summary: during an interview promoting his debut album with Epic Records, Michael is asked about his ideal woman.
content: mutual affection, nerdy reader, tooth-rotting fluff, idk this is just so cute, you guys know what interview I'm referencing, right?
Interviews always made Michael a little restless. He'd sit there with his hands folded neatly in his lap. Foot tapping a quiet rhythm only he could hear. His voice so soft-spoken. No matter how many times the director asked him to speak just a little louder, just enough for the overhead microphone to catch every breath. Nonetheless, the lights were warm, the couch felt comfortable, and the questions were always the same.
Well, usually.
The vibe was a bit unfamiliar this time.
Maybe it was because he knew you were somewhere in the building — tucked away in the dim-lit waiting room outside the small studio, flipping through the stack of comics you brought for him.
Maybe it was because he could still faintly hear your voice as you conversed with the workers conducting the interview, your laugh echoing faintly in his head.
Or maybe it was because he'd been thinking about you more than he meant to lately.
Shit, almost every single song on the album was written about you.
The interviewer leaned forward, smiling as if he knew the ladies would love the next question that he was about to ask. That he — a man in his late thirties with a too-neat mustache and a suit that tried way too hard to keep up with the late 70s trends — would finally get that promotion and the raise that he's been 'working so hard for.'
"So, Michael... what's something that you'd look for in a girl? I mean, we know that — as attractive as you are — you got all the ladies fawning over you. I'm sure they'd like to know your ideal woman."
Michael laughed softly, eyes dropping to his hands, then looked up towards the ceiling. He always did that when he was lost in thought, trying to think of the right words to say — while also not saying too much.
"Well," he said, his voice warm, "I like someone who's like me, I guess."
The interviewer blinked.
"Like you how?"
Michael shrugged, a thoughtful, honest shrug.
"Someone who likes fun things. Like, comics, climbing trees, y'know, things like that, but..." he chuckles, "I don't know — I'd still like someone that's, uh, not too high maintenance. Just natural. Very modest and sweet like, y'know?"
He paused, and for a moment, he didn't feel like he was in the studio anymore.
He was in your backyard, watching you climb one of your old oak trees, the California heat causing your blowout to frizz, but that's what is so beautiful about you.
Then he was in your living room, laughing next to you as you both read the latest The Amazing Spider-Man comic book. Not just admiring the artwork before him, but also the way your features lit up as you read the words on the delicate page.
Then he was at the annual carnival — the one he had to sneak out of late-night rehearsal for — his obviously silly disguise now discarded as he sat on the Ferris wheel with you. You two have been there for a couple of hours now, and those hours flew by faster than you anticipated.
You two had just shared your first kiss, your cheeks both warm in bashful shyness as you confessed your love to each other. He held your hand, soft and warm as he traced his thumb over your bare nails.
"I've never met someone like you.
I want to spend forever like this.
Just us."
He blinked, returning to the present.
"Someone real and authentic. The thing I find most attractive in a woman is their heart."
The interviewer nodded, scribbling notes, completely unaware of the shift in Michael's expression — the softness in his eyes, and the way his smile still lingered moments after he answered the question.
Now, even with all that, you would think that the interviewer knew who he was talking about.
There have been countless rumors in the tabloids about your relationship with Michael Jackson, but none were confirmed or denied. They just lingered and would come up in conversation from time to time as you met with other high-status figures like yourself.
Well, at least everyone else in the room knew exactly who he was talking about. The interviewer grew too busy imagining his own name on the byline of a magazine cover.
"Beautiful answer, Michael," he said, still scribbling. "Your fans are gonna eat that up!"
Michael just laughed and nodded politely, but his mind was already drifting again. Not to his fans, not to his upcoming album, not to the interview itself.
But to you.
He wondered if you coincidentally heard any of that from the room next door. How you'd react once the press put two and two together, or the way you'd smile that shy little smile you always tried to hide behind your hands.
"Alright, that's a wrap," the director called out, clapping his hands. Michael blinked, leaning up from the couch and sitting up straighter as the crew began to move around him. The interviewer stood, smoothing out his too-tight suit jacket, muttering a small 'thank you'. Poor guy was already rehearsing the headline in his head.
Michael thanked everyone — soft, sincere, the way he did since he was a small child — but he didn't linger. He stepped out of the studio, out of the lights, into the hallway.
And into the waiting room next door.
You were exactly where he knew you'd be — your legs curled up next to you on the couch, flipping through a Scooby Doo comic you brought for him to read in between breaks. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered slightly, casting a warm glow over your features.
You looked up the moment you sensed him. "Hey," you smiled. God, his heart fluttered in his chest; he couldn't even hide it anymore.
"Hey," he echoed, voice softer than he meant it to be. You closed the comic and let it rest in your lap.
"How'd the interview go?"
He shrugged, flopping down on the couch next to you, close enough to feel your warmth, but not close enough to be obvious.
"Eh, it was fine," he said. "They asked about the album, the tour with my brothers in a couple o' years. And then," He hesitated, eyes drifting to the floor. "They asked about my type — my ideal girl."
You raised an eyebrow, amused.
"Oh? And what'd you say?"
You tilted your head.
"The truth?"
He looked at you then — like, really looked at you — and for a moment, the room felt too small, the couch making the distance too close.
"That she's, um," he trails off, feeling his shyness start to take over. He takes a sharp inhale, averting his gaze. "Someone who doesn't try to be anything she's not — real authentic. Likes the same things I do. Who makes me feel like I can just... be myself."
He continued, voice barely above a whisper.
"Told 'em she's very sweet. Modest, but also really playful. Someone who climbs her favorite oak tree and plays video games and laughs at my stupid jokes." He smiled — still a bit shy, but sure.
"And I told them she has the most beautiful heart I've ever known. My definition of perfection."
Your lips parted, but no words came out. Michael chuckled softly as he watched your reaction, his head shaking in amusement.
"Surely you knew I was talking about you."
You should probably respond now, but you have yet to find the words — any words — to amount to the love you have for him. But no. The room fell silent, but it wasn't awkward or tense. It just felt full of everything he's been holding back, everything you'd been too scared to say since the moment on the Ferris wheel. The growing love and desire that has been accumulating for months.
You exhaled slowly, moving closer to him on the couch as the comic in your lap slipped away.
"Michael..." you whispered.
"You don't have to say anything," he murmured. "I just wanted you to know."
You didn't exactly say anything. But you didn't mean to move either.
It just kinda happened. The way the air got heavy, and his gorgeous eyes looking at you the way they did, then the confession he just made. Your hand lifted before you could second-guess yourself, fingers brushing his cheek in a touch so gentle it made him inhale sharply.
Then you kissed him again. A soft press of your lips to his, and you suddenly felt like this kiss was an enough answer.
Michael froze for half a second before melting into it, his hand coming up to cradle the side of your face like he was afraid you'd disappear if he held you any tighter. When you finally pulled back, his eyes were wide and a little dazed.
"You don't have to wonder about anything, Michael," you whispered. "I feel the same way about you, too. Felt that way for a very long time."
He could help but chuckle, the relief in his expression almost humorously boyish.
"You're the most amazing person I've ever known... You already have me if you want me."
DISCLAIMERS: This is my first ever try at fanfiction and I hope it's okay, but if it's terrible, you know why. This is not an accurate portrayal of anyone depicted in the story. I do not know these people. It's strictly a work of fiction.
PAIRING: Michael Jackson x Fem!Reader.
GENRES: Fluff / Smut / Angst.
SUMMARY: The year is 1984 and she never asked for this, but when you fall in love with Michael Jackson, life becomes loud. For an entire year, they've built this loudy, messy, tender life together. For the first time in a long time, she was happy, believing that despite the whirlwind that came along with the Jackson craze, Michael's love was unwavering. But the road to fame has many victims and she just might be one. Whispers she tries to ignore, nights when he doesn't come home and the gnawing feeling that she's not the only one he gives himself to continue to grow. When a tabloid photo splashes across the morning headlines, proving what she always feared, she has no choice but to call him from a thousand miles away and hears the truth in the silence.
WARNINGS: Angst. Can't lie, this is going to hurt. Infidelity. Arguments. Strong language. Diana Ross. NSFW scenes. Minors do not interact with this post.
WORD COUNT: 13.2k (oops... sorry everyone.)
MORE: You can read part two here.
Sunlight peaked through the crack of the otherwise blackout curtain, spawning a direct beam of light against her face. The warm glow arose a mild irritation as she stirred awake with a gentle huff, the only comfort of the early wake up call being that of a familiar weight of muscle slung across her waist.
It seems that in the night, he'd attempted to fuse himself against her, like he could somehow merge them into one with nothing but stubborn determination and a strong set of arms.
