedroom the night after the greenhouse. You were incredibly sore, but the need to feel more of him had you wanting to protest otherwise.
So for three days he’d kiss you until your lips were bruised but always withdrew until the soreness had subsided and you were fully healed. Ever the gentle lover. Dear Alastor.
After his mandatory waiting period you were perfectly abuzz with excitement the entire day. How you longed to feel him in that carnal way again. Patiently you went about your day tending to the house, washing your sheets, in an excited preparation of what was to come. Since your house was the more hidden one from prying eyes,locationally, it had been quietly agreed upon this would be the rendezvous area.
Having prepared a simple meal, you hoped you did not seem too presumptuous. He had told you the day before that he would arrive around nine, as soon as his evening radio broadcast had concluded.
Drying your hands absently upon your apron, you caught your reflection in the bathroom mirror one last time, smoothing an errant strand of hair behind your ear before the low rumble of an automobile drifted through the evening from somewhere down the road.
A smile found you before you could stop it.
You busied yourself setting the table, straightening silverware that had already been arranged to perfection, smoothing an invisible wrinkle from the tablecloth simply for something to occupy your restless hands. Before long, a gentle, familiar rap sounded against the back door.
You hurried to answer it. The moment the door swung open, your breath caught.
He looked almost ethereal standing beneath the warm glow of the porch lamp, his suit jacket slung carelessly over one shoulder, dark hair just slightly mussed from the long drive home. That familiar smirk tugged at his lips, and all you could think about were those very lips and how desperately you had missed kissing them.
“Good evening, cher,” he murmured.
Before you could utter so much as a greeting, he swept you into his arms and captured your mouth in a soft lingering kiss.
He tasted faintly of cigarette smoke and good whiskey.
“Forgive me,” he said, resting his forehead lightly against yours. “The fellows at the station insisted on a drink after the broadcast concluded. I escaped as quickly as I could.”
“Nonsense, Alastor,” you smiled, stealing another gentle kiss. “You’re here now, that’s enough for me.”
Stepping fully into the cottage, his gaze immediately fell upon the little table waiting in the kitchen.
“You cooked?” he exclaimed, genuine surprise warming his voice as he wandered closer.
The rich aroma of pot roast and vegetables filled the room, the home cooked meal having simmered low and slow for most of the afternoon.
“Cher…” He looked back at you with a smile so wide it made your heart flutter. “This looks absolutely wonderful.”
Warmth rushed to your cheeks beneath his praise.
“You’ll make it go cold if you keep admiring it instead of eating it,” you teased, motioning toward a chair for him to sit in. And with a chuckle, he obliged.
The two of you settled across from one another, the little cottage wrapped in an easy, peaceful silence. You realized, with no small measure of surprise, that this humble supper felt warmer and more intimate than any lavish dinner you had ever shared with your late husband.
You knew what was coming, you’d catch the mischievous hunger that glinted in his eyes when you caught his gaze across the table. The waiting period was over. He was to have his way with you again and your heart was racing at what was to come after three agonizing days.
After dinner the two of you worked diligently to clear the table, scraping the dishes and putting them into the washbasin, where you assured him they’d be fine overnight.
“I refuse to leave you with a house to clean at my expense.” Alastor had protested, turning on the tap and rolling up his sleeves to reveal his delicious forearms. And so for several more agonizing minutes, the man you loved, edged you with dish washing and kitchen cleaning, brushing up against you just so, pressing his crotch into your backside as he reached over you to hang the pot back on its hook on the wall.
God he was driving you mad. Whipping around with a gasp you noticed the small smirk upon his face. He knew exactly what he was doing to you.
“Well I guess that’s about it then.” He said softly as you put the last spoon away and turned to him.
“Shall we make our way to the bedroom amor?” He said, taking your hand in his as you nodded breathlessly. You had been anticipating this all night.
“Undress for me cher.” He murmured as he began unbuttoning his own dress shirt.
Looking up you were suddenly self-aware of what was about to transpire. The first time you’d been nearly fully clothed, now he was to see your nakedness fully.
“I want to see you touch yourself, I’ll talk you through it. It is only right for a woman to know her own body.”
Nodding you slipped from your dress and chemise now standing before him in nothing but your stockings in underwear his breath hitches at the sight of your bare breasts.
“Beautiful” he whispered, already making quick work of his trousers. You take this time to shed the last of your clothing.
“Lay down on the bed and spread your legs, I want to see you glisten.”
He stood at the foot of the bed, looming over you, working his length in his hand as your fingers tentatively explored the parts of you society had told you were never to be discovered except by your own partner.
Now you lay here in front of this beautiful man as he talked you through the act of masturbation. How to find your clit, rubbing it then dipping between your delicate slit and gathering the oozing desire and using it to help your fingers glide between the folds of your cunt.
“I want you something terrible, but I’m afraid, I may not be able to withdraw myself in time, so I’m afraid we will have to make do with other forms of love making, amour” Alastor moaned as he watched you fuck yourself with your fingers for the first time. Your needy gasps spurred him on, as he worked his heavy cock faster, taking the oozing drip of precum that had gathered at the tip to slicken his palm as he bucked into it. Chasing the feeling your needy cunt would give him had he lessened his resolve.
“I promise I will make you feel just as good, you just have to let me do as I please? Will you allow me to taste you mon ange?”
His words scandalized you, placing his perfect mouth, down there?? You started to get up on your elbows in an effort to protest but he was already on his knees, his face between your thighs, his soft curls brushing up against the inside of your thighs as he dipped down. His nose and mustache tickled your clit as he nuzzled your folds.
And my god, the sensation you felt when he latched onto your clit, suckling at the little nub of nerves causing your back to arch up from the mattress and your fingers to tangle into his hair. You had no clue if you were trying to pull him away or push him down harder. It was delicious.
“Oh, oh my god Alastor.” You mewled as he suckled and lapped at your core.
“Isn’t this? Isn’t it wrong?”
“Is it wrong for a man to love a woman?” He gasped, pulling away just enough to slide two long slim fingers into your weeping cunt. Looking down between your legs you just about came right there, this perfect man doing everything in his power to make you feel like you were touching the heavens.
“I’m, I’m.” You gasped as he slipped in another finger working you until your soft spongy walls began to spasm, and proof of your orgasm leaked between his quick moving fingers. Only when your shuddering breaths had stilled did he reintroduce his tongue, lapping up the slick from between your thighs before licking his fingers one by one.
“You taste amazing amour.” He beamed, never once breaking eye contact.
Falling back onto your pillows you sighed, your legs felt like jelly and your heart was still pounding when you remembered Alastor had been so busy taking care of you, he hadn’t been able to tend to himself.
“Wait!” You gasped sitting up on your elbows to see him pulling his trousers back up, his arousal still very apparent.
“What about you?” You glanced down at his heavy cock that he was struggling to tuck back into his pants. When he stopped.
“Tonight was about you, anour.” He said simply.
“Is…” you stopped yourself almost too embarrassed with your own thoughts to continue. He cocked an eyebrow as you tried to speak again.
“Is there, something…I can do… that still prevents um… you know,” you hoped your glance at your stomach was enough to get your point across so you wouldn’t have to say more.
“There…are ways” he said slowly. Making no move towards you.
“But, I don’t want you to ever feel obligated to take care of me. I am perfectly capable, and like I said, tonight was all about you.” He moved forward to caress your head, smoothing away the stay hairs that clung to your cooling skin.
“What if I want to learn? How to make my partner…feel just as good as he made me feel?” You asked earnestly looking up at him.
“Fuck” he muttered. And you could see the internal turmoil he was dealing with. “Mon ange, you do know how to weaken a man’s resolve.”
“Please, Alastor.” You begged again. Grabbing his wrist from your face and kissing his knuckles gently.
“There are… well you could take me in your mouth.” Your cheeks blushed instantly at his words. But your mouth watered at the thought.
“But there are other things we could-“
“No,” you cut him off. “That is what I want to do.”
“Fuck.” Was all he managed as you slid off the bed and positioned yourself on your knees in front of him.
Hastily he undid his trousers again, angry cock springing free. Licking your lips you inched forward, your hands hovering waiting for his instruction or permission, you weren’t quite sure.
“You can touch it.” He whispered breathlessly as you began your exploration. It was warm and big, veiny and thick. He shuddered when you first grasped it. Spurred on by the noises he made you felt emboldened. You wanted to hear more.
And when your lips parted and you licked the tip he audibly gasped, hand flying to tangle in your tresses.
“Yes, fuck, just like that.” He moaned as he guided his cock between your lips filling your mouth with as much of his thick cock as he could without causing you discomfort.
“God you feel amazing, cher.” He gasped, leading his length further into your throat. You took it like a champ, wanting morning more than to see him undone just as he had done to you. Bobbing back and forth, gagging as saliva spilled from your lips and coated his length allowing him even easier entry.
“I’m afraid I won’t last long. I was so worked up from finger fucking you mon ange” he excused himself breathlessly. “But I fear you won’t want your lips around me when. I. When I - fuck!”
Alastor withdrew quickly, pushing your face off with more force than you were expecting as he spilled out onto your neck and face.
“Fuck fuck fuck!” He chanted, trying to aim away, spilling the rest of his orgasm into his palm before he was able to catch a breath.
“God, I am so sorry my darling.” He signed. “In no way should I have defiled you that way.”
Startled scarcely began to describe what you felt as you timidly lifted a hand to swipe up some of his hot seed.
“It’s…warm.” You whispered, and he lifted his gaze to meet yours, a warm blush creeping across his cheeks.
“Yeah, yeah it’s warm.” He agreed timidly, visibly embarrassed by what had just transpired.
And oh, how his madness deepened when you hesitantly swept a stray, glistening strand from your cheek with the pad of your finger, only to draw it between your lips with absentminded innocence. The sight struck him like a blow. God help him, you were going to be the death of him.
“Mm. Perhaps next time… you might not withdraw.” You suggested softly, savoring the salty unique flavor of him.
That alone could have brought Alastor to his knees all over again.
“Damn you, woman,” he breathed, watching as you drew your seed soiled fingertips between your lips. A shaky laugh escaped him as he dragged a hand over his face. “Damn you, and whatever dark magic you possess over me.”
request: "husband!michael being a complete fein for wife!reader after getting thick after having kids. it’s so bad that everyone notices and makes jokes about it"
featuring: husband!dad!michael x thick!wife!mom!reader
sypnosis: just read the request, that sums it up lmao
warnings: mentions of pregnancy, reader is thick, a lil suggestive but no actual smut
wc: 824
an: michael would def be absolutely infatuated with how the body changes after pregnancy
masterlist ✶ request page
Your body has changed. After three beautiful babies, it was bound to do that.
And Michael loved it.
Especially right after you had Paris.
Prince and Paris were born so close together, that your body had no time to recover much, it only got thicker. Your hips thickened up, your ass became even more plush, and your tits had just about doubled in size.
Your husband was an absolute fein for it, and everybody around him knew it. He wasn’t exactly subtle with his adoration. Michael would stare at you across the room. If you were near him, one of his hands always found its way onto your hip, softly groping the flesh. He also loved slapping your ass with a boyish grin whenever he came up from behind you.
His family would constantly make jokes and tease him about it.
One time at a family function, Michael just couldn’t keep his eyes off of you, even when you were on the other side of the room. Janet had noticed it, coming up behind her brother and putting a hand on his shoulder.
“Y’know, I think y/n thickening up has broken you.” She teased with a smile.
Michael just looked at her, huffing out a laugh and shaking his head, before glancing back over at you. He didn’t deny it, because Janet wasn’t wrong. It had broken him, it plagued his mind constantly.
As a couple years passed, you lost a bit of the weight. You still had all the assets, and they were still all definitely bigger than they were before kids, but they were not as plush as before. It was honestly bound to happen with how much you had to chase Prince around, he was one handful of a toddler, always into something. It had saddened Michael a little bit, he missed it. Of course, he would never tell you that, he thought you were beautiful regardless, and he didn’t want you thinking otherwise. It actually physically pained him when you thought otherwise.
Luckily for him though, in 2002 you welcomed your third baby, Blanket. And with that, came all that plushness back. With that also came more jokes from Michael’s family about his obsession with it, but he didn’t care.
You had just put the two month old to sleep for the night, laying him in his crib. For a moment you just stared at him in awe, he truly did look so much like his father. Those darling black tufts of curls on top of his head, dark eyebrows that strikingly resembled Michael’s, even now as just a newborn. Though you couldn’t see them right now, he had those same big doe eyes like his father’s. That might’ve been your favorite part, you found yourself getting lost into Blanket’s eyes all the time. You smiled softly, smoothing down his hair, and murmuring an “I love you”.
When Michael found you, you were in the bedroom. You didn’t notice him come in, too occupied with folding tiny baby clothes on top of the dresser. He came up behind you, pressing into your back, his hands found your hips. You jumped slightly, startled by his sudden appearance. “Jesus, you scared me.” You huff out a laugh.
Michael hummed, pressing kisses from your neck, down to your shoulder, “‘M sorry, baby. Didn’t mean to scare ya’.”
“Any trouble getting Prince and Paris to sleep?” You ask, continuing to fold another onesie.
Michael shakes his head, “Nope, read ‘em a bedtime story, and they were out like a light before I even got halfway through. What about Blanket?”
“I nursed him and he was out.” You smile softly.
There’s a beat of silence.
“He’s a lucky lil’ thing.” Michael sighs, his breath fanning over your neck.
You snort, “What?”
Michael brings his large hands up to cup your breasts through the material of your shirt, “He gets these pretty things all to himself.”
You laugh, “Are you serious right now?”