If it weren't so damn restrictive, she'd have found it sweet. Then again, everything Michael Jackson did somehow warmed her heart. The hold (both physically and metaphorically) he had over her wasn't fair, but she never complained. Being with Michael was like orbiting close to the sun. Warm and bright, but if you stepped too close, completely devastating. That was the risk she ran. People had always warned her about the price that came along with his lifestyle, but a year of being considered 'his' had taught her that he was multi-layered. You couldn't put him in a box.
Yes, with fame came harsh consequences, even more so with the jolt in status that had been unleashed with the release of Thriller, but he was so much more than the persona his celebrity had inflicted. Beautiful. Charming. Hilarious. And most unknown to the world that was so quick to slap a label on him, was his heart. The playful consideration, that longing to be wanted. He was so much more than the pop legend they portrayed him to be. Still, the title suited him well and he had no complaints about playing the role. It served a purpose and he relished in the power bestowed on him. After all, he hadn't put all those hours in to come up empty handed.
But the Michael she knew, underneath the bravado made her feel safe and loved. As she turned in the iron clad grip of his arms, she didn't note the stray Spiderman comic book on the bedside table, nor the empty glass of orange juice from the night before. Her focus fell to the man beside her, the mess of dark curls spread across his forehead and the peaceful look splashed over his face as he basked in the much needed sleep he'd been lacking with the pressure his career dictated.
If she tried hard enough, she could pretend this was the way they lived their lives everyday. Comfy, in her apartment, with only the sounds of the birds chirping echoing through the open window, letting a cool sweep of fresh air leak into the once stuffy room. Still, she loved him and embraced all the challenges that came along with being involved with a man of his stature.
With that thought in mind, she knew she had to get up. He was due to attend rehearsals with his brothers soon. The Victory tour was fast approaching and while Michael had begrudgingly had no choice but to agree to be present, he was a professional and wouldn't settle until he completed the thing he set out to do. The sake of his sanity relied on a shower before he left for the day and that thought alone presented itself loud and in charge until she did something about it.
Struggling to free herself from the restrictive hold he had over her waist, a small laugh escaped her lips as she pried his large hands from her hips and managed to successfully plant her feet on solid ground.
The air was cool, goosebumps rising against her soft flesh. So much so, that the chill forced her hand to reach down and throw a white over-sized t-shirt over her bare frame.
It was Michael's. Or to be more precise, it had been Michael's.
Their first night together, after the echoed praise, unholy chants of each others names and the joining of bodies, she'd slid out of bed and stole the shirt from his closet. The soft fabric, the stretched neckline and the scent of him warmed her so much, she never quite had the heart to give it back.
She didn't want to wake him.
Seriously, she didn't. Michael barley slept as it was, quoting himself to be somewhat of a night owl. She knew there was more to it.
Sleepless nights plagued with a mass of over thinking. Insomnia had got the best of him and so those rare nights when he did find himself drifting into a dream filled slumber, like last night, reluctance ached her bones, with a tender need to allow him to stay tucked neatly in her bed, away from the destructive world outside her doorstep.
But like clockwork, it happened again.
The action of it amost instantaneous, the subtle shift of his body against the mattress as the ivory material settled against her thighs, like his body ached with a fear of abandonment when she wasn't around. His head lifted, dark eyes narrowed in a tired squint he didn't try to hide, but his tense form eased once he spotted her just out of reach.
"What's the time?" He grumbled, voice rasped from sleep and much deeper than he had ever allowed the public to hear.
"Seven fifteen." She spoke softly, brushing her hair back from her face.
With a longing whisper of her name, Michael carelessly threw himself back against the pillows. "Come back to bed, please."
Michael was good at that. Tempting her into bad habits. Truthfully, it didn't take much. Just a glance at the coffee tinted hues flickering in her direction and she was an utterly gone.
Mostly.
"I wish I could, but you have rehearsals this morning. And I'm not dealing with Jermaine if you're late." She pouted almost too naturally and then stretched her arms above her head, the hem of his old t-shirt skimming her upper thighs. "You know how irritated he gets."
"Oh boy." As though she'd personally offended him, Michael allowed a frustrated groan to fall from his lips and dragged a heavy hand across his face like the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. Those wandering eyes of his not once leaving the long expanse of her legs, his jaw clentched while his usually tame thoughts ran wild. "You can't mention my brothers name when you look like that."
"Like what?" She feigned innocent, ignorance despite feeling the burn of his gaze.
"Like you're beggin' for trouble." His voice dropped, almost impossibly low. Giving her no time to react, he was on her, arms snaking around her waist, tossing her back against the mattress with a lazy form of dominance. "An awful distraction." He husked, his weight pressing her into the sheets as he continued to mutter against her ear. "One day, I'm taking this shirt back. You look better without it anyway."
Barley catching her breath, a teasing grin rose against the corners of her mouth. "That's cruel of you. I'm attached to this shirt."
Lips curling into a smirk, his mouth ghosted against her own, voice thick with familiar sense of desire. "Yeah, well... I'm attached to you, baby. A bad habit I can't kick." Then without missing a beat, he kissed her. Slow at first, then rough enough to make her forget about the rehearsals and his brothers entirely.
There was something about each kiss they shared. All that time they'd spent together and she'd never grow tired of it. With his body against her own, Michael's intoxicating warmth crowded her in the most delicious way. This was something far from innocent and the more it transpired, the more she lost herself in the moment. Time began to blend together, so much so, it became blaring obvious that not even a full scale hurricane could draw her away.
With expert ease, his tongue slid into her mouth, brushing against her own. Michael then pushed a knee between her own, a hand beside her head holding him up as the other grasped at the swell of her hip like he could keep them in this moment forever, if he only held her tight enough. It was almost dizzying, the way he hummed in triumph as he sucked on her tongue and got a real taste of her first thing in the morning. Suddenly any exhaustion he felt evaporated and all that remained was his a blazing need for her.
"Well, good morning to you too." She spoke, breathless once the kiss broke, as the heat simmered between them.
Michael smirked, fingers pinching at her delicate waist while not so subtly dragging his eyes over her body. Flushed skin on display covered by nothing other than that distracting shirt. "It's 'bout to be."
Before she could come up with a response, Michael had already brought his head back down to seal their lips together again. The familiar flick of his tongue against hers prompting a pathetic whimper to vibrate against their mouths.
Now, she knew him well enough to know that if she could see him, that cocky smirk wouldn't just be felt, it would be on proud display. The undoing of her by his hands was one of his favourite things.
Michael was always been that way inclined. He didn't want to be good at something, he wanted to be great. The best. The same could be said from a career standpoint or something as simple as winning a game of twister when he finally convinced his family to play. He had a competitive streak and that definitely followed him into the bedroom.
"You know I love it when you make those sounds." He muttered softly, pulling back only slightly so he was able to kiss down her jawline and along her neck.
"You-" She wanted to speak. Really, she did. But the attack against her sensitive skin, the bruising movement of his mouth proved to be a consuming distraction. "Fuck."
"What was that?" Michael paused his movements, breathing heavy as he looked down at her like prey. His already obscenely pink lower lip had deepened in colour, the smug grin still prominent and growing wider by the second. The familiar tone of his eyes darkened, the blown pupils leaving only a small ribbon of brown to surround it. He was gorgeous. He didn't know it all the time, but she certainly did, having fallen victim to that look one too many times in the past.
A moment of clarity seemed to catch up.
"You-" Her breath hitched while her fingers trailed the exposed expanse of his chest. "You have rehearsals. "
"Yeah, well..." Assured hands inched against her thighs, lifting the white fabric higher, exposing more of her to the cold air that had encouraged her to place it on in the first place. "They know I didn't want to agree to this tour." There were layers to his words, a heated frustration he tried to bury deep. Michael wanted more for himself, no longer wanting people to associate him the days he needed a group to keep him relevant.
Ambition clawed at him like a vice, telling him he had more to give and prove to the world that doubted the legacy a black man could hold. He's proved he'd earned his spot at the top billing order with his latest solo project and now he couldn't help but begrudge the fact he was still playing band of brothers with the same group he'd been forced into from the age of five.
Brushing the tip of his nose against her own, his voice dipped into a whisper. "They can wait a little while longer." And like a starved man seeing food for the first time, Michael's eyes gleamed in delight as he finally ripped the offending material over her head. "There she is."
Michael dipped down, his hands cradling her face in an almost possessive hold as he stole a kiss. It was common for him to be gentle, but this time, it didn't last long. Before either of them could gage the change, his mouth descended lower. A mirage of movement. All teeth and lips. The inability to remember her name had suddenly kicked in as he lapped his tongue against her nipple, tugging it almost painfully between his teeth only to sooth it with a lingering lick while a hand busied itself with her neglected breast.
No one could get her off the way he could. He knew her body, the way it worked and the things that she loved. He'd learnt the art of bringing those tempting moans to the surface and that was almost reward enough. Every time they did something like this, it was like they switched roles. With an open mouth, she'd sing him sweet lullabies and he knew exactly what to do to bring those high notes to the surface.
"You like that, don't you?" His voice thick with desire, knee barley pressing against her centre with a clear agenda. The goal was to drive her crazy, he was good at that. His mouth curled into a satisfied grin against her breast, knowing he had her right where he wanted her. There was no coming back from this. No clarity that could break through that incredible mind of hers to remind her to be responsible. Michael loved seeing her like this. How she tried her hardest to be rational, only for that to be utterly ripped from her with every indecent lick gracing her abdomen. It only made him want her more.
Hips rising off the mattress, desperate for some real fiction, she hated herself for how easily she fell for his little games. Her mind begged for her to come to her senses, but fogged over in a lustful haze when she found herself in this state. It was no use. She wanted him. Anything he was willing to give her. His fingers. His mouth. His cock. So long as he was the one touching her this way, she didn't care about anything else that was happening in the world beyond her bedroom. "You're an asshole." She muttered, half breathless, knowing he wasn't going to make this easy for her.
A soft spout of laughter fell from his lips, a hand falling to her hip to pull her closer. "You should be a lot nicer to me." He suggested with a demonic arch of a brow, his face coming up and aligning with her own.
"Why's that?" The muttered whisper kissed his mouth, his dark hues drinking in the sight of her in the early hours of the morning.
"Because..." He started, lips brushing against the soft pillows of her own, a dimpled grin taking over his features. "I have the power to make you feel real good right now." Surging forward, he didn't wait for a response, lips claiming hers in a heated echo of dominance, one that warmed her from the inside out. Long fingers clawed the meat of her thigh, guiding her leg up and around the slim apex of his waist.
Michael was bare under the covers, having fallen asleep that way the night before. If her eyes were open, she would see the smooth skin, the slightly uneven blotchiness he'd grown so insecure about despite her protests of how beautiful he was. The heat from his body trapped her against the mattress, a breathy hitch of a sound falling from her lips.
There were so many divine creatures in this world. Michael had taken the time to appreciate so many from afar, but he swore to himself, the heavens must have taken their time when it came to the craft of the women beneath him.
"You want me to make you feel good?" He pulled back briefly to mutter against her mouth, hand cautiously caressing her ribs, higher and higher until she felt his tumb grazed the underside of her bare breast. She arched instantly, a desperate plea for more and Michael couldn't stop it, the lively groan, low in his throat, casting vibrations where their bare chests met. His lips descended, lower, a leisurely trail of his mouth against her jaw and with an instinctive tilt of her head, she easily allowed him the access he silently asked for. The sharp sting of his teeth against her pluse illicited an addictive gasp, and in the next moment, his tongue flicked out, soothing the redness he'd created.
Michael laughed then nipped against her earlobe. "You're so beautiful like this."
"Stop teasing me." She protested, trailing her nails up the delicate line of his spine.
Again, he laughed, breathing hot air against her skin. "I'm sorry."
He wasn't sorry at all. He got off on this, enjoyed knowing the effect he had over her entirety. With a surge of confidence, she caught his mouth again, relilish in the way he opened up, a messy collide of tongues and teeth, breathless whispers churing into one.
"I want you." She breathed against his lips, pulling back enough to see the blowout, depraved look tainting his usual kind eyes. "What are you waiting for?"
"You have no idea what you do to me, do you?" His voice soft for the first time since he woke, large hand sliding to her waist like he was trying to map out her body from touch alone.
A shiver ran down her spine, the effect he had over her wasn't just physical but deeply rooted into the essence of her being. She knew a life without him, but it felt so long ago now.
"No." She breathed out, eyes fluttering at the feel of him so close.
For a long beat, he studied her, his tumb tracing maddening circles against her skin. "By now, you definitely should. Can't you feel it?"
A soft pink glow rose against the apples of her cheeks because yes, she very much could. The hardened length prodding against her hip, ready to take her as she was. He wasn't her first, but he had become her everything and time spent tangled in the sheets together always felt like more like a celestial event than a simple shared moment.
His gaze was searing, but then he leaned in and kissed her again, heavy but slow, as though he didn't have any time restraints when they both knew the truth. "I'm gonna take care of you."
Holding himself up, Michael allowed himself a glance, starring down in unadulterated awe at the sight below him. It didn't matter how many times he's seen her like this, she would always set his heart racing. Sometimes, he still failed to understand how it was possible he got the luxury to see her like this, how she trusted him so intimately. If divinity lived in a person, it would be this women. Michael felt like he could write albums of content with her as his muse, but no words would do her justice. The burning ache for more built up and with an aching sigh, he pulled away only brief enough to reach into her nightstand draw and and take out a familiar, foil wrapper.
Baring his new found possession, his slender fingers handed the item over. "Put it on." He muttered, lips teasing nipping the sensitive flesh of her collarbone. Holding himself up, he watched in wondement, the way she feverishly ripped into the packaging and with a quite kind of precision, rolled the latex onto his hard length. The touch of her hand already setting his body alight. With a heavy sigh, Michael's forehead dropped against her own, a shared smirk settled on both their features.
"Don't get shy now." She teased, but the words lost momentum the second he reached between their bodies, taking the base of his cock in hand to line himself up against the sticky, sweet entrance he's come to adore.
The second his tip pushed into her opening, a gasp was torn from her lungs. Like their brains worked on the same wavelength, their eyes found each other, a burning gaze as he surged forward with his skilled hips and pushed fully into her, stretching her walls with ease, like she was made for this, made for him specifically.
Time wasn't on their side, just outside, they both knew they would find a car waiting. Bill (Michael's trusty bodyguard) would be checking his watch, wondering what was taking them so long, but neither of them seemed to take note.
With little thought and ample need, he barley gave her time to adjust before he found himself moving against her, sliding almost completely out before spearing back in, knocking the air from her lungs with each precise thrust. The sight of Michael lost in pleasure burnt into her brain, something she didn't want to lose sight of, but each movement brought a new surge of pleasure which made it impossible to keep her thoughts straight. Rolling her eyes to the back of her head, he showed no signs of stopping, if anything, his pace grew faster and in an attempt to keep a hold of him, her nails scratched into the brown flesh of his back.
The consuming weight of his body against hers, the force of his thrusts, it was too much and not enough all at once. Her hips moved against his, finding a perfect rhythm in the intimacy of her bed. A large hand encased one of her own, lifting it above her head, fingers intertwined with the sound of his desperate pants echoing down her ear. With their bodies pressed so close together, a beading sweat slicked their skin, her lips pressed to his jaw as he whined her name.
"You're so pretty. So... so pretty." The muttered words barley escaped his lips, like he wasn't aware he was saying them in the first place.
"So are you." She urged, pressing her lips against his protruding collarbone, earning a deep groan from him as Michael moved to nip at her earlobe. With a tentative twinkle in his eye, he stopped his movements, buried deep with the slick warmth of her walls, to his own detriment as much as hers. Impatient for more, her hips attempted a desperate wiggle, but with a fierce determination, Michael pinned her hips, keeping her perfectly still.
It never used to be like this. Their first time, three months into dating, after some coaxing on her part, they finally let go of their inhibitions, but he had been painfully shy. So much so that she had questioned if he's ever done this before or if she had been the unknowing soul to deflower Michael Jackson. Never quite answering her question, he assured her he knew what he was doing, but definitely allowed her to take the lead.
Nowadays, his confidence had improved tenfold and that was only made more apparent by the hungry gleaming gaze those dark optics of his shined with.
"Who's making you feel this good?" He uttered, brushing the bridge of his nose against the delicate arch of her jawline.
"You." She whimpered, body aching and ready to go.
The mocking laugh that he released shouldn't have lured her in the way it did, but arousal pooled, staining the sheets beneath her.
"You gonna be a good girl?" Michael husked, unmoving, relishing in the immediate nod she gave, but it wasn't enough. "I know you can speak, baby. Tell me."
"I'll be good." She whimpered, the ache between her legs growing by the second. "I promise. Please, Mike... I need you."
A hot sigh of relief feel from her swollen lips once his hips began to move again. The movement almost sob inducing as the sound of their bodies pressing together set the soundtrack for the morning, overshadowing the sophisticated bird song just beyond the window.
A strong hand grabbed against the meat of her hip, harsh and bruising, but so deliciously addictive that the uttering of his name soon followed, over and over like a broken record or a sort after prayer. Burning and so fucking delicious.
With the tilt of his head, his mouth devoured her own, pouring every thought and emotion into a hazy kiss. Messy and a little off kilter as his tongue moved against her own, forcing her to move her own head and an angle that ached, but she wouldn't dare correct.