He nodded against your neck, “Absolutely, you’re just so gorgeous. S’ full in all the right places.”
“Michael.” You murmur bashfully.
You knew your husband loved how much thicker you had gotten since having three kids. He wasn’t good at hiding how much he loved it, at all. Michael wasn’t inconspicuous with it in the slightest.
“You’re just so soft and pretty right now, mama.” He smiled, one hand splaying across your tummy, which was now soft as one normally is during postpartum.
“This body gave me three perfect babies, and it still looks as beautiful as ever.” Michael whispered, his tone soft and smooth like always.
You turn around in his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck as you face him now. You press a kiss to his lips, “I love you.”
“I love you too, forever.” Michael whispers, resting his forehead against yours.
You feel his hand squeeze your ass, “You’re insatiable, Mr. Jackson.” You shake your head, smiling.
ִֶָ۶ৎ˖ִ ˚․Being Michael Jackson’s nanny was pretty easy. Dealing with a failing relationship with your boyfriend? Not so much. Your love life begins to crumble and your boss turns out to be far more charming and far more interested in you than your boyfriend ever was . . .☁️ ˖⁺‧₊˚ 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 ૮ ․𝒲𝐎ℛ𝐃 𝐂𝒪𝒰𝐍𝒯: 14 𝓀 ִ ࣪𖤐⋆
𝒶/𝓃: p2 is finally hereee! and it's long ash...
𐔌՞ 𝐓𝒜𝐆𝐒 : age gap (reader is in her mid/late 20s and Michael is in his 40s), cheating. unhappy relationship. michael wants that cookie so bad. dom mike. sub reader. slight jealousy. arguing. silent treatment (from reader). implied chubby/curvy reader. p in v. unprotected sex. dirty talk. praise. creampie. nanny reader. nicknames; baby, angel, sweet girl, babygirl. mike being lwky a bird. slight foot worship but you didn't hear that from me
The silk of his shirt draped loosely over your frame, the smooth fabric cool against your warmed skin. Almost instinctively, you reached across the bed, your fingertips searching for the familiar warmth of his body.
Instead, they met nothing but cool sheets.
You opened your eyes fully, a slight pang of disappointment settling in your chest as you realized he was already awake. The room was bathed in soft morning light, golden rays spilling through the curtains and stretching lazily across the bedding, illuminating the traces of a night neither of you was likely to forget.
Slowly, you pushed yourself upright in the middle of the king-sized bed. Every movement pulled gently at muscles you hadn't realized were sore, a lingering ache settling deep beneath your skin. It wasn't unpleasant. If anything, it was a quiet reminder, one that made a faint smile tug at your lips before you could stop it.
For a long moment, you simply sat there, fingertips absently smoothing over the sleeve that hung past your hand. The room was peaceful, wrapped in the stillness of early morning, yet everything around you seemed infused with traces of him. His smell lingered in the sheets, his shirt rested against your skin, and despite the silence, his presence felt impossible to escape.
Every part of you still carried the memory of the night before.
The way he had moved with that agonizing, heavy patience; the way his voice had dropped into a guttural, pleasure-filled groan as he whispered words of endearment against your cheek as he slid slowly and sweetly in and out of your soaking pussy.
You could still feel the phantom sensation of his hands splayed across your hips, driving you into the mattress, the rhythmic, wet slapping of his hips against yours that had left you breathless and shattered.
And then there was the way he cared for you afterward, treating you with the same tenderness he'd shown you all night.
He fussed over you with quiet devotion, wrapping you in warmth and pressing soft, lingering kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, and the corner of your mouth until both of you were grinning ear to ear. Every gentle touch, every whispered reassurance, made you feel cherished in a way you hadn't thought possible.
Slipping out of bed, you padded quietly into the hallway as to not wake up the probably still-sleeping kids. The house was peaceful in that unique way only early mornings could be, comfortable silence broken only by the occasional creak of settling wood and the distant chirping of birds outside the tall windows.
As you walked down the staircase, another familiar scent found you—the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the comforting scent of butter sizzling in a pan drifting through the house.
You smiled to yourself. Of course he'd already be downstairs.
The house was wrapped in a peaceful morning hush, interrupted only by the soft crackle of a jazz record spinning somewhere kitchen as the melody drifted through the hallways.
As you rounded the corner, the scene waiting for you almost made you stop in your tracks. Michael stood at the stove, one hand resting on the countertop while the other absently stirred something in a skillet. He was dressed simply—a pair of gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt. It was a far cry from the dazzling costumes the world knew him for.
This was just... Michael. Comfortable. Unhurried.
At home.
He seemed completely absorbed in what he was doing until he heard your footsteps against the hardwood floor. He turned. The moment his eyes landed on you, his entire face lit up. The kind that reached his eyes first before spreading across his lips, bright and blinding.
"There she is," he said softly, setting the spoon aside. His gaze drifted over the oversized shirt hanging from your frame, and the corners of his mouth curled just a little higher. "Good morning, sleepyhead." His voice was still rough around the edges with sleep.
"Morning, Mike," you breathed, lingering in the doorway with a sleepy smile. There was something about the way he looked at you that still made your stomach flutter. His smile softened.
"You sleep okay? I was trying not to wake you," he murmured, almost apologetically. "You looked too peaceful."
Without waiting for an answer, he crossed the kitchen toward you. When he reached you, he instinctively tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear before letting his fingertips linger against your cheek for the briefest moment.
There was a curious glimmer in his eyes, almost boyish, as he reached into the pocket of his sweatpants.
"I, uh..." He let out a bashful little laugh. "I have something for you."
Your brows lifted in surprise, "For me?"
He nodded, pulling out a small velvet box before gently placing it in your palm. His fingers lingered around your hand for a second, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles.
"I saw them a few days ago," he said quietly. "And I remembered you pointing them out in a magazine a few weeks ago." Your heart skipped.
"You remembered that?"
"Of course I did."
His answer was so simple, so matter-of-fact, that it made your chest tighten. Slowly, you opened the box.
Nestled inside were a pair of delicate diamond studs, their facets catching the morning sunlight pouring through the windows. They sparkled brilliantly, elegant without being extravagant—the very pair you'd absentmindedly admired weeks earlier before laughing them off as far beyond your budget.
For a long moment, you simply stared. You hadn't expected him to remember. You certainly hadn't expected him to buy them.
"Michael..." you whispered, your voice catching in your throat. "They're... they're beautiful." Your eyes lifted to his, already beginning to sting. "But... you didn't have to do this." You shook your head gently, almost in disbelief.
"They must've cost a fortune." A quiet chuckle escaped him.
"So?" You looked at him as though he'd just said the most ridiculous thing imaginable.
"So?" you echoed.
He just smiled at you sheepishly.
"If something reminds me of you," he said softly, "and I know it'll make you smile..." His fingertips brushed your cheek with effortless tenderness. "...then I don't really think about the price." Your eyes shimmered.
He stepped closer until barely an inch remained between you, his hands settling naturally at your waist before drawing you against him. The warmth of his body wrapped around you instantly, familiar now, comforting in a way.
"Baby," he murmured with a soft chuckle, "it's really no big deal."
Before you could protest again, he leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to your temple, his lips warm against your skin.
"You deserve beautiful things," he whispered. "Every little thing." Your throat tightened.
You wanted to tell him he was spoiling you. That he shouldn't spend so much money on you. That it made you feel guilty.
Instead, all you managed was a shaky breath as you rested your forehead against his shoulder.
For a moment, the weight of the life waiting beyond these walls—the unanswered texts, the strained relationship, the growing guilt you tried so desperately to ignore—faded into the background beneath the simple kindness Michael showed you so effortlessly.
Your arms slipped around his waist almost on instinct, holding him a little tighter. He held you just as firmly.
One hand settled at the small of your back while the other rubbed slow, absent circles between your shoulder blades, as though he could soothe every anxious thought simply by keeping you close.
The jazz record continued to play somewhere behind him, filling the kitchen with mellow saxophone and piano. Without a word, Michael began to sway, almost imperceptibly at first, gently guiding you with him. You smiled against his shoulder.
"Were we dancing?" you asked quietly.
"We are now." His answer made you laugh under your breath.
There wasn't much room to move between the kitchen island and the stove, but neither of you seemed to mind. You simply stood there, rocking slowly together while the morning sun poured through the windows, painting warm patches of gold across the floor.
It wasn't glamorous. It wasn't dramatic. It was wonderfully ordinary. And somehow, that made it feel even more intimate. For those few quiet minutes, the rest of the world simply disappeared. The rest of the day unfolded with the same effortless ease.
Not long after breakfast, Janet called Michael over the phone. "I've decided," she announced dramatically, hinting at the three children that were gathered around the table, "that I'm kidnapping these little monsters for the afternoon."
Prince overheard it and looked up from his cereal. "Kidnapping?"
"Mhm."
"Isn't that illegal?"
"Only if I don't bring you back."
Blanket gasped. Paris rolled her eyes. "She's joking."
"I am," Janet laughed, her laugh emitting through the speaker. "I'm taking you guys to the arcade, and then we'll get ice cream. Sound good?"
The children erupted into excited cheers before she even finished the sentence.
Michael chuckled into his coffee,"I don't think I ever seen 'em move that fast."
Within minutes the house had dissolved into a whirlwind of shoes, backpacks, forgotten jackets, and last-minute reminders.
"You got sunscreen?" Michael called after them.
"Yes!"
"And your inhaler, Prince?"
"Yes!"
"No too much candy before lunch," he added. Janet flashed him an exaggerated thumbs-up over her shoulder. "I'll try."
"You said that last time."
"And they survived."
Michael sighed dramatically, though the fond smile tugging at the corner of his mouth ruined any attempt at looking stern.
A chorus of hurried goodbyes echoed through the foyer before the front door finally closed behind them.
Then...
Silence. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Michael glanced toward the now-empty doorway before looking back at you, an amused smile still lingering on his lips.
"I love them more than anything," he said with a quiet laugh, "but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't looking forward to a little peace and quiet." You laughed softly.
"I was just thinking the same thing." He looked at you for a moment, almost as if an idea had occurred to him.
"Would you..." he began, his voice carrying that familiar, almost bashful hesitation. "Would you mind keeping me company for a while?" You couldn't help smiling.
"I'd like that."
And just like that, the afternoon belonged to the two of you.
The estate felt entirely different without the children's constant chatter. Slower. Softer. Sunlight poured through the windows, casting warm patches of gold across the marble floors as the two of you wandered from room to room with nowhere in particular to be.
Sometimes you talked.
Sometimes you didn't.
Conversation came as naturally as breathing between you now. One topic drifted into another, from favorite books to childhood memories, to stories from his tours that had you laughing until your sides hurt.
Other times, the silence settled comfortably between you.
Not awkward. Never awkward.
You found yourselves sitting together on the patio overlooking the gardens, steaming mugs forgotten on the little table beside you as the afternoon breeze stirred the leaves overhead.
Every so often, you'd catch him looking at you. Not staring. Simply... looking. As though he couldn't quite help himself.
The moment your eyes met, he'd smile almost sheepishly before glancing away, only to look back a few moments later.
And somehow, those stolen glances said far more than either of you ever dared to put into words.
But as the afternoon wore on and the sun began its slow descent, reality quietly crept back in. It settled in your stomach like a stone. You weren't a heartless bitch, after all.
You still were in a whole relationship. While you were fucking your boss. The drive home felt infinitely longer than the drive there. Your fingers tightened around the steering wheel. The little velvet box sat inside your purse on the passenger seat.
You hadn't even put the earrings on. You couldn't. Not yet.
Just knowing they were there made your chest tighten. They weren't simply a gift. They were proof that he'd remembered something you'd mentioned weeks ago in passing. Proof that he'd been listening all along.
And then there was the smell of him.
Even after hours apart, you could still catch the faint trace of his cologne lingering against your skin that seemed impossible to wash away. Every time you caught it, your heart fluttered before guilt rushed in to replace it. You just hoped that your boyfriend wouldn't notice it.
But knowing him, he probably wouldn't.
By the time you turned onto your street, the familiar knot in your stomach had returned in full force.
You pulled into the driveway but made no move to get out. Instead, you sat there in silence, the engine ticking quietly as it cooled around you.
You rested your forehead against the steering wheel and closed your eyes. 'What the hell am I doing?' None of this was supposed to be happening. You had a boyfriend. A life. Plans.
Everything had been so simple before you walked through those gates. Now it felt as though you were living two completely different lives.
One filled with distance, unanswered conversations, needs left unsatisfied, and the growing ache of feeling unseen. The other... with lingering smiles, gentle touches, amazing sex, quiet laughter, and a man who somehow made you feel treasured without ever asking for anything in return.
With a long, steadying breath, you reached up to check your reflection in the rear view mirror.
Your cheeks were still faintly flushed. You rubbed your face with both hands, willing yourself to look like you always did. Normal.
You weren't coming home from a romantic afternoon. You'd been at work. Just work.
You repeated the lie to yourself until you almost believed it.
Only then did you pick up your purse, leaving the velvet box tucked safely inside, and forced yourself to step out of the car. When you finally turned the key in the lock, you braced yourself for the familiar routine.
The muted glow of the television spilling into the hallway. The sound of a video game or whatever happened to be playing on the screen. A distracted, half-hearted, "Hey, babe," spoken without his eyes ever leaving whatever had captured his attention.
You'd already prepared yourself for the disappointment before you'd even stepped inside. But the moment the door swung open, something felt... off.
The apartment didn't carry its usual scent of takeout containers and stale air. Instead, the rich aroma of garlic, butter, and herbs drifted toward you, warm and inviting enough to make you pause with one foot still outside the door.