Sweat gathered at his hairline as he pulled her thighs tight around his hips, gasping as the slight movement helped him slide further into her warmth, his tip hitting that designated spot bound to drive her crazy.
"Michael!" She gasped, face flushed and twisted from the overwhelming surge of ecstasy, like she could feel everything all at once and yet, nothing at all.
"Come on, darlin', let go, I wanna feel you." He urged, quickening his pace in a manner she always found impossible.
"Fuck - ah..."
The burn ripped through her, his name the sin on her lips as her orgasm tore through her body, possessing her with the inability to control her limbs as she thrashed and withered beneath him. Her voice hoarse with praise, clinging onto the last waves when suddenly her release triggered his own.
His formally precise movement, the ones that came from a dancers hips, turned sloppy, thusts falling out of a rhythm to a well timed groan as he spilled himself inside the latex and eventually fell against her warm body.
Ragged breaths and rapidly rising chests filled the space around them. When was the last time she's felt so fulfilled?
Sweaty and satisfied, the temptation to forget the world around them was easy enough. If either of them thought they could avoid consequences, maybe they would. In the safety of her bed, Michael felt normal. She's seen versions of himself he'd forever hidden from public viewing and stayed. She valued him not for his status, but for the man that lay beneath it.
A small, soothing hand cradled the back of his neck, careful to avoid the tender flesh that lived a few inches North. She was good that way, knowing what he needed and when was the right time to put those actions into practice.
"Baby, we need to get up." She gently encouraged once she had finally caught her breath, pressing a soft kiss to his hairline, completely unphased by the dampness clinging to his skin after their earlier escapade.
A hard groan could be heard, the sound bouncing off the four walls around them and landing deep in his throat. "Girl, why'd you gave to remind me? I was at peace pretending for a while."
A light giggle passed her lips, his attitude, as bratty as it was, somehow still charmed her. Nudging his shoulder, she watched in amusement as he pulled himself from her and flung his body down on the empty space beside her, honey brown eyes narrowed in mild irritation both of them knew to be a lie.
"I'm sorry, Michael." And she was, he knew that. "If I could keep you here forever, you know I would."
"Yeah..." He nodded, lips quirked into a small grin. "I know."
"But you can come back tonight and you know..." Brows arched, her voice dipped in tone. "my bed will always be waiting for you."
"It had better be." Pouncing forward, Michael trapped her against the mattress, prepping a series of well throughout kisses over every inch of skin he could get to and relishing in the delightful laugh he recieved as a reward.
Eventually, she managed to tear away with a playful push against his shoulder. "Go and shower. You stink."
Sliding out from the warmth they'd created, her gleaming eyes watched as he moved across the room with a gentle, "Stop looking at me." To which she rolled her eyes, but found it hard to follow his order. In fact, her eyes stayed trained on his retreating figure until he hid himself behind the ensuite bathroom door.
With him out of sight, her bare feet touched the cold ground for the second time that morning. Picking the white shirt from where it had been thrown, she pulled the comforting piece of fabric over head and exited the safety of her own room.
In the main space of her apartment, she moved gracefully towards the other bathroom where she cleaned herself up before she started with her day.
Back in the kitchen, busy hands moved to make breakfast. Michael wasn't much of an eater, he never had a big appetite and unless reminded, he could go days at a time forgetting the fuel he needed to keep up with the energy his twenty five year old body held. As much as she tried talking to him about it, the worry of her words never got her anywhere. Pretty quick into their realtionship, she'd taken note that nagging only laid the foundations of his own stubbornness. To get Michael to do something, you had to physically place the thing in front of him and make it seem like it was his idea.
Slicing fruit and filling a bottle of orange juice was the least she could do to ensure his day started as well as she hoped it would continue. Gutting the seeds of a fresh pomegranate plucked from her fruit bowl, her actions were placed on a temporary pause when a knock at the door alerted her to a guest.
It was no surprise as she crossed the room and flung the door open, the face that greeted her back was the harded, worn exterior of an overworked bodyguard.
"Hello, Bill." She spoke politely with a smile.
"Hey, kid." He acknowledge with a stern nod. "Where is he? He's going to make us late." As if to make a point, Bill raised his arm, kind eyes falling to the face of the watch strapped to his wrist.
With a small laugh, she invited him in with a gentle promise that she would go and find him so they could go on their merry way. She knew the pressure he was under. Working for the Jackson's really should have been something that came with a manual, but Bill navigated the challenge well and frankly, she didn't know what Michael would do without him. Having troubles with his own father, Bill had somehow became a surrogate for the life he could've had.
Closing the door behind her as she entered her bedroom, her soft voice called out to her boyfriend as her gaze fell to the door of her ensuite, opened a few centimeters to reveal a small stir of steam developed from the shower he must have taken.
With no sound of running water and with the assumption he must be getting ready, she crossed the floor as quietly as she possibly could, carefully sliding into the room and allowed herself to oggle glorious the sight that greeted her.
The well toned muscles of his bare back, strong and flexed, proof that the body of a dancer would always triumph. His skin smooth and taut, a mouthwatering shade of brown, marbled with a contrasting lightness where the pigment had been stripped, but still looked as perfect as the rest of him was. He hated it. She knew that and as she trained her eyes upwards, the view of him covering the lighter spots on his face with a darker foundation shade in the mirror was made visable.
As if sensing her presence, his gaze met her own stare in the reflection and the beautiful smile he was known for began to curve against his lips, a subtle, but very real flush rising against his cheeks, flashing a peak at those famous dimples she adored so much.
"Hey, stop watching me." He laughed, though she could hear the subtle insecurities lay deep within his tone. "I'm shy."
"After what we just did?" She teased, giggling as the redness of his cheeks flared further.
With the initiative to step towards him, she found herself standing in front her lover, jumping up onto the bathroom counter and sitting with her back pressed to the mirror. As she reached to take the foundation bottle and sponge from his hands, Michael's large, protective grip instantly fell to her waist, further elongating that breathtaking smile. All perfect teeth and lips. She found herself questioning how she got so lucky.
"You're so pretty." She spoke offhandly, not realising she's said it until his forehead came down to rest of her shoulder, hiding his flaming face from view. "None of that, come on, let me help."
Eventually, Michael pulled back and allowed her to pile a light layer of make up on his face, something he used to be deeply insecure about until he realised she loved him exactly as he was. If it were up to her, he wouldn't have to hide away like this, but Michael refused to go outside without it and so she helped when he allowed it.
With a squeeze against her waist, the depth of his dark eyes focused entirely on her, the way she looked and felt, so heavenly and entirely his. She took over all of his senses and Michael didn't mind one bit. "You smell good." He muttered, doe eyed and in love.
"I smell like you." She countered, tilting his chin down so she could cover a small spot beneath his eye. "Look up."
He did as he was told with little argument, but laughed. "I like that you smell of me. Makes me feel like I marked my territory."
"Yeah? I always knew you were an animal." The laugh he gave was reward enough and then she remembered why she was rushed off to find him in the first place. Clearing her throat, her hand rest against the apples of his cheek, thumb carefully brushing the delicate skin beneath his eye. "Bill's in the living room."
"What?" His voice rose in pitch, eyes wide as he took into account the thin white t-shirt barley covering her tempting frame. "And he saw you? Like this?"
Before he could spiral further, the sound of her merry laughter broke through the surface and his eyes softened almost instantly.
"Relax, would you?" Pressing a soft kiss to his jaw, she finally finished with the make up she'd been applying to his face and neck when she jumped down and handed him the long sleeved, Mickey Mouse sweater he'd picked out for the day. "We're grown. I think he knows what goes on between us when he isn't around."
"Yeah, but..." Michael's voice carried low while he shrugged into the magenta material, smoothing the fabric over with large hands once his head poped out the neck of the fabric. "I don't want him to say anything."
"You're over thinking, baby. You know he cares too much to embarrass you on purpose." With a simple peck to his lips, she felt his smile against his own and then playfully nudged him. "Brush your hair. I'll finish cutting your fruit and then you can leave."
So that's what they did. Fifteen minutes later, she found herself standing in her doorway, sending him off with a simple kiss, a soft promise to see him later and a tub of cut up fruit and a bottle of fresh orange juice.
Absence makes the heart grow fonder.
Wasn't that the bullshit phase a Roman poet spewed once up a time and it stuck? Well, she supposed it must true since she had found herself resonating with the saying more and more in recent days.
Since embarking on the Victory Tour, she had barley seen Michael. It wasn't through a lack of longing on either of their part, their situation simply dictated that it wasn't something that could happen easily for the two of them. While he was out, commanding stages night after night, she still had a life of her own, a career she'd grown passionate about and responsibilities she couldn't wiggle out of at the drop of a hat.
Although all of the shows for this tour were hosted in the States or Canada, she couldn't tear herself away from her job in order to follow him around, even if his brothers wives expected her to exactly that, just as they had.
Independence clung to her body, stubborn but admirable. It was one of the many qualities Michael had constantly praised her for. She didn't need him to be her own person, she existed in a reality where she didn't rely on someone else to lead a fulfilling life, but stuck by his side because he elevated every aspect.
Days passed by in a relatively similiar manner. Wake up, get ready, work, come home, dinner and if she was really lucky, Michael could sneak away for an hour or two as she settled down for the night and they would talk until one of them into a peaceful fell asleep, though it was usually her on account on Michael's persistent insomnia keeping him up at all hours.
With a hectic day at work finally drawing to a close and having caught up with all the tedious household chores she had been putting off, all that was left to do was relax. A foreign concept with how busy life had proved to be within the past couple of weeks. It was beginning to feel like the universe had purposely been conspiring against her.
The warm, comforting weight of a checkered blanket sat across her lap as she lost her mind in some other world ― her latest read divulging into a welcome distraction from reality. The words lingered, painting delicate landscapes of a place far away from earth, one she could lose herself in for hours with no repercussions.
Page after page, consumed by captivating dialogue and complex character, then it all came crashing to a halt by a shrill ringing breaking through the quiet. With the beginnings of a smile etched against the corners of her lips, she made quick work to slide her bookmark into the correct page before she darted forward to retrieve the phone up off the hook.
Leaning back against the plump sofa cushions, she brought the landline to her ear while curling a single finger around the curved wire. "991 emergency, how can I assist you today?"
Sharp, melodic laughter broke through the silence and without so much as a word, it would have been impossible to mistake the sound for anyone else. "You're so silly."
"Me?" A dramatic gasp filled the space between them. "Never."
"Yes, girl, you." His delicate hum warmed her from the inside out and with the futtering close of her eyelids, she could imagined him sprawled out on his hotel bed, all sparkling eyes and beaming grin. "I miss you."
"Hmm... me too. You always were my favourite distraction." She found herself admitting, tucking her legs beneath her body.
"Distraction from what?"
"The terrors of the mundane."
He was the total opposite, but perhaps that was what drew her towards him. Opposites attract and his life was so vastly different from her own.
The first day the met, he's been running, running like he was born to do it his whole life. Legs moving with vigor, leaving little room for breath and yet, he hadn't seemed to have broken so much as a sweat. His frantic actions, a mission to hide away from a small crowd that had gathered had him running straight into the first building he could see with a tired head of security flanking him.
It had been there, in the middle of a forgotten library that they first set eyes on each other.
The laboured breathing of his companion had been the first thing to draw her eyes to the new comers. Being one of the few people actually using library at the time, Michael was quick to meet her gaze and offered a shy smile with a quite apology. Did she recognise him? Of course and she knew he knew she had, but she brushed it off and went back to searching the shelves.
It was then that a little voice echoed in his mind, urging him forward and giving him a small burst of confidence to ask what she was searching for. Things escalated quickly from there. She asked why he's entered the library in the first place and he sheepishly had no choice but to admit his car had broken down, leaving him no other option but to get out. Instantly, he was recognised and before he really knew what was happening, he was running from a surge in the crowd.
The library had offered him not only solitude as his head of security made a few important calls to send a new car their way, but companionship that went beyond a simple conversation. What bloomed that day had grown into something that surpassed both of their expectations and had lead to her sitting idly by on a random Tuesday evening, grinning like a fool into the phone as he recounted life on the road.
Jermaine was still driving him crazy, no shock there, but he wasn't much trouble when his wife was around. Tito and Randy bickered a lot and when they weren't too loud, Michael found their little spats pretty amusing. He noted cautiously that he's gotten closer with Jackie since they started back up, how Randy constantly stole everyone's fresh socks and mostly, how he wished Joseph would leave them alone.
The tumultuous relationship he had with his father had become somewhat more contentious as Michael had grown into his adulthood. No longer shackled by his father's control, but somehow still entirely under his thumb. He hated it. Michael was a lover by nature and his family meant the world to him, but had also been his breaking point. The abuse, the taunts, the never ending cycle that brought on the feeling of not being enough.
He wanted more for himself.
Craved it like the air he breathed.
As he spoke, she offered him loving reassurances of how she cared, how she knew he was destined to do more. The Thriller album was really just the beginning for him and how he already had changed the aspects of the world, not just with his talent, but his heart too.
"How is it you always know what to say to make me feel better." He mused and she could practically picture the way in which he was dragging his hand through his curls.
"Comes from a year of loving you." Her voice soft, leaving no room for arguments as she curled up against herself, holding a pillow close as if it could mimic the press of his body against her own. It didn't work, but it didn't hurt either.
"I love you too. I really wish you were here right now." He admitted. "Everything has been so crazy. At least if you were here, I would have something solid to hold onto."
"I wish I was there too." She confessed. "I hate knowing you're so unhappy."
"It's not that I don't love our fans, you know I do. I just thought that by now, with everything I've done, with the success of the last album, I might have been given the opportunity for a solo tour."
He wanted it, more than he wanted anything. A chance to prove himself as not only an artist, but a performer away from his brothers, where he called the shots and had all the creative liberties. He wanted to be hands on, to shine as MJ rather than the child from the Jacksons.
This wasn't something he discussed openly with most people, but with her and the trust they had build, confessing his deepest thoughts had been a relief he'd been craving for years now. She never judged, never cut in, only ever encoruaged his passions and offered comfort he'd been denied for years.
She had her own personal grievances with the Victory tour. While, yes, it has stripped him of the solo projects he had been actively seeking out, it went beyond that. She thought it was too soon to get back on stage after the Pepsi incident, he had yet to full recover and was still expected to perform every night.
If that wasn't bad enough, everything that went wrong suddenly became Michael's fault. The ticketing system, the lack of Jackson music in the shows, the ticket pricing. It seemed he had a target on his back and she was the only one there to comfort him.
"It's going to be your day soon, baby, I know it." She said, innocently, like it was a fact and not an opinion. "How about I fly out and see you soon?"
"Really? Don't play games with me."
The excitement inched in his tone provoked and onslaught of butterflies to form in pit of her stomach. This silly, brilliant man had no idea what he meant to her.
"Yeah, of course. I can clear it with work." She laughed. "I feel bad. Your brothers all have their wives, kids and friends flying out constantly to see them. I hate that you don't have that."
"Well, that's not entirely true." He mused.
"Huh?"
"Didn't I tell you?" Michael breathed a delicate sigh, raising an arm above his head to fluff at the pillow beneath him. "Diana said she'd come out and see a show next month."
"Diana Ross?"
The women Michael had idolised since he was a mere child, far too young to be raised in a world to cruel. He latched onto those around him that brought a form of solace he lacked in his day to day life. Diana had been a source of comfort, someone he not only looked up, but longed for.
She knew of the childhood crush he had on the brilliant pop legend, had witnessed first hand as he got gooey eyed whenever she entered the room. She tried not to make a habit out of jealousy, but it couldn't be helped when your boyfriend looks at another women like she crafted the sun just to make his days burn a little warmer.
Still, she never made a scene. She trusted Michael and so naturally, he never sensed any of the discomfort his relationship with his mentor may had caused.
"Yeah, the very one." He sounded almost giddy, retelling the conversation he'd indulged in only a day ago. "She currently has a break between her Vegas shows and said she would fly out next month to come and watch us. Isn't that great?"
"Yeah, that's wonderful, Michael." She nodded and if he noticed her tone fell flat, he didn't draw attention to it. "I'm really happy for you."
"Me too." He practically beamed. "Maybe you could come the same night? Or the show after? You know I'll be putting on my best perfomance for you."
"You'd better."
Eventually their conversation turned to her, how her job was, if her boss was still a hard-ass and if she hid from her responsibilities by indulging in a new read.
Cuddled up against in her blanket, wrapped tightly in a familiar white shirt, she recounted the vast details of the latest book to capture her attention. Michael hummed with appreciation as she told tales of a world different from the one they lived in, packed with adventure, magic and longing.
Cutting in, he eventually asked if she would read a chapter to him. Instantly, she obliged, picking her book up from the coffee table and skipping straight back to the first page. One chapter became two and eventually, she stopped reading as the sounds of his deep breaths evening out signalled he'd entered the dream state.
Loving Michael had always come with consequences, mostly through no fault of his own. He couldn't control the screaming fans or the intrusive paparazzi. In fact, he'd gone out of his way to keep her name out of headlines and reporters mouths. She wasn't a secret, but she wasn't all that public either. His management thought it would be better that way. Maintain the single image to keep the fans invested. While it certainly made going outside their houses challenging at times, she could handle it.