For a second, you wondered if you'd somehow walked into the wrong apartment.
"Hey, babe." The voice came from the kitchen. Not absent. Not distracted. Present. You looked up.
Your boyfriend appeared in the doorway, drying his hands on a dish towel slung over one shoulder. He wasn't sprawled across the couch with his phone inches from his face. He wasn't even looking at a screen.
He was looking at you. The sight alone caught you so off guard that you forgot to speak.
"You look exhausted," he said, crossing the room before you had a chance to answer. His hand settled gently on your shoulder as he slipped the strap of your bag from your arm.
"Here." He set it carefully on the little table by the door before turning back to you.
"Long day with the kids?"
You blinked. "...Yeah."
"You poor thing." His thumb brushed absentmindedly over your upper arm—a gesture so familiar, yet one you realized you hadn't felt in weeks—months, by now. At least not from him.
"I figured you'd be hungry," He nodded toward the kitchen, "I made dinner." Your eyes widened. "You... cooked?" A sheepish grin spread across his face.
"I know. Shocking." He rubbed the back of his neck, "I just..." He shrugged, "I realized we've barely spent any actual time together lately."
The words landed heavily in your chest. "I haven't exactly been... great." He looked down for a moment before meeting your eyes again.
"I've been wrapped up in my own stuff. Every time you came home wanting to tell me about your day, I was glued to my phone." He let out a quiet sigh. "I didn't even notice I was doing it until you stopped trying."
Something inside you twisted painfully. Because he was right. You had stopped trying. Little by little.
you stopped saving stories to tell him. Stopped looking forward to coming home. Stopped expecting him to listen.
"I don't want us to become... roommates," he admitted quietly. "I miss you." Your heart sank. Those were the exact words you'd spent weeks wishing to hear. And somehow... Now that they had finally arrived...
They didn't bring the relief you'd imagined.
Instead, another face drifted into your mind. Dark eyes that listened to every word you spoke. A quiet smile across a breakfast table. A little velvet box tucked safely inside your purse.
Guilt washed over you so suddenly that you almost started to tear up
Your boyfriend stepped closer, concern immediately replacing the tentative smile on his face. "Hey..." His voice softened. "You okay?"
You forced yourself to smile. "Yeah." It sounded convincing enough. At least... you hoped it did.
You sat down and ate the paster together. You found yourself telling him about Prince's latest antics, Paris proudly showing off another drawing, and Blanket's endless determination to build forts out of anything he could find.
He laughed at the stories. Asked questions. Waited for your answers.
It should've made you happy. Instead, one thought kept circling your mind.
'Why now?'
After dinner, he nodded toward the living room. "Wanna watch a movie?" You looked at him, surprised. "I get to pick?" He smiled.
"You always complain about my choices." A quiet laugh escaped you. "Fair enough."
The lights were dimmed, the opening credits already rolling, when he glanced over at you. "Hey..."
You looked away from the television. "Yeah?"
He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck.
"I was wondering..." His voice softened. "Maybe... could you stay home tomorrow?"
You frowned slightly. "What?"
"I'm sure Mr. Jackson wouldn't mind if you took a day off." He looked down at his hands before adding quietly,
"I just... miss having you here."
'Where the hell is this coming from?'
You'd just wish a hole would appear in the floor and swallow you whole.
"Uh... yeah, sure," you said after a moment. "Let me just call him."
"Alright."
You rose from the couch, forcing a small smile before making your way down the hallway. Closing the bathroom door behind you, you leaned against the sink and stared at your reflection for a second before dialing his number.
The phone barely rang once.
"Hey, angel."
"Hey, Mike." There was a pause.
"Everything okay?"
"Yeah," you answered quickly. "Yeah, everything's fine. I just... wanted to let you know I won't be coming in tomorrow, if that's alright."
"Oh." He sounded surprised, but not upset. "Sure. Of course. Is everything okay, baby?" You swallowed.
"Actually... my boyfriend asked me to stay home tomorrow."
Silence.
When Michael finally spoke again, his voice had changed. "What do you mean?"
"He..." You rubbed your forehead. "He apologized. Said he wants us to spend more time together. He wants to try and fix things." Another long pause.
"So..." Michael said carefully, "after months of barely looking at you... now he decides he wants to be your boyfriend again?" You closed your eyes.
"Mike..."
"No, baby, I'm serious." His voice remained calm, but there was hurt beneath it now. "Where was all this a week ago? A month ago? When you were crying because he wouldn't even listen to you?"
"I don't know."
"He doesn't just get to disappear and then suddenly decide everything's fine."
"I know."
"Do you?" he asked quietly. "Because it feels like you're giving him another chance just because he finally realized what he's about to lose."
You let out a weary sigh.
"I don't know any better than you do, Michael."
"But you're still staying."
"Because he's still my boyfriend." The words came out sharper than you'd intended. "He deserves the chance to prove he means it."
The instant the sentence left your mouth, regret crashed over you. Why were you snapping at him? He wasn't the one who had hurt you. If anything, he was the only person trying to protect your heart. You were the one that started this bullshit, after all. You kissed him first. You gave him the green light.
Silence stretched between you. Finally, you spoke again, your voice barely above a whisper,"Look... I'm staying home tomorrow."
"...Okay."
"And..." You squeezed your eyes shut. "If he really does change... if he actually puts in the effort..." Your throat tightened.
"...then I think we need to end this." There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end.
"Baby... what are you talking about?" His voice cracked just enough to make your heart splinter. "You don't mean that."
"I have to."
"love you." Tears stung your eyes.
"I know."
"Then don't do this." His voice had become almost pleading now, stripped of every ounce of composure. "We'll figure this out. Please."
Your hand trembled around the receiver.
"I'm sorry, Michael."
Before you could lose your nerve...you hung up. The silence that followed was deafening. You stared at the receiver in your hand, your reflection blurred through gathering tears. You felt sick.
You didn't know how you were supposed to face him again. The thought alone made your stomach twist. Should you quit? The idea surfaced almost immediately, but just as quickly, you pushed it away.
No.
That would only hurt the children, and they had done nothing wrong. You'd grown far too attached to Prince, Paris, and Blanket to simply disappear from their lives overnight. They trusted you. They loved you. And if you were honest with yourself... you loved them just as much.
Besides, ending whatever this was between you and Michael—that was the right thing to do. At least...
You hoped it was. Your boyfriend deserved a second chance. In your mind, you owed him that much. Relationships weren't supposed to be abandoned the moment they became difficult.
...Right? God. Michael probably hated you now.
The thought hollowed out your chest.
Maybe he wouldn't even wait for you to quit. Maybe tomorrow—or the next day—he'd quietly tell you your services were no longer needed. He'd smile politely, thank you for everything you'd done for the children, and that would be it.
The image hurt far more than it should have.
Before your thoughts could spiral any further, the shrill ring of your phone shattered the silence. You looked down.
Michael.
Your heart lurched.
It rang once. Twice. Three times. Your thumb hovered over the screen. You couldn't do it. Not right now.
With a shaky breath, you pressed Decline before immediately switching your phone to Do Not Disturb. The silence that followed felt almost worse than the ringing.
A gentle knock sounded on the bathroom door, "Everything alright in there?" Your boyfriend's voice was quiet, hesitant, "What's taking so long?"
You quickly wiped at your cheeks with the sleeve of your sweater, forcing yourself to take a slow, steady breath before answering,"Yeah." Your voice cracked.
You cleared your throat, "Yeah... everything's alright." Another breath, "I got tomorrow off."
"Oh." You could almost hear him smiling through the door,"Good."
You stared at your reflection in the mirror after his footsteps faded away. Jesus. You looked awful. Your eyes were red and swollen, your mascara had long since given up, and fresh tears were still quietly slipping down your cheeks despite your best efforts to stop them. You barely recognized the woman staring back at you.
Slowly, you turned on the shower, letting the steady rush of water fill the tiny bathroom.
"I think..." you called softly through the door, "...I'm gonna take a shower first. Then I'll probably just go to bed."
"Yeah," he answered gently. "Of course."
Another brief silence settled between you.
"Take your time, I'll wait for you"
The words were kind. But they didn't make you feel anything. No love, no comfort.
Sleep refused to come easily.
After your shower, you changed into one of your old T-shirts and climbed into bed without another word. The apartment was dark, illuminated only by the pale glow filtering through the curtains, and for a long time you simply lay there, staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment of the day.
Every conversation. Every smile. Every mistake.
True to his word, your boyfriend had waited for you.
A few minutes after you settled beneath the blankets, the mattress shifted beside you. He rolled closer until one arm slipped around your waist, drawing you gently against his chest. His chin rested lightly near your shoulder, his breathing slow and even.
Weeks ago, you would've melted into the embrace without a second thought. Instead, you went rigid. Your body didn't recognize the comfort it had spent months longing for.
You almost pulled away. The urge startled you. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to relax.
Give it time, you told yourself. It's been a rough few weeks. It'll feel normal again. It had to. This was the right choice. It had to be. Eventually, exhaustion dragged you under. But sleep offered no escape.
Instead, it carried you straight back to him.
"There you are," he said with that unmistakably gentle smile.
As though he'd been waiting.
As though you'd simply come home.
Without thinking, you crossed the distance between you.
He welcomed you into his arms effortlessly, holding you close with the same quiet tenderness that always seemed to calm every anxious corner of your mind. One hand rested against your back while the other brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
"You've been carrying so much," he murmured. His voice was so soft.
"You don't have to carry it alone anymore." You looked up at him, tears already threatening. "I don't know what I'm doing."
"I know." His thumb brushed lightly across your cheek. "And that's alright."
He smiled—that warm, reassuring smile that always seemed to make the rest of the world disappear.
"I'd take care of you," he whispered. "I'd make sure you never had to question how much you're loved." His forehead rested gently against yours. "I'd give you everything I could... if you'd let me." The words settled deep in your chest, wrapping around your heart with an aching tenderness.
You felt completely safe. Then the dream began to dissolve. His face blurred. His warmth slipped through your fingers. "No..." you whispered desperately, reaching for him. But he was already gone.
You jolted awake before dawn, your heart pounding against your ribs. The room was dark. Your boyfriend's arm was still draped around your waist.
sigh.
This was going to be a long night..
The first thing you did after waking up was reach for your phone. Still half asleep, you switched off Do Not Disturb, expecting a handful of notifications. Your heart almost fell out of your ass.
29 missed calls. All from Michael. You stared at the screen, your mind going completely blank.
Twenty-nine.
Your thumb hovered helplessly over his name. There were no voicemails, just call after call after call, stretching back through the night and into the early hours of the morning.
Oh, God. What had you done? Had he slept at all? Had he been pacing the house? Sitting awake with the phone in his hand, hoping you'd answer the next time he called?
A wave of nausea rolled through you. You wanted to call him back. Tell him that you're so sorry. You almost did.
Your thumb even drifted toward his contact before you stopped yourself. No. You couldn't. Not after what you'd said. With a heavy sigh, you locked your phone and laid it face down on the nightstand, as though hiding it would somehow quiet the guilt clawing at your chest.
The strangest part was what came next. The day... was good. Almost unnervingly so. Your boyfriend kissed your forehead the moment you walked into the kitchen. He made breakfast while humming softly to himself, stealing little smiles every time he caught you watching him. Later, he suggested going out for ice cream, insisting the weather was too nice to waste indoors.
As you walked through the park together, his fingers found yours without hesitation, intertwining with them as naturally as they had months ago. He laughed. He listened. He asked about your classes. He even stopped to take a picture of the two of you when you passed a flower garden.
It was everything you'd spent months wishing for. Everything. So why did it feel so... wrong? Several times, you felt your phone vibrate inside your purse. You refused to look. Not once. You were terrified of what you'd find.
Or worse... Terrified that you wouldn't find anything at all. By the time evening settled over the city, one thought had rooted itself firmly in your mind. Tomorrow.
Tomorrow you were scheduled to be back at the estate. The realization made your pulse quicken. How were you supposed to face him?
You rehearsed a dozen different scenarios while brushing your teeth that night. Maybe you'd arrive early and go straight to the playroom. Maybe he'd already be gone for work. Maybe you'd only see the children.
And if you did run into him... You'd keep it professional. You'd smile politely. Call him Mr. Jackson again. Thank him for the opportunity. Pretend nothing had happened. For the past months.
You caught your own reflection in the bathroom mirror and let out a quiet, humorless laugh.
"Oh, girl," you muttered to yourself. "Who are you kidding?"
Driving to the estate had once become your favorite part of the day. Now... every mile made your stomach churn. You almost turned the car around.
With a shaky breath, you pulled through the gates.
You weren't looking forward to seeing Michael. Not because you didn't want to see him. God, that was the problem. You wanted to see him more than you cared to admit. But you couldn't bear the thought of the way his eyes might look at you now.
The same eyes that had always softened the moment they found yours. The same eyes that had looked at you with quiet affection, unwavering patience, and something that had slowly grown into unmistakable love. What if, instead of warmth, there was disappointment?
You weren't sure your heart could take it.
With one final, steadying breath, you climbed out of the car and made your way to the front door. Before you even had the chance to knock, the front door opened slightly.
"There you are!" Prince stood on the other side, already dressed for the day, his face lighting up the instant he saw you. Without a second thought, he threw his arms around your waist in an enthusiastic hug.
"We've been waiting forever!" he complained dramatically, looking up at you with an exaggerated pout. "Blanket said maybe you weren't coming." Despite the knot still twisting in your stomach, you couldn't help but smile.
"I wouldn't leave you hanging like that," you laughed softly, ruffling his hair. "Good morning, Prince."