What she couldn't handle, however, was the tense silence that seemed to build while he was away. The calls hadn't completely came to a devastating end, but they had become few and far between. When he did get the chance to call, it was brief, rushed, like it was more of an obligation than a privilege.
She tried not to take it to heart and told herself he was busy and she knew that was true. The tour was in full swing and Michael was being pulled in all directions, but suddenly, it felt like he was slipping from her grasp and the tighter she tried to hold on, the quicker he fell.
He wasn't cruel, she knew that to be a fact and so maybe somewhat foolishly, she continued to give him the benefit out the doubt. Not wanting to badger him while he was working, she allowed him to take things at his own pace, on his own terms, but even she admit, the lack of communication was growing somewhat tiresome now.
She missed him, probably more than she was supposed to and in a days time, she was set to be flying out to New York to see him. The tickets were booked, a bag was half packed and for a brief period of time, she was excited.
Soon, that exciment turned to dread.
Would he want to see her at all? What if he'd decided he wanted to call it off and was too kind to do it over the phone?
Doubts swarmed her already overcrowded mind and with a dismissive sigh, she forced herself to shake them away.
She loved Michael. Michael loved her and she trusted him enough to be honest with her.
Early morning passed and before she knew it, mid afternoon hit. Taking a break from packing for her trip, she told herself to go out and get some fresh air. Maybe being cooped up all day had been a contributing factor to misery and so she left the warmth of her apartment, telling herself a brief walk around the park would calm her nerves, but she didn't make it that far.
Sat on the floor, just opposite, the apartment right across from her, she saw it. The newspaper her neighbour must have subscribed to and hadn't be home to take it inside their own place yet. And like it was mocking her, she found her eyes drawn to the black and white print, an unmistakable image burnt on the front page.
Now, usually, tabloid gossip was of no interest to her. She really had very little interest in what celebrities were getting upto in their free time. Then she realised she must have been a hypocrite because when the picture showed the undisputable snapshot of her lover, pressed tight against a beautiful goddess, sharing a sly smile she thought he had reserved just for her, she suddenly changed her mind.
People had warned her, men like Michael don't do monogamy. He's too young, too famous, the world was at his feet and settling down would be a disservice. How idiotic had she been to call them cynical, to push aside any doubt and run straight towards him with nothing blind trust?
She remembered asking him about it once and how he replied innocent enough, assuring her that he wasn't like that, that women throwing themselves at him made him uncomfortable. He was too shy, too nervous.
But then again, this was no ordinary women. No, those dark eyes and beautiful curls were brunt into her memory.
'MICHAEL AND DIANA: FROM MENTOR TO LOVER?'
She wanted to throw up.
Every trace of rationality left her body as she watched her hands pluck the paper from her neighbour's welcome mat, stealing the item with very little thought and instsntly turning on her heel to let herself back into her apartment.
Back in the safety of her own home, she gave herself a second or two to calm her nerves, not yet noticing the shaking foundation of her hands or the rapid beating of her heart against her ribcage.
It couldn't be true. He wouldn't do it.
Would he?
For a few minutes, the entirety of her weight leaned carelessly against the door, eyes cletched shut as she willed herself to relax. She couldn't break before she knew the truth, so with a deep breath and a strong thirst for gospel, she forced herself to move, to sit down and read the entire article from beginning to end.
The words hit like lightening against water. Painful and damaging as the writer detailed the events of the night before. How Diana Ross had been spotted at the Jackson's Victory tour, polished and proud for the boys she'd watched grown into stars, how she sang and dance along, then slipped backstage mid-performance and ultimately found herself leading Michael up to her hotel room straight after curtain call.
Flaky witnesses reported seeing them close, all hands and flirty exchanges. Of course, this could be nothing more than a fabrication. After all, the photo didn't show anything outwardly damning, but she knew Michael, she knew that look and it was far from friendly.
Ice filled her veins, a sudden coldness deverstating her from the inside out. Had this been the reason he's been so agonisingly distant with her lately?
He wanted Diana. She's known that and like an idiot, she had allowed fate to make a victim of her. Just like Stephanie Mills had.
Like her, Michael had dated the young Broadway star not too long before he'd been cast in 'The Wiz' alongside Diana. Stephanie (who played the leading role on stage) had been the expected to take the role of Dorothy in the movie production and then suddenly, she was out of the picture, the rug pulled from under her feet. Diana got the part and brought Michael into the picture with the promise of making him the Cowardly Lion.
Shortly after the contracts were drawn, his realtionship with Stephanie fizzled out and the two went their separate ways.
Once, she had asked him if the end of that particular realtionship had anything to do with Diana. At the time, he smiled shyly and denied it, but the recent article had her rethinking every word he had ever spoke to her.
Had he love her at all? Was she just a place holder until the real thing came along?
It hit like a punch to the gut and before she even had time to process when she had just read, she felt a familiar streak of wetness trickle down her cheek. She was crying and she hated herself for not being able to stop.
Despite not yet having lost him, she knew this couldn't last and it hurt. The first man she had ever truly loved and he played her just as easily as he played his favourite song. Was that all she was to him? A temporary distraction?
Time stretched. Crying herself into a heavy migraine, she didn't move an inch. The newspaper still sat on her lap forty five minutes later and with one last lingering glance, she knew what she had to do.
Until now, she hadn't bothered calling Michael. It was a difficult process while he was on the road, but not entirely impossible. Before he had left, he's passed along numbers, given her code words and fake names to bypass any security in case she really did need to talk to him and at this point, she absolutely needed to hear his voice.
Standing on shaky legs, her body stiff from sitting in the same position for too long, she forced her feet forward, the walk across the room feeling more like a marathon than a simple five second journey. Reaching for the landline, her body slid down the wall, knees coming to her chest as she dialled.
The process to speak to Michael on the phone was a lengthy one, and truthfully, she hadn't processed or remembered most of it. Time seemed to drag as slow as possible while simultaneously passing by in a distinctive blur. Whoever had been playing security in the measures of Jackson phone calls eventually let up and told her they would be passing the call forward.
Nerves began to bubble before she fully registered what was about to happen. Her mind a swirl of printed words and painful glimpses of a smile that should have been hers.
The ringing that once whould've provided hope, only brought along dread and for one brief, tempting moment, she seriously contemplated hanging up and dealing with the issue another day. She didn't have to do this now. Before she could even attempt to bring the reciever down, the ringing stopped and for a second, she was greeted with clumsy rustling.
He'd picked up.
"Hello?"
The familiarity of his voice only aided in furthering the devastation she felt, the welling of tears she stubbornly refused to let fall. When he heard no reply, Michael spoke in greeting again. As the silence lingered, he seriously considering hanging up but then he heard the subtle heavy breath and realised, he knew exactly who that was.
A soft call of her name was all it took and suddenly she felt like a scared child during a nightmare, lost, confused and needing to tackle the beast head on.
"Baby, are you there?" To his credit, Michael actually did sound concerned.
And she hated it.
Did he not know? He seemed entirely oblivious to headlines currently making their way into the average American household. Maybe he really hadn't seen it, but she couldn't be sure she trusted anything he said or did anymore.
"Yeah." She spoke for the first time, clearing her throat and resting her chin against her knees. "I'm here."
"Hey." She could hear the smile in his tone. "Are you all packed? I can't wait to see you tomorrow. Bill will meet you at the airport and you ca-"
Unable to listen to his ramblings of a visit she wasn't sure would happen, she found herself cutting him off. "Is it true?"
For a second, there was nothing. He didn't speak or hum in confusion, he stayed so quite. So quite, she could barley hear the small breaths of air pass through his mouth
"Huh?" He eventually spoke, though the word lacked conviction.
"Is it true?" She repeated, eyes screwed shut, voice completely void of emotion.
"Is what true?"
He played the fool well, she would give him that.
"Last night." Her voice wavered. "You and Diana. Is it true?"
He paused and it was heavy. No playful taunts or amused laughter. Just a hefty silence where his voice should have been.
"I mean, she came to the show." Michael eventually confessed and she could hear the distinct sound of his black loafers hit the floor as he paced back and fourth. "I told you she would."
"Yeah." A bitter laugh passed through her lips. "What you didn't tell me was how you would find yourself in her hotel room by the end of the night."
A painful gasp tore through his throat and only further perpetuated the ache in her chest. He knew now and he hadn't denied it, he couldn't. She could picture the way he looked when he was stressed, brows furrowed inwards, begging to be soothed with a gentle touch, but she wasn't there and even if she had been, she no longer felt obligated ease his tension when she could feel the pain of her own heart breaking.
"H-how?" His voice cracked. Quickly clearing his throat, Michael closed his eyes and then found the courage to speak again. "How did- how did you know?"
With an unflattering chuckle, her head hit the wall behind her, eyes snapping open to view the plain, white ceiling above her. "And here I thought you were always so vigilant of the paparazzi."
For a moment, Michael forgot how to breath. They'd seen, she'd seen and he's always promised himself, he would never hurt her. Shuffling on his feet, usually he knew what to do to make tense moment fall into laughter ― it was the way he survived, but right here, right now, he was met with the realisation that there really was nothing funny to laugh about.
"Just tell me ―" The words in her throat broke before she was able to form a full sentence. With an unsteady breath and tears welling against her waterline, she tried again. "Just tell me, did something happen between you two last night?"
What greeted her wasn't a confession. He didn't grovel or admit he was at fault, but the heavy silence that lingered between the phoneline told her everything he refused say with words. He'd done it, been intimate with a women that wasn't her and now he didn't have guts to confess his sins.
Before she could stop it, a tear slipped and anger swelled, ugly and unwelcome. Michael hadn't uttered a word and somehow, that felt worse, like he was running from responsibility or hoping she was too stupid to call him out on it.
"Tell me, you coward!" Her voice seethed, but while the angry was present, there was no mistaking the deverstation that lingered beneath. "Tell me why! Why would you do this to me?"
No matter how hard she tried, she could never imagine a situation where things would have transpired this way. They'd been happy, she knows they had been.
Every time they were together, a beacon of hope suddenly lit the world around them. That gorgous smile of his rarely fell and he trusted her enough to keep his secrets. That must mean something. Michael didn't really trust anyone.
At some point, he must have loved her, for all that was worth.
Eventually, the shock wore off and he found himself able to talk. "I'm sorry."
"You're sorry?" She mocked with an cruel scoff. Picking at the loose thread on her jeans, her gaze fell still. "Why? Tell me."
Like the air had been vacuumed out of the room, she suddenly found it hard to breath. Every inhale burnt, every exhaled required too much effort. Wiping the wetness from her cheek, she felt the weight of the conversation breaking her down.
"I don't have a good answer." Michael breathed out, frozen like stone as he looked out the window of his hotel to a beautiful view of New York. It did nothing for him. How could he admire anything after huring someone he held so dear? "Not one that will make sense."
"I don- I don't care. I d-deserve to know." Suttering and fumbling over her words, she vowed to get an answer out of him one way or another. "Why did you do this? A-all I ever did was love you."
"I don't want to make excuses." His voice had never sounded so fragile before. "For as long as I've known Diana, she..." Like he didn't know how to continue his sentence, the words lost momentum and came to a sudden halt.
"She?"
Releasing a small whimper, Michael closed his eyes. "Please don't make me say this."
"If you don't tell me," she started, her voice hoarse but serious in tone. "I'm hanging up."
"No!" Panic and desperation mixed into a deverstating plea. "No. D-don't hang up."
"Then stop stalling."
"Okay." He found himself nodding, though she couldn't see. Pacing back and fourth once again, Michael finally convinced himself to bare the truth. "Since I've know her... I don't know, it's like she has me under a spell. People thought it was some childhood crush, I tried to tell myself the same, that it would fade with time, but it didn't."
And it had been true.
The harmless crush he had on Diana in his youth had never been a secret. They'd joked about it plenty of times, in the press or on TV. At the time, it seemed sweet, a little boy infatuated with his mentor.
Then seasons passed and he grew older. So had she, but suddenly the age gap didn't seem quite so large. The crush hadn't faded, but certainly felt forbidden, so Michael kept his thoughts and strong emotions to himself, assuming she would never want him.
That was until last night.
"Keep going."
"I don't know what to say." He admitted. "She means something to me."
"You love her." She spoke flat. Not in a questioning tone, but as though it was a straight fact no one could deny.
"I d-don't know." And as Michael said it, he hated himself for it.
Here he had this beautiful, incredible, funny women and she liked him, truly liked him as Michael and not the big star the world had built him into. She comforted when he was upset, held him when he was lonely, she told him stories of other worlds to read him to sleep and loved him more purely than anyone else ever had.
She wanted nothing from him and here he was, breaking her heart.
"You wouldn't have done this if you didn't." He heard the exhaustion in her voice, but nothing could have prepared him for what she asked next. "What happened last night?"
The world tilted on it's axis. Did she want him to relive it?
His heart pouted, hot tears threatening to fall loose as he recounted the night in his mind until the physical need to vomit presented itself.
"You're not serious." He muttered.
"Not the gory details." She assured, wanting to spare herself more than him from that particular aspect. "Just the build up. I want to know why. What lead you to follow her when you knew I was waiting for you?"
Michael uttered her name, delicate and precise. Maybe if he said it soft enough, she would take mercy on him, but he knew he didn't deserve it and that thought alone provoked the first tear to fall.
"I really don't want to talk about this."
He was shy in nature and she knew it. Talking about the intimate details of his late night escapades would've been hell, but she didn't let up. If she did, she provided him an out and that was something she couldn't afford.
"You owe me this much, Michael."
With a quivering sigh, he found himself submitting entirely to her request. To deny her would only cause more heartache and he couldn't stand it. Her pain brought more tears from the both of them as he explained the lead up to the night before.
How Diana appeared before the show and met with him backstage. It was fun and playful. A little flirtation back and fourth was nothing new with the two of them, but this felt different. Her touched lingered, her gaze had darkened. She had been zoning in like a wild animal hunting its prey. When he noticed, Michael excused himself to get ready for the show, shy and awkward with the thought of his lover back home.
While he was getting dressed, she'd taken it upon herself to speak with his brothers, light banter, nothing like it had been with him and then when Michael came back out, she hugged him for good luck and pressed a kiss against the corners of his mouth. Not necessarily any indication she wanted anything more and from a distance, it would have looked innocent enough, but he had noticed the longing gleam in her eyes and knew there was nothing holy about the thoughts she'd been having.
He turned towards her, confused but excited as she promised she would be waiting for him backstage after the show.
The particular perfomance was full of energy. Michael had always been on top form, but there was a very distinct spring in his step that night and once he left the stage, dripping in sweat and desperate for a shower, there she was: waiting for him just as she promise.
One thing lead to another. Excited hands, a first kiss and then the invitation to her hotel. It was like the world had closed off and they were the only two people in the world.
So blinded by a childhood fantasy coming true, Michael forgot all about the paparazzi swarming and the women waiting for him in LA.
Once the deed was done, guilt swarmed and he politely excused himself and later vomited in the bathroom, but he couldn't take it back, no matter how hard he tried.
As he concluded the tale in deveratating detail, a tidal wave of misery washed over both of them. A sob of agony ripped from her lungs and Michael, sitting on his bed with her head hung low, wanted nothing more than to die in that moment.
What had he done?
"Funny thing is, she doesn't even want me." He admitted with a bittersweet laugh as if that would make up for his indiscretions.
"What?" She spoke for the first time in what felt like hours, voice rough from the tears she'd spilt.
"She told me after..." he began, squeezing his eyes tight at the memory. "that i-it meant nothing to her, no one could know, that it was embarrassing she even went there with me."
For reasons even she couldn't comprehend, her heart broke for him despite what he had put her through because on some level, she understood Michael.
He wanted to be loved, craved a life where he was treated as more than a prize horse and was accepted by those around him, not only as an equal but as a human being.
He's been used by the industry from the age of five and treated like nothing more than a shiny trophy for the world to gawp at. Having Diana dangle her love just to snatch it away would have broken him in ways he never thought possible, but if she comforted him, she would have nothing left for herself. For the first time in over a year, she had to be selfish.
The ache in her chest felt worse than it ever had before and with an ugly sniffle, she resisted the urge to tell him things would be okay.
Whiping a neverending stream of tears, she responded with a simple: "Well, I hope it was worth it."
And it was in that moment, he heard it. The lack of emotion now tainting her words. Every ounce of warmth she had ever held for him blown out by the cold truth of his betrayal and Michael felt the air leave his lungs when he realised what that meant.
He didn't want to lose her. He couldn't.
"Please." He spoke in a desperate attemmpt to win her back. "I love you."
"No you don't." Her laugh barley had any bite to it, but still stung from miles away. "You love how I love you. That's not the same."
There had been no real harshness in the words she spoke, but his blood ran cold, like a bucket of ice water had been thrown over his head and he was expected not to shiver.
It wasn't true, he did love her. She had to know.
She had to.
"No, I love you." He furiously protested.
"You wouldn't do this to someone you love."
"It was a careless mistake! I don't want to lose you." Michael rarely raised his voice, but there are exceptions to every rule. "Fly out tonight like we planned. We-we can talk it over. I can- I can make this right." He spoke fast, like if he could get enough words in, she would see reason and he wouldn't face a version of reality where she didn't exist.