"Come on!" He grabbed your hand without hesitation, already tugging you inside. "Paris has like... a million new drawings to show you, and Blanket says today's the day we're finally building the biggest fort ever."
You let him pull you into the house, your smile lingering. Even as your eyes instinctively searched the hallway for one person. As Prince tugged you toward the playroom, he suddenly slowed, glancing back over his shoulder.
"Oh," he said. "Daddy's still in his office." You looked down at him.
"He said he'd come tell you when he's leaving... and when he'll be back." Your stomach tightened. "Okay," you replied quietly. "Thanks for letting me know."
Prince nodded, but instead of running off like usual, he stayed where he was. He looked up at you with those impossibly big, thoughtful eyes. "Can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
He hesitated.
"Do you know what's wrong with Daddy?" Your heart sank. "What do you mean?"
Prince shrugged, fidgeting with the sleeve of his shirt. "He looked really sad yesterday." His little voice grew quieter. "I asked him if he was okay, but he just smiled and said he was tired." You forced yourself to smile, even as guilt settled heavily in your chest.
"I'm sure he's just under a lot of pressure," you said gently. "Being a global superstar comes with a lot of responsibilities." Prince looked unconvinced.
"...Could you make him feel better?" The question caught you completely off guard. For a moment, all you could do was blink at him. Then you managed a small smile.
"I'll see what I can do." His face brightened immediately.
"But first," you added, gently nudging his shoulder, "how about you go get Paris and Blanket? I have a feeling someone's been promising me the biggest game of hide-and-seek ever." Prince grinned.
"I knew you'd remember!" And with that, he took off down the hallway, calling loudly for his brother and sister.
The children scattered through the house with squeals of excitement, disappearing behind doorways and ducking into every imaginable hiding place before you'd even reached ten. "Sixty seconds!" Prince shouted from somewhere upstairs. "No peeking!" Paris called.
"I'm not peeking!" you laughed, covering your eyes with exaggerated determination. "Fifty-seven... fifty-eight... fifty-nine..."
"Ready or not," you called, opening your eyes, "here I come."
The house was unusually quiet. Your footsteps echoed softly against the floor as you wandered through the halls, deliberately checking the obvious places first. Behind the grand piano. Under the dining table. Inside the little reading nook where Paris always forgot her feet stuck out. Nothing.
A small giggle drifted from somewhere deeper in the house. "I heard that", you chuckled. You followed it, turning another corner—
and walked straight into someone. The collision wasn't hard, but it was enough to stop you in your tracks. Warm hands instinctively settled on your arms to steady you before you could lose your balance. You didn't have to look up. You knew exactly who it was. The familiar scent of sandalwood wrapped around you before your eyes ever met his. For one suspended heartbeat, neither of you moved.
"Oh—"
"Sorry for bumping into—"
You both spoke at the exact same moment. Silence followed. Slowly, you lifted your gaze. Michael was already looking at you.
For a fleeting second, neither of you moved. His hands, which had instinctively steadied you by your arms, slipped away almost immediately, as though he was suddenly afraid to touch you.
"Michael—"
"[Name]—"
Another painful silence.
You couldn't do this. Not if he looked at you like that. Dropping your eyes to the floor, you took a small step backward. "I'm... sorry for bumping into you, Michael," you said quietly, forcing the words past the lump in your throat. "I hope you have a good day."
You didn't wait for a response. Turning on your heel, you hurried past him before he could say another word.
"[Name], wait—" His voice followed you down the hallway. You kept walking. You heard his footsteps behind you for only a second before they stopped. You never saw him reach out, his hand hovering in the air as though he wanted to catch your wrist, to stop you from leaving. He let it fall back to his side. Nor did you see the way his shoulders slumped. Or how the hope that had flickered across his face the moment he'd seen you quietly disappeared as he watched you walk away.
Somehow, the two of you managed to keep up the exhausting dance for the better part of three weeks.
A game of cat and mouse.
Every morning, you found yourself unconsciously mapping out the safest route through the house. If you heard his footsteps coming down one hallway, you'd suddenly remember something that needed doing in another. If he stepped into the kitchen, you'd volunteer to take the children outside. If he lingered near the playroom, you'd conveniently remember a load of laundry waiting upstairs.
And when avoiding him became impossible... You became painfully polite.
"Good morning, Michael."
"Yes, everything's going well."
"The kids had a wonderful day."
Short answers. Small smiles. Never enough to invite another conversation. Every time he gently tried to stop you—asking how you were doing, if you'd been sleeping alright, whether the children had been behaving—you'd answer just enough to be courteous before finding another excuse to leave.
You could feel his eyes following you every single time. You never looked back.
It couldn't last forever. You both knew that. The silence between you had become almost tangible. The children noticed it too.
Prince asked why Daddy looked sad all the time. Paris wondered why you and Michael didn't laugh together in the kitchen anymore. Blanket simply frowned whenever the two of you happened to pass each other, as though even he could sense that something had changed. You always brushed their questions aside.
And at home...
Things were surprisingly good. Your boyfriend stayed true to his word.
He came home earlier. He cooked dinner more often. He asked about your day and actually listened to the answers. He reached for your hand when you walked together, kissed your forehead before leaving for work, and slowly began becoming the man you'd spent months wishing he'd be. This was exactly what you'd wanted. Exactly what you'd fought so hard to save.
So why did every kiss feel wrong?
Every time his hand settled on your waist, you found yourself stiffening before you could stop it. Whenever he leaned in to kiss you, you kissed him back because you felt you should—not because your heart begged you to. And on the nights when his kisses lingered a little longer, when his hands wandered with the quiet hope that they'd lead to something more... You always found a reason to pull away.
"I'm just tired."
"Long day."
"My head hurts."
Maybe tomorrow. Tomorrow never came.
At first, you convinced yourself it was guilt. Then stress. Then exhaustion.
Until one night, lying awake beside him while he slept peacefully next to you, the truth quietly settled over you. Michael had ruined you.
Or maybe... he hadn't ruined you at all. Maybe he'd simply shown you what it felt like to be loved the way you'd always deserved. To be listened to. To be cherished. To have someone remember the little things you said in passing. To be looked at like you were the only person in the room.
You squeezed your eyes shut. God. Here you were, trying so desperately to be a better person. Trying to repair a relationship that had finally started healing. Trying to give your boyfriend the second chance you'd promised yourself he deserved. But somewhere along the way...
You had already fallen out of love.
And the only man who could still make your heart skip a beat with nothing more than a glance was the very man you were pretending didn't exist.
You remembered the way he made sweet love to you until the morning-sun rose.
You remembered the way his hands roamed over your body. The way his big hands squeezed your hips and your love handles, then trailing up to cup both of your tits as he angled his cock just the right way. The way he knew would have you creaming and whimpering on his cock.
"Shh baby, y'gonna wake up the kids," he had murmured against your neck as he pressed himself against your back, embracing you. Your face was half-buried in the silk sheets, your cheek squished against the cool fabric, a tiny line of drool escaping the corner of your mouth as your lips slightly parted due to the unbearable pleasure.
"I— fuck— s'your fault Mike...," You whined back, "y'fuck me soooo gooood..." You bit your lip, trying to hush your whimpers of pleasure as his cock slipped in and out of your wet cunt with ease. He chuckled, "I know babygirl, I'm so mean, aren't I?" A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as all you offered in return was a quiet, "Mm-hm."
"C'mon angel, rub that sweet lil' clit f'me" wet, squelching sounds bounced of the walls as he thrusted in and out of you, your shared mess coating his base and his upper thighs. With a trembling hand, you reached down between your thighs and rub your clit in deliberate circles.
Or the way he fucked you on his office desk.
Thank god the children where somewhere out and about with his mother, Kathrine, because you were sure that your sensual sounds of pleasure could be heard in every corner of the house.
"'m sooo deep in you baby aren't I? Y'feel me?" He had whispered. His hands were clamped tight on your thighs, pinning them back against his shoulders to drive himself even deeper, his cock hitting your cervix with a rhythmic, punishing force that made your vision blur. The rich wood of the desk groaned under the weight of your bodies, a frantic, creaking soundtrack to the wet, slapping sound of his balls hitting your ass.
But even in the heat of it, even as he was fucking you fast and hard, he couldn't help but worship you.
As he pulled back to thrust again, he turned his face to the side and reached up, his large, warm hands grasping your ankles to pull your foot closer to his face. You let out a broken, high pitched moan as he leaned forward to press a fervent, hot kiss to the arch of your foot.
"O-oh fuuuck.." That gesture made your eyes roll so far back, you swore they almost popped out of your skull.
He looked up at you— his eyes dark, blown wide with a desperate kind of adoration— even as he continued to drive into you. He caught one of your toes between his lips, sucking on it with a slow, rhythmic pressure that sent a jolt of pure electricity straight to your clit.
It was so fucking unhinged the way he could be so primal, so heavy and deep inside you, and yet so incredibly tender with the very tips of your toes. You sobbed, your fingers digging into the edge of the desk, your knuckles white.
The sensation was too much. the fullness of his impossible thick cock stretching you wide, the sloppy skin-on-skin sounds ringing in your ears, and the wet, worshipping heat of his mouth on your feet. You were losing your mind, caught between the sheer power of his thrusts and the delicate, sweet ache of his devotion.
Nobody had ever made you feel so seen.
On Michael's end, things weren't looking much better.
The hurt he'd carried after that phone call slowly began to change. Day after day, watching you slip past him with nothing more than polite smiles and clipped replies, the sadness gradually gave way to something else. Frustration. Then, little by little...
Irritation.
It wasn't that he became cruel. If anything, he remained just as kind as ever. But people around him began noticing the subtle changes. He was quieter during meetings, less patient when schedules changed at the last minute, more likely to sigh under his breath when something went wrong. The easy smile that had once come so naturally seemed harder to find.
He couldn't understand it. Couldn't understand you. Every time you hurried away from him, the same thought echoed relentlessly through his mind.
Why are you doing this? Why are you choosing someone who only started fighting for you after he realized he might lose you?
Michael wasn't a man who measured love by expensive gifts or grand gestures. If anything, he'd always believed the smallest acts meant the most. Listening. Remembering. Being there.
And he'd done all of it without ever expecting anything in return.
Didn't you see that? Didn't you know that if you asked him for the moon, he'd give it to you in a heartbeat? What did your boyfriend have that he didn't?
The questions haunted him.
The thing was... he knew your feelings hadn't disappeared. So why were you pretending none of it had ever existed?
The thought gnawed at him day and night. And every now and then, another thought would creep in—one he hated himself for having.
He'd picture you at home with your boyfriend. Laughing. Curled up beside him on the couch. Sharing the kind of quiet intimacy that should've belonged to the two of you. The image alone made something tighten painfully in his chest.
He'd immediately shove the thought away, almost ashamed by it. This wasn't who he was.
Michael had always laughed whenever people described jealousy as proof of love. He insisted he wasn't the jealous type. Never has been.
Funny.
Because the thought of you being... intimate with someone else, someone that isn't him, makes him all the more enraged.
It all came crashing down a week later.
You were halfway out the front door, coffee in one hand and your bag slung over your shoulder, when a thought stopped you in your tracks.
The earrings.
Your hand immediately drifted to your purse.
They were still in there.
Nestled safely inside the little velvet box Michael had handed you a month ago in the kitchen, smiling that impossibly soft smile as he said, "They made me think of you."
You had never worn them. Not once. After... everything... you hadn't been able to bring yourself to.
You opened the box, revealing the delicate diamond studs glinting back at you in the morning light. They were beautiful. Exactly the pair you'd admired in the display window months earlier. You had only mentioned them once—in passing—and somehow he remembered. Of course he had.
You turned one of them over between your fingers.
Would it be wrong?
The question settled heavily in your chest.
You'd broken his heart. You'd ignored every of his phone calls. You'd spent the past few weeks pretending he barely existed. Did you even deserve to wear something he picked out so thoughtfully?
Your thumb brushed over the velvet. Then another thought crept in.
They're a gift, and gifts were meant to be worn. Weren't they?
It wasn't as though wearing them meant anything...Right? You stared at your reflection in the car mirror for another few seconds before slowly fastening the first earring, then the second. The diamonds caught the morning sun almost immediately. Your fingers lingered against them.
"They're just earrings," you whispered to yourself.
You were standing at the kitchen counter, quietly slicing fruit for the children—and helping yourself to the occasional piece—when you heard familiar footsteps approaching from the hallway. Your grip on the knife faltered.
Please don't be him.
The footsteps stopped just behind you.
"...Morning."
His voice was quiet. Gentle.
You closed your eyes for the briefest moment before turning your head around.
"Morning, Michael." Your reply came out polite and measured. Exactly the way you rehearsed it.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. His eyes searched your face as though trying to figure whether today might finally be different. It wasn't. Then, unintentionally, his gaze drifted upward to your ears. He froze. The smallest smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"You're wearing them." Instinctively, your hand lifted to one of the diamond studs. "Oh..." You looked away, suddenly fascinated by the bowl of fruit beside you. "Yeah."
He paused, weighing his next words.
"They look beautiful on you," he said softly.
Your throat tightened.
"Thank you."
It was barely above a whisper.
You busied yourself with the fruit again, hoping he'd take the hint. Instead, he remained where he was for another second. "I..." He stopped himself, swallowing whatever he'd been about to say. "I just... I'm glad you liked them." You nodded, unable to trust your voice.
"They're lovely."
It wasn't much. Just four words. But after a week of clipped answers and carefully maintained distance, they were the longest sentence you'd spoken to him. Michael noticed. A flicker of hope crossed his face so quickly it almost wasn't there.
"...I'm happy to hear that."
Then, with one last lingering look at you, he quietly turned and walked out of the kitchen.
The afternoon carried on much like every other had that week. You stayed busy. Busy enough that you didn't have to think.
The children had somehow convinced you to also bake cookies, which now left the kitchen in a state of cheerful chaos. Flour dusted nearly every surface, Prince and Blanket were arguing over who got to crack the eggs, while Paris sat carefully decorating already-baked cookies with colorful icing.
You laughed despite yourself. "Blanket, honey, if you eat all the chocolate chips before they make it into the dough, there won't be any cookies left."
"I was quality testing," he defended. Prince snorted. "That's not a real job."
"It is too." Their bickering filled the room. The back door opened. You didn't hear it over the children's voices.
Michael stepped inside, fresh from the gardens, quietly taking in the scene before him. His sleeves were rolled to his forearms, a few strands of hair to his forehead from the afternoon heat. His eyes found you immediately. They always did.
"There he is!" Prince grinned. "Daddy, [Name] says Blanket's gonna eat all the cookies before they're done." Michael chuckled softly. "I'd believe that." You glanced over your shoulder just long enough to offer him a polite smile.
"Hi."
"...Hi."
It was all either of you managed.
You turned back to the cutting board, pretending to focus on slicing strawberries while your pulse quietly picked up. Then—
"You've got a little flour..." His voice was gentle. Before you even realized what he meant, he stepped closer. His hand lifted. Just enough to brush a tiny streak of flour from your cheek. It was the smallest touch.
And yet, you instinctively recoiled. One quick step backward. His hand stopped in midair. The room seemed to fall silent. Prince and Paris were suddenly very interested in the cookie dough. Blanket looked between the two of you, sensing something he couldn't understand.
Michael slowly lowered his hand. His jaw tightened before letting out a quiet breath through his nose.
"...Will you stop doing that?"
You frowned, "'m not doing anything." His eyes searched yours, disbelief flickering across his face. "No?" You shook your head, forcing yourself to keep your attention on the strawberries in front of you.
"No." A quiet, humorless laugh escaped him.
"You step away from me every single time I get near you."
"I don't."
"You just did."
"It was instinct."
"Exactly." The word came quicker than he'd intended. The children fell quiet. You finally looked up at him, irritation beginning to slowly seep through, "Michael, I said I'm not doing anything."
"And I'm telling you that you are." His voice remained calm, but there was an edge to it now—one born from weeks of swallowing down disappointment. "You won't look at me."
"I am looking at you."
"For five seconds before you find another excuse to leave."
"Because I'm working."
"No." He shook his head slowly. "Because you're running." The words landed harder than either of you expected. You scoffed softly.
"I'm not running." His eyebrows lifted. "Really?"
"You think this is easy for me?"
"I don't know what to think anymore." The kitchen had become eerily quiet. Prince glanced nervously between the two of you. Blanket had stopped licking the spoon altogether. Paris subtly reached for her younger brother's hand. Michael noticed. His expression immediately softened as he looked toward the children.
"...Guys." His voice became gentle again. "Why don't you take the cookie dough upstairs for a little while?" Prince frowned. "But—"
"It's okay." He forced a reassuring smile. "I'll come get you in a few minutes." The three of them hesitated. Paris looked from you to her father, sensing the tension neither of you had meant for them to witness. "...Come on," she whispered, guiding her brothers toward the doorway. The room stayed silent until the soft click of the playroom door echoed down from the end of the hallway.
Only then did Michael let out the breath he'd been holding. When he looked back at you, the hurt he'd been hiding for weeks was written all over his face.
"So tell me." His voice was barely above a whisper.
"What happened to us?" The question lingered in the air, hanging between you like something neither of you could take back.
You stared at the cutting board, gripping the handle of the knife so tightly your knuckles turned white. For several long seconds, you couldn't bring yourself to answer. The only sound in the kitchen was the soft hum of the refrigerator and probably your heart beating out of your chest.
"There is no 'us,' Michael." His expression barely changed, but you saw the way his jaw flexed.
"There was."
"There shouldn't have been." You finally looked up, forcing yourself to meet his eyes, though it took every ounce of strength you had. "My boyfriend and I..." You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. "We're working things out." For a moment, Michael simply stared at you.
Then, to your surprise, he let out a short, disbelieving laugh. It wasn't amused. If anything, it sounded bitter. "'Working things out,'" he repeated, rolling the words around like they left a bad taste in his mouth. You frowned immediately, "Yes."
He shook his head, looking down at the floor before rubbing a hand across the back of his neck, "That's unbelievable."
"What is?" His eyes snapped back to yours.
"He ignores you for months." He ticked a finger into the air. "Makes you feel invisible." Another finger. "Barely gives you the time of day." A third. "Then suddenly he's boyfriend of the year because he realized someone else was treating you the way you deserved."
"Michael."
"No." His voice came sharper than either of you expected. He caught himself almost instantly, inhaling deeply, but the irritation was already there now, simmering beneath every word.
"No," he repeated, quieter this time. "Don't." You folded your arms across your chest.
"You don't know our relationship."
"I know enough."
"No, you don't."
"I watched you cry." Your lips pressed into a thin line, "You saw one night."
"I saw what he did to you."
"And now he's trying to make it right." Michael scoffed, looking away for a second as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "'Trying,'" he muttered under his breath. Your patience finally began to wear thin.
"Yes. Trying." He looked back at you, eyebrows lifting.
"So that's it?"
"What?"
"One apology." He spread his hands in disbelief. "That's all it takes?"
"People deserve second chances." His lips parted, then closed again. He laughed once more, shaking his head as he paced a couple of slow steps across the kitchen before turning back toward you.
"So do I." The words slipped out before he could stop them.
You felt your chest tighten. Michael noticed the flicker in your expression, but he was too frustrated now to let it go. "I never asked you to leave him," he said, taking another slow step toward you. "I never asked you to choose me." His eyes searched yours.
"But don't stand there and tell me you're happy."
"I never said I was."
"Then why are you doing this?" At that you took a deep breath before continuing, "Because it's the right thing."
"For who?" He tilted his head in mock-curiosity. "For him." His jaw clenched so tightly you thought it might crack. "And what about you?"
"I'll be fine." He stared at you. Long enough that the confidence behind your words began to crumble. Then he scoffed quietly, "You're lying."
"I'm not."
"You can't even let him touch you." The words hit like a slap. Your eyes widened, "...Excuse me?"
"You heard me." Your face flushed instantly, anger replacing surprise, "You've been watching me?"
"Girl please, I see the way your face scrunches up when he picks you up and leans in for a kiss. I've got eyes, angel"
"That is none of your business. And don't call me that" He ignored your warning, "It became my business the second you kissed me." Your heart hammered.
"You don't get to talk about my relationship."
"And you don't get to pretend what happened between us meant nothing."
"It didn't mean nothing!" The words burst out before you could stop them. The kitchen fell completely silent. The moment they left your mouth, you wished you could snatch them back. Michael caught it. The hesitation. The panic in your eyes. His own breathing had become uneven now, his chest rising and falling beneath the thin fabric of his shirt.
"So it did mean something." You closed your eyes for a brief second. "That's not what I said." Michael raised his eyebrows now. "But it's what you meant—" "—No." You shook your head vigorously, "It doesn't matter what it meant."
"Doesn't it?"
"No."
"It matters to me." His voice was firm now, stripped of the softness he'd always reserved for you. You patience began wearing thin. "Well, it shouldn't." He stared at you. "It shouldn't?"
"You heard me." He let out another dry, incredulous laugh, dragging a hand over his face before looking back at you.
"So you're just going to go back to him."
"I'm trying to fix my relationship."
"With a man who only started caring because someone else did?" Your eyes flashed. "Will you stop talking about him?"
"No."
"Michael—"
"—No." His voice was louder this time. "You keep defending him."
"Because he's my boyfriend!" You argued back. Your pulse thundered in your ears, your heart threatening to beat right out of your chest as adrenaline coursed through your body. "What do you want from me, Michael?" you breathed, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you struggled to steady yourself.
Before he could bite his tongue, the words slipped out.
"Did you let him fuck you?" Your brain short-circused.
what the fuck?
You stared at him stunned, searching his face for some hint that he'd misspoken—for a twitch of amusement, a flicker of regret, anything that suggested he didn't really mean it. There was nothing. His gaze remained locked on yours, unwavering and deadly serious.
"What the fuck?" you snapped, your eyes widening in disbelief. "That is none of your business, Michael."
Then, to your complete disbelief, the frustration on his face gave way to something else. A slow, almost mocking smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "What?" he asked, tilting his head ever so slightly. "Did you spend the past few weeks pulling away every time he touched you?"
Your expression hardened. He took another measured step forward, his eyes never leaving yours. "Or..." His voice dropped, quieter now, but somehow even more provoking. "Does he just not know how to touch you at all?" He wasn't even trying to hide the jealousy now, but he couldn't care less. You just continued to stare at him as he continued.
The corner of his mouth twitched upward. "Oh..." he said softly, taking a few steps closer. "I'm right, aren't I, baby?"
Heat rushed to your cheeks. He was right. He couldn't. You refused to let him touch you like that at first, fearing you weren't even be able to finish. And then when you did let things escalate further than a kiss—only once though— it was even worse than you imagined it. Hell, after Michael, not even your own fingers were enough anymore.
Your silence told him everything he needed to know.
You couldn't bring yourself to look at him. Your eyes stayed fixed on the floor until you felt his fingers gently cup your face, coaxing your gaze upward. His grip wasn't rough, but it was firm enough that you couldn't avoid him anymore.
"There you are," he murmured, his voice low and steady. His eyes searched yours for a long moment before the corner of his mouth twitched into the faintest smirk.
"So..." he said quietly, "are y'finally done givin' me an attitude 'nd give up the brat act or what?" You swallowed hard, saying nothing. You refused to give him what he wanted immediately...But you didn't pull back.
He raised an eyebrow at that, "What? So y'just not gonna talk anymore, baby? We'll see how long that's gonna last." And with that he leaned in, connecting your lips in a passionate kiss. You let out a surprised sound as he wasted no time slipping his tongue inside your mouth. But you wasted no time in deepening the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck.
"That's right babygirl," he muttered against your lips, as his hands slid down to your ass, giving it a firm squeeze, "'f you wanna keep bein' a fuckin' brat 'bout it..." You whimpered into his mouth softly.
"Tell me," he whispered, breaking the kiss just enough to graze his lips against yours, his eyes dancing with a wicked, knowing light. "Tell me he doesn't make you feel like this. Tell me he doesn't make your skin ache just by looking at you."
"Michael..." you gasped, your head falling against his shoulder as his lips migrated to the sensitive curve of your neck. He didn't bite hard; instead, he just let his tongue swirl against the pulse point there, a teasing, rhythmic sensation that made your heart hammer against your ribs. "He's... he's a good man..."
"Good is fine for a rainy day, baby," Michael purred, his breath a warm, teasing caress against your ear. He gripped your waist, his thumbs tracing the line of your hip bones. "But we both know you weren't made for 'fine.' You were made for this."
He hoisted you up suddenly, you let out a squeak, and as your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, he let out a low, triumphant chuckle. He could feel the way you pressed yourself against him, the way your body was practically vibrating with need. He knew he had you. He could feel it in the way you clung to him.
He backed you up until your butt hit the cool marble of the kitchen counter and sat you down, but he didn't stop there. He leaned in, his nose brushing yours, a teasing, lopsided smirk tugging at his lips. "You been tryin' so hard to be the good girl, haven't you?" he murmured, his hands sliding over your clothed pussy, teasing you.
"But you're a terrible liar," he whispered, his eyes locked onto yours, watching the way your pupils blown wide. "Your body 's speaking t'me, sweet girl. I know exactly what you want."
He leaned in closer, his lips a mere breath away from yours. "So, what's it gonna be? Are you gonna keep pretending... or are you gonna admit that you're absolutely starving for me?"
He leaned in closer, his lips a mere breath away from yours. "So, what's it gonna be? are y' gonna keep pretendin'... or are y' gonna admit that you're absolutely starving for me?"
Your heart was thudding so hard you were sure he could feel it against his chest, and the heat of his palm, rubbing rhythmically through the fabric of your pants, was making your head spin. You felt so exposed.
You wanted to snap at him. You wanted to tell him to shut up and stop being so goddamn arrogant. But as you looked up at him, seeing that smug, knowing smirk, the words died in your throat. A deep heat flooded your cheeks under his intense stare.
You bit your lip, trying to force a bit of your sass back to the surface, but your eyes gave you away. Pupils blown wide and dark with a need that was becoming harder and harder to mask.
"You're... you're so full of yourself," you murmured, the words coming out more like a breathless, flustered protest than a real insult. You tried to pull back just a bit, a tiny, weak attempt to reclaim some of your dignity, but his hands on your hips tightened, anchoring you firmly on the cool marble of the counter.
"Am I?" he purred, his eyes dropping to your mouth, watching the way your lips trembled slightly. He was clearly enjoying this the way you were trying so hard to be difficult while your body was practically melting into his. "Then maybe you should prove me wrong. Show me you ain't thinkin' 'bout me. Show me you don't want my hand riiiight there..."
He increased the pressure of his palm, rubbing against the center of your heat through the fabric of your pants in a slow, agonizingly deliberate circle. A small, broken sound escaped you halfway between a gasp and a whimper and you instinctively arched your hips into his hand, your body betraying the very attitude you were trying so hard to protect.
You squeezed your eyes shut, a tiny, embarrassed huff escaping your nose. "Shut up, Michael," you whispered, your voice unsteady. As you tried to hold onto that last shred of your composure, you failed miserably.
He let out a low, triumphant hum, a sound of pure satisfaction. He leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, his voice dropping to a velvety, intimate murmur. "There she is. There's my girl."
"Don't... don't call me that," you managed to whisper, though the command lacked any real bite. You tried to pull your hips back again, to create even an inch of space between his hand and your aching center, but he was too fast. He followed your movement, his hand pressing even firmer against the fabric of your pants, pinning you to the counter.
"Why not?" he asked, his eyes glowing with that infuriating, beautiful confidence. "You're actin' exactly like my girl. All flustered and breathless, tryin' t' fight somethin' you know you have no chance winnin'."
He began to move his hand again, but this time he wasn't just circling. He was using the heel of his palm to apply a heavy, rhythmic pressure, grinding slowly against you through the material. The friction was maddening. It wasn't the direct, wet sensation of fingers, but the broad, blunt heat of his hand was driving you toward a cliff you weren't ready to fall off of yet.
"Michael, please..." The plea slipped out before you could catch it, your voice cracking. You hated how much you sounded like you were begging, how much you were losing that 'bite' you were trying so hard to maintain. You wanted to be difficult, you wanted to make him work for it, but your body was a traitor.
"Please what, baby?" he teased, his voice a low, melodic hum. He leaned back just enough to look you in the eye, his smirk widening when he saw the sheer desperation written across your face. "Please stop? Or please don't stop?"
He slowed the movement down, making it agonizingly light, barely grazing you with the fabric of your pants, only to suddenly increase the pressure again, making you gasp and arch your back. He was playing you like a goddamn instrument, finding every rhythm that made your breath hitch and your toes curl.
"You bein' so difficult," he murmured, though he sounded like he was enjoying every second of it. He leaned in, his nose brushing yours, his breath hot and demanding. "So much attitude for someone who's practically vibratin' under my hand. 'f you want me to actually touch you... 'f you want me to stop teasin'.. you gonna have to ask properly."
He stopped the movement entirely, leaving his hand heavy and hot against your crotch, but motionless. The sudden lack of friction was almost worse than the teasing itself.
"Ask me," he whispered, his eyes dark and commanding, his cocky grin telling you he knew exactly how much power he held. "Ask me like you mean it."
You looked up at him, and the last of your pride simply flickered and died. You were tired of fighting. You were tired of the heat, the friction, and the delicious, infuriating way he was making you wait.
"Mike..." your voice broke, a small, helpless sound. You didn't try to pull away this time. Instead, you leaned forward, your forehead dropping against his shoulder as you let out a long, shuddering breath. Your fingers, which had been tentatively resting on his chest, curled into his shirt, clinging to him.
"Fine," you whispered, the word muffled against his skin, thick with the embarrassment of your own surrender. "You win. You fucking win..."
He didn't move immediately. He let you linger there, let you feel the weight of your own surrender, before he slowly pulled back just enough to tilt your chin up with his thumb. You were met with a wide, teasing grin, knowing he won, but there was a softness there too. The look of a man who was about to give his woman exactly what she needed.
"Win what, sweet angel?" he murmured, his voice a low, teasing rumble. He was still playing the part, still enjoying the way you were looking up at him with wide, watery eyes and a flushed, beautiful face. "Tell me. Use your words."
You swallowed hard, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. The embarrassment was still there, making your chest ache, but the need was louder. It was like a roar in your ears, a throb in your core that demanded immediate satisfaction.
"Please," you gasped, the word tumbling out of you, raw and unvarnished. You reached down, grabbing his wrist and pressing his hand harder against you, forcing the contact, forcing the reality of him into your skin. "Please, Michael... stop teasing me. Stop playing. Just... please, just fuck me. Right here. Right now."
A low, guttural sound escaped his throat, a deep, satisfied groan. "God, you got no idea how long I been' waitin' to hear you say that," he whispered, "To hear you finally stop fightin' me and just take it."
The kiss wasn't gentle. It waa a desperate, starving exchange of clashing teeth and tongue that tasted of pure, unadulterated need. His tongue sweeping deep into your mouth as his hands worked with a sudden, frantic purpose. The cocky, teasing man was gone, replaced by someone far more primal, driven by the sound of your voice finally breaking and begging for him.
His hands slid down from your waist, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your pants. He didn't bother being delicate; he needed you, and he knew you needed him just as badly. With a sharp, decisive tug, he began to push the fabric down your hips, almost ripping the it in the process, his knuckles grazing the sensitive skin of your thighs and sending jolts of electricity through your whole body.
"Y'so beautiful when you stop pretendin' baby," he growled against your lips, his voice rough and gravelly. He pulled your pants down just far enough to clear your hips, his eyes never leaving yours as he worked. The cool air of the kitchen hit your skin, a sharp contrast to the searing heat radiating from his body, making you shiver and press even closer to him.
His hands moved to the hem of your underwear, tugging them down with an urgency that made your breath hitch. Your pussy now exposed to the cool air, exposed his intense, dark gaze, and a fresh wave of shyness washed over you.
"Look at you," he whispered, his voice thick with lust. He reached out, his thumb tracing the line of your hip bone before sliding inward to find the slick, aching heat of you. He didn't tease this time. He pressed a heavy, firm finger against your clit, circling it with a directness that made your hips lurch upward instinctively.
"Mikey... please..." you whimpered, your head falling back, your eyes fluttering shut as the sensation flooded your senses. The friction of his thumb, the coolness of the marble against your ass, and the overwhelming presence of him standing between your thighs was too much.
"Look at me, babygirl," he commanded, his voice a low, dark velvet. You forced your eyes open, meeting his hooded, predatory stare. "Look at me while you take it."
He didn't make you wait a second longer. He reached for his own fly, his movements efficient and hungry. He swiftly pulled his cock out of his boxers, giving it a few, slow strokes before putting it against your wet entrance. However, he didn't push in just yet. He slowly slid himself up and down against your dripping hole, watching you intensely as your head lulled to the side and your mouth fell slightly open.
When he finally guided himself to your entrance, the sheer size of him made you gasp, your hands flying to his shoulders to steady yourself. You'll never get used to how huge, thick and delicious his cock was.
He paused for just a heartbeat, his forehead resting against yours, his breath hot and ragged. "Fuck... missed this sweet lil' pussy s'much...Tell me you want it. Tell me you want all of me. Please, baby"
"I want you," you choked out, your fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders. "I want you so fucking much, Mike. Please... now."
With a low, guttural groan, he drove into you in one deep, powerful thrust. The sensation was overwhelming a fullness that seemed to stretch you to your limits, a sudden, intense connection that made you cry out, your voice echoing in the quiet kitchen. You immediately covered your mouth, mindful of not being too loud. He filled you completely, bottoming out against you. Your eyes fluttered shut. "O-oh fuck.."
"Don't close your eyes," he muttered under his breath, "Keep 'em open. Look at how much of a mess you are f'me."
You tried, but the world was spinning. He leaned down, his mouth finding the sensitive cord of your neck, and his hand moved from your hip. He reached up, hooking his fingers under the hem of your shirt and pulling it up and over your head in one impatient motion, tossing the fabric aside without a second thought.
Your bra was still on, but he wasn't interested in being polite anymore. He hooked his fingers under the lace, dragging the fabric down, exposing your breasts to the cool air and his hungry gaze. You felt a fresh wave of bashfulness, wanting to cross your arms over your chest to hide yourself, but he caught your wrists, pinning them to the marble on either side of your head.
"Don't you dare hide," he grumbled. He leaned back just enough to watch you, his eyes darkening as he took in the sight. He watched, mesmerized, as your full, heavy breasts swayed in a rhythmic, hypnotizing motion, bouncing in perfect, messy sync with every deep, driving thrust of his hips. The sight of your soft flesh reacting to his power seemed to drive him even crazier.
"Y'so damn gorgeous, baby," he muttered, his voice thick with a primal sort of reverence. His gaze dropped, watching his cock sloppily slipping deliberately in and out of your pussy, a creamy ring already forming at the base.
He let go of your wrists, but before you could even catch your breath, his hands descended. He reached lower, his large palms sliding under the curve of your ass. He grabbed the full, soft flesh of your cheeks, his fingers digging deep into you as he hauled your hips upward, tilting you perfectly to meet him.
The sensation of his hands broad, heavy, and possessive squeezing and molding your ass as he ruts against you was overwhelming. He was using your own body to anchor the friction, his palms sliding over your skin as he drove himself into you with a renewed intensity. Every time he into your cunt, your body jolted and the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the quiet kitchen.
"Look at you," he whispered, his breath ragged, his eyes fixed on the way your body moved under his command. "Look at how you shake for me. How perfectly you take this dick. You're made f'me, ain't you, girl? we're made f'eachother baby..." You felt so incredibly seen, so thoroughly claimed by the way he was handling your body, treating your curves like they were made specifically for his hands to grip and his hips to pound.
"Yes," you sobbed, your head thrashing against the marble. "Yes, Mikey... please... don't stop... don't ever stop..."
"Don't you worry baby, I ain't plannin' on it. Y'gonna get it every single night, yeah? You gonna let me give it to y'good every night?" You just managed to nod your head and gasped out an airy 'yes..'
With one hand he let go of your ass and pressed his hand roughly against your clit, rubbing it feverishly. Your hips jerked at the stimulation. Your toes curled, your back arched so hard it felt like you might snap, and your vision began to blur.
He felt you breaking. He could feel the frantic, rhythmic pulsing of your walls clenching around his throbbing cock, the way your entire body began to quiver with the onset of a massive, inevitable climax. He didn't slow down. Instead, he drove harder, his movements becoming primal, his breath coming in ragged, guttural grunts as he pushed himself toward his own edge.
He leaned down, his face inches from yours, his eyes burning with a fierce, almost possessive light. He watched your face as you came all over his dick, watching the way your eyes rolled back and your mouth fell open in a silent, beautiful gasp of ecstasy.
"That's it, baby, yeahhh.." he praised, "Take it. Take all of it, beautiful..."
Watching your face scrunch up set him over the edge as well. With one final stroke, he leaned down and buried his face between your tits as he let out a soft moan. He buried himself as deep as he could possibly go, his body tensing as he poured himself into you.
Your breath coming in short, sobbing gasps, your body still twitching from the aftershocks of the orgasm. Your skin was slick with sweat, your hair a mess, and you felt completely, utterly spent. He didn't pull away immediately; he stayed heavy on top of you, his heart hammering against your chest, his breath hot against your neck.
Slowly, he shifted, propping himself up on his elbows so he could look down at your flushed, beautiful, wrecked face. He reached out, a large, warm hand cupping your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your swollen lower lip.
For a long moment, he simply looked at you. You watched his jaw tighten as though he were carefully choosing his next words, weighing every one of them. Then, almost too quietly to hear, he spoke.
"...Leave him." The words hung in the air between you. His eyes never left yours.
"He doesn't know how to love you the way you deserve." His voice remained soft, but there was an urgency beneath it now. "He doesn't know how to take care of you... how to see you. But..." He trailed off, "I do."
The conviction in his voice made your breath catch.
"Please..." he whispered, the frustration from moments before giving way to something raw and honest. "Just give me a chance." You slowly sat up as well, your eyes lifting to meet his. There was no smugness left. No jealousy. Only sincerity. Only hope.
"He doesn't make you happy, angel." Silence settled over the kitchen once more. You searched his face, looking for some sign that he was manipulating you, that this was simply another attempt to win the argument. Instead... You found a man before you with his heart completely exposed. Your shoulders sagged.
"...I'm sorry, Michael." The hope in his eyes flickered. His lips parted, as if he already knew what was coming. You shook your head.
"No... let me finish." Your voice had softened into little more than a whisper. "I'm sorry for the way I've treated you these past few weeks." Your eyes drifted to the side, unable to look him in his eyes.
"You didn't deserve any of it." A shaky breath escaped you. "I was confused... and I never gave you the explanation you deserved."
When you finally looked back up, your eyes glistened with unshed tears. "You were only trying to talk to me... and I kept shutting every door in your face." Michael's expression softened. The heat that had fueled the intense sex seemed to melt away all at once.
"I never hated you for it," he said quietly, "Not for a second." His voice cracked just enough for you to notice. "I was just scared I'd already lost you."
"I-I don't know why I convinced myself to stay with him," you admitted, your voice trembling. You shook your head, letting out a small, defeated laugh that held no humor. "I kept telling myself it was the right thing to do... that if I just gave him another chance, maybe everything would go back to the way it used to be."
Your eyes drifted away again. "But..." You swallowed hard. "I don't think I feel anything for him anymore." The confession hung heavily between you.
"I've been trying so hard to force it." Your voice cracked. "To make myself fall back in love with him." A tear slipped down your cheek.
"But every time I'm with him..." you whispered, "...it just feels empty."
He reached up, gently brushing away the tears that continued to spill down your cheeks with the pad of his thumb. His touch was impossibly careful, as though you might shatter beneath his hands.
"That's okay, baby," he murmured, offering you a small, reassuring smile. "You don't have to keep blaming yourself." His other hand settled softly against your cheek, encouraging you to keep looking at him.
"I love you." The words were spoken without hesitation, quiet but unwavering. "And so do Prince, Paris, and Blanket." A faint smile tugged at his lips. "You're family to them. They adore you."
He rested his forehead lightly against yours for a moment. A watery giggle escaped you as you wiped at the last of your tears. "We should probably get back to the kids," you said with a sheepish smile. "They're probably wondering what's taking us so long."
Michael let out a quiet chuckle, the tension in his shoulders easing. Then, you hesitated for a moment.
"...Michael?"
He blinked once, "Yes, angel?"
Your fingers fidgeted together as your eyes searched his for a moment. Suddenly, every word you'd wanted to say felt impossibly difficult.
"...I love you too."
For a heartbeat, he simply stared at you. His expression softened so completely it nearly took your breath away. The smile that spread across his face was small at first, then brighter than you'd seen in weeks, lighting up every inch of it.
"You have no idea how long I've been hoping to hear you say that," he whispered.
Without another word, he leaned back in, closing the distance between you, gently cupping your face once more before pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead. Then to your temple. Then to your cheek, to the tip of your nose, and lastly, pressing a sickeningly sweet kiss against your lips. You couldn’t help but let out a giggle.
"I love you," he murmured again, his voice thick with emotion. "More than you'll ever know." You couldn't help but smile.
This time, there was nothing holding either of you back.
Looking back, the signs had been there from the very beginning.
For the first few weeks after the wedding, you had simply assumed a stubborn, heavy stomach bug had gotten the best of you. There was a constant, underlying fatigue that you brushed off as the lingering exhaustion of planning such a massive event, and a sudden, strange sensitivity to the smell of Michael’s favorite hair products that made you cross to the other side of the room.
"Michael, please tell me you didn't use that styling wax today," you had groaned one morning, pressing the back of your hand to your mouth as he walked into the bathroom.
He had paused, looking at his reflection in the mirror, then back at you with a guilty little shrug. "Uhh..just a little bit, beautiful. Does it really smell that bad? I can wash it out right now if it's making you feel sick."
Michael, being the ultimate worrywart, was completely stressed out by your lingering "sickness." After two weeks of watching you look pale and pass up your favorite meals, he practically begged you to let the on-site doctor check you out in the private medical bungalow just to run some routine blood work. You finally agreed, mostly just to make him stop hovering.
A few hours after the blood draw, you and Michael were sitting together in the cozy, cream-colored little waiting area of the bungalow. You were leaning your head against his shoulder, completely exhausted, while he gently traced patterns on the back of your hand.
The doctor finally walked back into the room, holding a clipboard and wearing a massive, knowing smile. He looked at both of you over his glasses. "Well, Mrs. Jackson, the good news is you don't have a stomach flu.. better news is, you're pregnant."
The words hung in the air, completely quiet. Michael froze beside you, his fingers stopping on your hand. He looked at the doctor, then slowly turned his head to look at you, his large doe eyes blinking in absolute, stunned silence.
"Pregnant?" Michael finally whispered, a breathless, radiant smile slowly spreading across his face as the shock instantly melted into pure excitement. He let out a soft laugh, pulling you into a tight hug. "A baby... we're having a baby! Are you hearing this?"
He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands framing your face, his eyes incredibly bright. "I'm so happy, beautiful. I'm so, so happy we're doing this together."
Every single check-up after that took place right there in the little sanctuary, and Michael never missed a single one. He would sit right beside the examination bed, holding your hand tightly, his eyes glued to the ultrasound monitor with a look of pure awe.
"Look at that, Y/N," Michael whispered one afternoon, his finger tracing the shape of the screen as the monitor showed a tiny, moving blur. "Look at the hands. The fingers are so long. Do you think he's going to be a dancer? Or a pianist? Oh, look, did it just kick?"
The doctor smiled gently, moving the wand. "Looks like a very healthy, active baby, Mr. Jackson. Everything is perfectly on track."
"Hear that, beautiful?" Michael said, leaning down to press his forehead against yours, his face lighting up. "Healthy. Perfectly on track. You're doing such an amazing job."
As the months pressed on, your palate became an absolute, escalating nightmare of spice that completely baffled Michael. He ate a famously clean, mild diet, so watching your cravings evolve into a literal inferno genuinely bewildered him. It started out innocent enough in the first trimester with you dipping extra-spicy jalapeño pickles into vanilla bean ice cream.
"Mama... what are you doing?" Michael had asked, taking a cautious step backward from the kitchen island, his nose wrinkling. "Spicy pickles and ice cream? That’s going to hurt your stomach, beautiful. Please let me get you something else."
You had paused, a piece of pickle sticking out of your mouth, and leveled him with a deadpan glare. "Michael. If you take this jar from me, I will actually kill you."
Michael froze, swallowing hard and quickly backing away. "Okay, okay... keep the pickles.."
By the second trimester, the pickles weren't enough. You were dousing your morning eggs in habanero hot sauce, making the entire kitchen smell like pepper spray. Michael would sit across from you at the breakfast table, wiping his mouth with a cloth napkin, his dark eyes wide with horror as he watched you calmly eat without even breaking a sweat.
"Beautiful, please," he would plead. "I can feel the heat from over here. My tongue is burning just looking at you. Are you sure the doctor said this was okay? I'm gonna call him. I'm calling him right now."
"Sit downn," you sighed, taking another spicy bite. "The baby likes it."
By the third trimester, it reached its peak. You were straight up eating raw bell peppers dipped in spicy mustard as a midnight snack. Michael walked into the kitchen at two in the morning to find you standing by the open refrigerator, crunching and pouring mustard happily. He looked so genuinely traumatized that you finally had to ban him from the kitchen while you ate.
Along with the spice came the legendary mood swings and an overwhelming, sudden need to sleep like a bear in hibernation. You would crash in the most random spots around the massive estate. Michael once found you fast asleep on the floor of the walk-in closet, curled up on a pile of his oversized sweaters.
Another time, you fell asleep directly on the dining room table mid-day, your head resting on a placement. The kids had walked in, and Michael had immediately put his finger to his lips, whispering, "Shh, don't wake the bear, or she'll bite our heads off."
He wasn't entirely wrong. When you weren't sleeping, the pregnancy hormones made you incredibly snappy. One afternoon, Prince and Paris were being particularly loud, racing their toy cars down the long hallway while Michael encouraged.
You threw open the bedroom door, looking like a wild-haired entity wrapped in a duvet. "If I hear one more toy car crash into a wall, I’m throwing all that shit away," you snapped, your voice booming.
The hallway went dead silent. Prince and Paris froze, clutching their toy cars, while Michael slowly lowered his hand from cheering. He cleared his throat softly, giving you a sheepish, apologetic smile. "….We'll take the race track outside. Go back to sleep, beautiful."
Though slightly scared of you, the older kids were absolutely fascinated by your growing shape, though it created a hilarious new dynamic in the house. Prince took his self-appointed role as your little "security guard" entirely too seriously.
"Don't move, Mama!" Prince would yell, sprinting across the living room the moment you tried to stand up from the sofa. "Dad said you're not allowed to go too far. Stay there, I'll get the pillows!"
"Prince, I just want to go wash up," you would laugh, completely stuck as the little boy stuffed three extra cushions behind your back.
Meanwhile, Paris was constantly trying to paint your pregnant belly with washable watercolors or picking out hilariously dramatic, sequined outfits for the baby. Prince and Michael would frequently get into hushed, intense arguments in the hallway about who was allowed to carry your snacks up the stairs, both of them trying to out-protect each other while you just listened them from the bed, thoroughly entertained.
Most of the time you remained relatively chill, but the hormones also made you incredibly, fiercely clingy. If Michael had a brief meeting in the next room with his managers, you would stand in the doorway wrapped in one of his oversized flannel shirts, staring at him until he noticed you.
"Mikeee," you whined softly, tugging on his sleeve the second he stood up. "You've been talking about numbers for an hour. Come back to the couch."
"I'm right here, beautiful, I'm coming," he would laugh, completely abandoning his paperwork to lie on the couch with you, pulling the blankets over your shoulders and rubbing your back while you held onto him like a koala. "See? I'm not going anywhere."
By the final month, you had grown beautifully large and heavy, and Michael’s protective instincts became a silent, hyper-vigilant shadow. Whenever you were resting and made even the slightest movement to sit up, Michael would instantly stand up as well.
"Don't move, don't move, what do you need?" he would ask quickly, his hands hovering over you.
"Honey, I was just getting a glass of water," you groaned softly, reaching for the edge of the cushion.
"I'll get it. Sit back down, put your feet up," he quietly murmured, gently pressing a hand to your shoulder to keep you resting. "Ice or no ice? Lemon? Tell me what you want, I'll be right back."
You both deliberately decided to wait until the birth to find out the gender, which sparked a sweet, silent rivalry in the house. Michael was secretly, deeply hoping for another boy, a little brother for Prince and Blanket.
Nearly every night, he would curl up on the mattress beside you, sliding his slender frame down until his cheek was resting gently against the high, round slope of your bare belly. His large, warm hand would splay securely over your skin, and the moment he felt a sharp kick against his palm, his face would light up with a radiant, breathless smile.
He would press a tender kiss directly to your stomach, his voice dropping into that sweet, raspy whisper as he softly sang Beautiful Boy into your skin. "Close your eyes, have no fear... the monster's gone, he's on the run and your daddy's here..."
What Michael didn't know was that you and Paris had a secret pact. Paris wanted a little sister more than anything.
"We need another girl, Mama," Paris had whispered to you earlier that week, sitting cross-legged on the rug while you folded baby clothes. "There's too many boys. Prince is loud, and Blanket just cries. Let's pray for a girl."
"I'm praying with you, sweetie," you had giggled softly, holding her tiny hand. "Don't tell your daddy, though. He's entirely convinced it's a boy."
By early January 2004, the beautiful private birthing suite on the ranch was completely prepared, but you had grown profoundly stubborn and tired of being restriction-bound. Against Michael’s gentle protests, you insisted on cooking a big, home-cooked family dinner in the main kitchen, wanting to feel like a normal human being again.
But on one particular afternoon, you found yourself completely alone in the massive kitchen. The house was weirdly still, with nothing but the soft, gentle tunes of your music playing on the radio in the background. As you reached across the counter to grab a wooden spoon, your grip slipped, and the spoon clattered against the floor, rolling beneath the island.
You let out a heavy, exhausted sigh and, clumsy from the sheer weight of your belly, bent down to retrieve it.
Pop.
A sudden, strange sensation echoed through your lower abdomen, followed instantly by a massive, warm splash that soaked right through your shorts, forming a wide puddle on the kitchen floor. You stood up completely straight, your eyes widening in shock.
A heavy, dead beat of absolute silence fell over the kitchen. You froze, staring down at your feet, entirely on your own. "Oh fuck," you muttered to the empty room. Reality set in quickly. The baby was coming.
Panic flickering in your chest, you turned and began waddling as fast as your heavy body could manage, moving through the cavernous, echoing hallways of Neverland. The house felt suddenly, terrifyingly massive.
"Michael?" you called out, your voice bouncing off the high ceilings. "Grace? Is anyone home?!"
You checked the game room. Empty. You hurried past the library and the private theater, your breath getting shorter. "Hello?! Please, someone!" you shouted, your voice progressively getting higher and more panicked the more you found nothing but empty rooms, wondering where the hell everybody went.
Suddenly, a sharp, white-hot contraction gripped your lower abdomen. You gasped, stumbling slightly, and had to tightly grip the edge of a doorway to keep your feet. You closed your eyes, breathing heavily through your nose as the pain truly kicked in, making you realize you couldn't keep searching this huge house forever.
Right as tears of frustration started to prick your eyes, you heard the heavy front doors click open in the grand foyer. In walked Michael, looking completely relaxed, humming a light tune to himself as he set down a small bag from a toy store.
"Mikey!" you gasped out from the hallway, leaning heavily against the wall, your hand clutching the lower curve of your stomach.
He snapped his head toward your voice, his eyes instantly widening as he saw the sheer distress on your face. He dropped his keys, sprinting across the polished floor toward you. "Honey! Oh my god, what's wrong? What happened?"
"My water broke," you choked out, the pain and the stress of searching the empty house finally catching up to you. "There's…there's a puddle in the kitchen. I couldn't find anyone, Mike."
Michael’s face went entirely white, a soft, panicked gasp escaping him. "Oh my god... okay. It's time. It's happening," he said, his hands shaking slightly as he looked around the room, trying to force himself to stay calm. "Don't panic. Let me get the bag—actually let's just get you moving slowly, okay?"
You had tried to stay strong, but watching his eyes widen with that protective, anxious rush was the final straw for your overwhelming pregnancy hormones. Your chest tightened, your bottom lip began to tremble, and big, heavy tears started spilling over your eyelashes. You let out a small, emotional sob.
Michael stopped instantly. The moment he saw the tears on your face, his expression softened with pure empathy. He stepped in close, wrapping his long arms around you and pulling you securely against his chest, letting you bury your face in his shoulder. "Oh, don't cry, beautiful, please don't cry. I've got you. I'm right here," he murmured, his voice thick with a sudden rush of emotion as a few tears of his own spilled over.
The two of you stood there in the middle of the foyer, a little bit of emotional crying mixed with a sudden, watery laugh from you against his neck.
"I'm fine, Mike, I'm just crying because it's finally happening!" you sobbed out, letting out a ridiculous laugh.
"I know, I know," he chuckled softly, rubbing your back and squeezing you tight. "Look at us, we're a complete mess. We're going to have a baby, Y/N. Right now. Let's get you over there."
He carefully helped you walk, keeping a steady, solid arm around your waist and carefully wiping your cheeks with his thumbs the entire walk over to the medical suite.
The subsequent twelve hours of labor were intense, but the moment the real work began, Michael’s anxiety solidified into an absolute, protective strength. He stayed right beside the pillows, letting you grip his hands, whispering sweet reassurances until a sharp, healthy cry shattered the quiet morning air at exactly 6:14 AM on January 12, 2004.
Sean Michael Jackson was born into the world, proving that Michael’s nightly lullabies had won the silent bet. He was a beautiful, healthy baby boy, his skin flushed pink as the midwife placed him gently onto your bare chest.
Michael sat right on the edge of the bed, a massive, radiant smile on his face as he wrapped his arms around both of you, a few quiet tears of relief slipping down his cheeks. "He's here," Michael whispered, his voice trembling with awe as he looked at the baby. "He's really here, Y/N. Look at our beautiful boy."
Before the kids were brought in, the room fell into a deeply tender, private lull. The midwife had discreetly stepped out, leaving the three of you alone. Michael carefully helped adjust your gown, his long, gentle fingers keeping you comfortable as you held little Sean skin-to-skin against your chest.
Michael sat close, leaning over to trace the baby's tiny, downy-covered shoulder. He looked completely mesmerized, a soft, happy sigh escaping his lips. "This feels so different, Y/N," he whispered, his eyes locked on the baby. "With the others... there was so much media noise, so much isolation and fear outside the doors. But here... with you... I've never felt so safe. Thank you for giving me this."
You smiled up at him, shifting the baby slightly so Michael could get a better look at his face. "He's beautiful, Mike. And you know... I really think he has my nose. And definitely my chin. He looks just like me."
Michael blinked, a highly amused, loving smirk instantly twitching at the corner of his lips as he stared at the baby, then up at you. Little Sean was a literal carbon copy of Michael as a child—the exact same large, soulful doe eyes, the same tiny bow-shaped mouth, and the exact same facial structure.
"Oh, absolutely, beautiful," Michael teased softly, his shoulders shaking with a quiet laugh as he completely played along with your delusion. "He's your twin. Didn't get a single gene from me."
"I knew it," you murmured proudly, entirely gaslighting yourself while Michael just smiled, his heart bursting with love as he let you believe it.
A few hours later, the room was entirely peaceful, the golden winter sun streaming through the windows as you sat up in bed, holding the tightly swaddled baby. Michael quietly opened the door to let the older children in.
Prince and Paris walked on their absolute tip-toe, while Blanket was carried securely in Michael's arms. Prince and Paris scrambled up onto the edge of the mattress, their faces filled with an intense, quiet reverence as they peeked over the edge of the blue blanket.
Paris tilted her head to the side, her big, expressive blue eyes scanning the baby’s incredibly tiny, wrinkly features, his little button nose, brown ears and his microscopic hands tucked tightly against his chin. A soft, beautiful smile broke across her face, completely forgetting her wish for a sister the moment she saw him.
She turned her head to look up at her father, whispering softly, "Daddy... he’s so small. He looks like a little peanut."
Michael let out a sudden, delighted gasp, a breathless laugh escaping his lips as he sat on the edge of the bed and set Blanket down next to your legs. He looked at Paris, then down at Sean, his eyes crinkling with absolute, radiant adoration.
"Oh, Paris... that’s perfect," Michael murmured, his voice thick with a profound, peaceful emotion as he leaned down to press a tender kiss to the top of your head, his hand sliding over yours to touch the new baby.
"A little Peanut. That’s exactly what he is."
wasn’t gonna post this but knowing that someone out there hates this series is fueling my drive to keep this goin
“Mmh, baby m’so proud of you.” You breathe heavily. Michael’s breath hitches, face heating up as he stare at you. “Y-yeah?” His voice close to a whimper.
Michael received an honorary doctorate today for his contributions to the black education system. Oh you loved him so so much, he was so caring.
That’s why you were riding him right now to let him know just how much you appreciate him.
You lean down, moaning into his mouth as you roll your hips, giving him all of you. He moans into your mouth, hands finally leaving the sheets to grip your hips.
“Hmnh-“ he whimpers, brows furrowed and biting his lip as he runs his hands over your curves. “Love you so much..” he expresses, big doe eyes on yours.
“I love you too baby,” you hum, sitting up and pressing your hands against his chest. “You make me so proud,” you praise.
He whines in adoration, staring up at you like he was gonna melt.
“You do everything for everybody..so handsome..” you moan, rolling your hips slow. Causing him to throw his head back and grip your hips tighter with those big hands of his.
“You’re so caring Michael. So sweet, and an even sweeter soul. Y’know that Mikey?” You ask breathlessly as you tilt your head.
Tears prick his eyes from how good he feels, nodding vastly. “Yes…yes, yes, I know, I swear I know,” He cries, still focused on you. His baby. His lady. All his to love on him.
“Oh my gosh.” He groans with a cry, throwing his head back harshly as his eyes practically roll to the back of his head. He tries to suppress a whimper, but ultimately fails miserably as he moans, sending a few thrust up into your pulsing cunt til your finishing right with him.
You whine, nails digging into his shoulders as you ride out your high, collapsing against him.
After a few moments, you lift your head. Arms crossed underneath your head as you look down at him. “Congratulations ‘graduate’.” You giggle, tracing patterns on his chest.
He sits up ever so slightly, pecking your forehead with a worn out smile. “Thank you mama. I really appreciate that.”
You peck his lips a few times before he’s got a sly grin on his face and his cheeks are real high, an idea coming to him.
“Since you’re so proud of me…you wanna ride me again?” He suggests.
“Just a thought.” He quickly defends as you stare at him with a blank expression.
A/N: idea randomly came to my head, but I love this video of him sm you guys don’t understand.
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Alastor with angel!reader omg. I imagine that reader was Alastor's wife back when they were alive, but didn't see eachother again after death because Alastor is in hell and reader is in heaven. I imagine that after Sir Pentious got redeemed, Sera sent reader (because she has experience with demons(? Ur choice) and Sera trusts her a lot) down to hell to investigate this 'hazbin hotel'.
a/n: AHHHH i almost didnt want to write smut into this because it was so precious 😭 ooc alastor again but its so CUTE. i added my "alastor speaks french" agenda to this as well lol.
buy me a coffee? 😇
tags: 18+ smut nsfw, fem! receiving oral
heaven was in shambles after the last extermination, no one knew what would happen next now that souls could be redeemed from hell. it was then that sera approached you in private, all but begging you to go be an "ambassador." you were hesistant at first, not only thinking that this was a lot of responsibility, but also that your... husband had to be down there. he wasn't a "good man" after all, but your heart still fluttered at the thought of seeing him once more. with a sigh, you accept sera's plea and prepare for your trip down to the hazbin hotel.
there to greet you, was charlie morningstar herself, bright eyed and bubbly just like you heard all about. she leads you into the foyer of the hotel before you stop dead in your tracks. charlie is still speaking a mile a minute in your ear, trying to welcome you as best she can, but you're not listening. your eyes meet alastor's, immediately recognizing him even in this new form of his. and when his smile almost fades, you know he recognizes you too.
there's another brief pause before you're running towards him, your wings unfurling on their own as you're quickly wrapped up in his embrace. the other inhabitants of the hotel watch, confused, seeing as alastor hasn't really let anyone but niffty get close enough to touch him, let alone embrace him. your wings fluff up and cover your faces as you lean up to kiss your estranged partner. "oohh, sweetheart.." he sighs against your lips. "its been..."
you smile between kisses, your heart racing in your chest. "too long." you finish his sentence, earning a chuckle from the demon. his lips kiss a trail to your ear, a low growl to his voice as he whispers to you. "you taste like heaven, darling." your cheeks go red, not quite prepared for such a comment, especially in front of company. "alastor!" you hiss, hitting his chest gently but he just pulls you closer in response.
finally, he addresses the group behind you who are all standing with their jaws hanging open. "now, if you're all done gawking, i believe my wife needs to be shown around..."
husk spits out his drink as alastor speaks, covering angel in alcohol. "your WHAT!?" you hide your face as calamity ensues, everyone trying to speak over eachother at the insane news. "your wife... is an angel?" charlie asks gently, trying to get to the bottom of this. "well, i couldn't have known for sure but she was always more a saint than i." alastor hums, running his hand down your back. you shudder when he touches your wings, to which he notes in his head for later.
"o-oh! well then! i guess you should show her around, yeah?" she smiles bashfully, still taken aback by everything happening since your arrival just a few minutes ago. you look up at alastor, your cheeks aching from smiling so wide. "i think i'd like that." you whisper to him, enjoying the way he pulls you closer to him. "hold on tight then, my love."
you're not sure what he means by that until you're slipping into the shadows with him. its an odd feeling, but you don't think much of it until you're reappearing in what you assume is his bedroom. alastor is careful with you, like he's afraid the wrong touch will burn you, but he craves the feeling of your bare skin against his hands more than he can admit. you smile, reaching your hands up to cup his face. "touch me, al. i'm not fragile..."
your words light a spark deep within him, forcing him to restrain himself from ripping your pretty clothes into tatters. he groans inwardly, large hands reaching around to pick you up before fumbling his way to the bed. "corrupting an angel wasn't on my bucket list until seeing you again, my dear." his tone, its not what you're used to hearing, but that gravelly undertone shoots straight through you. "oh please, you can't corrupt me more than you already have." alastor's lips find the sensitive skin of your neck and you feel him smirk.
"i hope that's not a challenge." he tests, tugging at the hem of your dress. you all but giggle, lifting up so alastor can free your body of clothes. "and what if is it?" you challenge, knowing full well that alastor wouldn't let your teasing continue without proper punishment. his eyes darken red, and there's a tinge of fear in your gut. because this may still be alastor, but its been quite a while, you don't know how he's changed.
but as he kisses down your stomach, you're reassured that the man you married is still there somewhere, underneath this 'radio demon' persona. "your lips tasted of heaven, mon amour, does this taste so sweet as well?" alastor's words alone are enough are enough to make you whimper, then the feeling of his hot breath against your clothed cunt makes your core pulse.
your hands naturally fall to the top of his head, feeling the softness of his ears and the rough points of his antlers. "c-can i..?" you start, timidly holding onto the horns. alastor's body shudders as he shoves his face into your thigh. "yes, ma chérie. please do." he breathes, tugging on the thin fabric of your panties until they rip in half.
alastor wants to be patient, wants to treat you like the angel you are, but he is a demon after all. and he hasn't gotten such a delicious meal in far too long. after he feels your grip tighten on his antlers, he lets loose his self control. his first taste of your sweet pussy sends him into a frenzy, eating you like a man starving. his tongue swipes up your slit before circling your clit in quick flicks. your legs are shaking already, breathy moans leaving your lips with reckless abandon.
there's a part of you that is concerned to be getting your cunt ate by a demon, but this demon was your husband, after all. sera made you come down here and you might as well enjoy yourself, right?
your hips arch up, craving more and more, and alastor is happy to oblige. "this is heaven, my dear. not some palace in the sky, but here, between your legs." your eyes well with tears, overwhelmed in more ways than one. every pass of his tongue has your release teetering on the edge while his sweet words make your heart flutter. its almost too much, and when alastor sucks on your clit, your walls burst.
"a-alastor i'm..." you mewl, every nerve on your body screaming as your orgasm rolls over you. you're almost sure you're hurting him by how hard you tug at his hair, but alastor doesn't stop. the intensity is something you've not experienced in many, many years, and the tears stream down your cheeks. alastor coaxes you through it, licking slow and soft circles around your sensitive bud until your shaking stops.
he's quick to climb up, wiping the tears from your puffy eyes. "such a good girl, mon amour. there's plenty more where that came from."
what if thriller michael lets you love his fresh stache in the most proper and considerate way? 18+
“y’really think i look good ma?” your eyes gleaming at the sight of michael’s freshly shaved face, only leaving him with a small stache over his pretty lips. “perfect. just perfect.” his smile growing as he continues to watch you bite the corner of your lip subconsciously, never leaving your eyes off his stache. “c’mere baby show me how perfect it is?”
your legs trembling at the immense feeling you were receiving at the generous laps of michael’s tongue over your hot wet hole. “mmngh lil’ bit— more—mama” michael’s voice shakes from below as his hand grips tighter over your thighs, enjoying every single drop of you.
“m-michael please i nee-need..stop stop stop” your voice huffing out in an exasperated breath at your words ending from a sudden cry. except you didn’t receive a verbal response back from michael. instead, his hands slide from your thighs to your hips soon pushing your lower body even more down and over his mouth. just a bit more to practically cover his face with your delicious pussy.
michael’s fresh new stache slightly prickling in a good way as your clit continues to come in contact with it—soon letting more cries to echo through the room at the pleasurable feeling increasing even more. “jus’ like that mama. good job keep going pretty.” his voice still vibrating on your core as your slickness begins to soak his stache and lips. only driving michael to tongue fuck and eat you out more ferociously than before.
michael continues praising you as your hips now guide its own path with your movements interchanging from circular to swaying patterns.
“atta girl keep on going.”
“you’re doin’ so well for me mama go on.”
“so so perfect baby. so good for me.”
“show me how much you love it pretty. fuck yourself on me.”
“so wet and dirty baby look at your mess mama ahh.”
his hands still clinging on your skin as he’s still eating you like your life depends on it. “whatever you want ma. take it take it—there y’go baby that’s it.” softly as his voice is semi-unrecognizable by the weight of your pussy over his face.
michael was obsessed, to say the least. 3 orgasms and his tongue still overlapping your clit and sucking on the bud, soon sending you once again completely over the edge. your hands flying towards the closest thing you could grab, his hair. “fuck fuck fuck i really c-cant-“ your pleads growing in desperation as michael continues his work—knowing you were losing your mind, while groaning softly at the feeling of your fingers curling into his roots.
if knowing that a simple new stache meant losing yourself over him and being able to see you pleasure yourself by it— then michael only had one more job to keep. and lord knew it wasn’t removing it from his look anytime soon.