"Are you crazy? Listen to yourself." She scoffed. "Why the hell would I fly out? We're done. Don't contact me again."
With a harsh slam, the phonecall ended and with it, so did any hope of the two of them as a couple.
Finally, she let it all go. If she had been sobbing before, it was nothing compared to the barrage of tears now streaming at an alarming rate. Her heart pounded, her throat ached with heavy cries, but nothing could've prepared her for the loneliness that descended over her like a dark cloud.
This wasn't as simple as losing a boyfriend, Michael had been another part of her and now they didn't even have the trust of a friendship to fall back on.
Alone in her apartment, she allowed the sadness to overwhelm her, refusing to move as she cried against the wall with her knees tucked to her chest and her face buried in the stiff denim. Her arms wrapped around herself as if that could protect her from a devastating fate that had already happened, but it was too late. You can't change the past.
An inky black hue stained the sky over Los Angeles, not a single star gleaming in sight, but there was no denial that night time had finally fallen.
In the early hours, the last thing the quite halls of a tired apartment bulding had expected to hear was the deafening sound of frantic, pounding knocks ricocheting from apartment twelve.
No one had the courage to step out into the hallway, but if they had, they would've been greeted with a rather peculiar sight of a desperate Michael Jackson, exhausted from an impulsive six hour flight, calling the name of his girlfriend through the door like a prayer.
He hadn't thought things through properly. The moment she hung up, he had rushed to his feet and ran to find Bill. His bodyguard confused, but unable to refuse the restless pop stars request to go back home.
He had a show that night. His brothers would've been livid and he dreaded to think the repercussions he would face with Joseph's wrath once he returned, but none of it seemed to matter in the large scale when he realised he was about to lose the best thing thst happened to him.
Ten minutes of unanswered knocking and aching calling of her name, Michael didn't know what to do. He couldn't force his way inside, that would only worsen the situation and so instead, he did the one thing that scared him more than anything. He became vulnerable.
"Please." He called out, the palm of his hand settling on the wood grain of her door. "I know you're in there. I saw your car in the lot."
Nothing.
His heart clentched painfully in his chest, fear rooted deep with the knowledge that if he couldn't get her to open the door, he might never see her again.
"Come on, you know me." A string of tears fell beneath the black aviators he wrote depiste the darkness of the night. "I'm not malicious and I would never want to hurt you. You've been so good to me, so good for me. I don't like who I am when you're not around."
His pleas went unanswered, but little did he know, only an inch or two away, she sat against the door in a pair of oversized pyjamas, a hand covering her mouth and nose to muffle the cries that broke lose. She was there, she was listening and he had absolutely no idea.
"Remember when you kissed me for the first time?" He cried, head hanging low while recounting that moment twelve months prior. "I'd been too scared to do it. My brothers had been teasing me for weeks, calling me a chicken and they were right because I was scared... not of you, but what it meant if I were to kiss you and have you reject it. It would've meant I'd lose you... really lose you, not as a partner, but as a friend too and I couldn't risk that."
"But I didn't need to." He continued, lips quivering with each breath he took. "Because you were brave enough for both of us, you took the leap and I remember thinking, 'wow, she's going to change my life.' And you did... from the very first time I saw you in the library, wearing that awful grey sweatshirt. For the first time in a long time, I felt human again."
Still, nothing, just the aching sound of his own stubborn tears refusing to let up and who was he to deny them? He's never felt a sadness so strong and entirely consuming. She was slipping from him, he could feel it and every second felt like a year without her voice.
"Please, just- just open the door." He tried one last time. "We can fix this. I can. I'm so sorry I hurt you. You mean everything to me."
When he was young, Michael had promised himself he would never turn out like his father, he would never purposefully hurt the people he loved. He had been so sure of himself too. In hindsight, looking on at the devestaion inflicted by his actions, maybe he was Joseph's son after all.
With no indication that she was even inside, Michael stepped back, arms around his stomach like he could hold himself together through willpower alone even as the pieces of him crumbled from within.
Until now, Bill had remained quiet, but slowly he inched closer and placed a comforting hand on the younger man's shoulders.
"Come on, kid, let's get you home." He spoke in a kindness only Bill held. "You can try again tomorrow."
And while he knew that to be true, he also realised how low the probability was that she would actually hear him out of she had already refused.
Allowing the safety of a man he regarded as a father to lead him outside, Michael could barley remember stepping into the car nor the exhausting journey back to Hayvenhurst. One second he was standing at her door and the next he was walking into his own home.
What he hadn't expected was to find his oldest sister, Rebbie to be awake at this hour. She turned to face the door, unable to see his eyes behind the glasses but she could sense the cruel pain plaguing her brothers half breathless frame.
"Get some sleep, Mike." She muttered after giving him a brief hug, telling him they could talk about this in the morning once he had caught his bearings.
Michael nodded and began to walk down the hall to find his own room when his sibling called his name once again.
Turning on his heel, exhausted and wanting nothing more than to lock himself away for the rest of eternity, he gave Rebbie a small nod of acknowledgment. "Yeah?"
"You're friends stopped by earlier... gave me a box of your stuff. I put it in your room."
Eyes widening with in inpending terror, Michael took off as fast as his feet would carry him and tore through his bedroom.
Everything looked the same. He hoarded books and albums, his room was never the most organised, but everything had a place that made sense to him. He knew where things were, which is why the cardboard box sitting on his bed felt so out of place.
Heavy legs carried him forward and with a shaking hand, he reached out to inspect the contents.
A stray comic book or two, a sketchbook he would doodle in from time to time, a key chain from his last trip to Disneyland and then he saw something painful enough to knock the breath from his lungs and bring his world crashing down.
He never thought that in the absence of her presence, the thing that would truly cause his heart to break would be what remained.
There it sat, folded neatly at the bottom of the box, stretched neckline and still smelling just like her ― his old white, t-shirt, the same one she stole the first night they shared together. She'd claimed it along with his heart... and now she'd given it back.
It felt wrong, like it no longer belonged to him.
Then he heard it again, those words echoed through hus mind, sure to haunt him for the rest of his life.
"You love how I love you. It's not the same... We're done. don't contact me again."
He's lost her and there was no one to blame but himself.
yuji, was sprawled out on your shared bed. his legs spread wide. along with you in between them, the room filled with loud obscene sounds, his cock hitting the back of your throat. with each buck of his hips.
"justtt like that, baby..." yuji, says between a strangled moan. your eyes are starting to water, taking practically all of his length down your throat, you swore his tip was kissing deep in the back of your throat. that's what it felt like at least, yuji was relentless. hips bucking desperately, chasing his release like oxygen.
you try to move your head. just the slightest, but that resorted into your head getting held down, by his palm. "no, you're going to listen to me, alright?" he pants out, yuji pushes his cock deeper into your mouth, your throat immediately constricts around his shaft, invitingly.
god, just the simple way the warmth of your mouth feels around his girth. drives him insane.
your face his buried, in between his thighs, tongue licking all over his girth, desperately taking his length into your throat, you feel his precum pool all over your tongue. a low muffled "mmph." was the only sound. that could escape your mouth, around his cock.
yuji's hand rises down, to land a slap across your cheek, causing you to moan around his girth. you felt your eyes roll into the back of your head, "fuck... baby, you like that?"
you almost felt shame, because of the tone of his voice. it was degrading, he sounded disgusted in a way, like he was in disbelief. but that's the thing that turned you on most. the most you could manage was a simple nod. you pull back from his cock, your lips covered in his precum, saliva dripping down onto your chin, "you're so pathetic." he brings a hand down to where he slapped your reddened cheek, caressing the soft skin slowly.
"you like being slapped? huh?" it wasn't a question, it was a statement. because yuji, already knew the answer, "i never told you to stop sucking." he pushes your head back down roughly. before you could reply, causing you to, instantly gag onto his length again.
your throat, greedily takes him in. your hands stroking at the base of what can't fit into your mouth, yuji's hand grips your head down, preventing you from pulling back. hips bucking roughly. into the wet warmth.
"i'm close... you'll swallow it all." he wasn't asking, yuji was telling you, you nod immediately. bobbing your head faster. not caring if you choke anymore. his hand roughly guides your head, tugging onto your hair, "fuck... fuck... fuck..." yuji's head tips back against the headboard. you can feel the throb in his cock, precum leaking onto you tongue. you greedily swallow preparing your throat, for his cum.
"agh... fuck, don't stop." yuji cums with a loud groan, holding your head in place, impaling your face deeper into his cock, warm spurts land onto your tongue. coating your tongue semi white, he lifts his head up for a moment, before his eyes land onto you.
"you okay pretty?" he pants out, coming down from his high slowly, you nod. before pulling back. saliva dripping down ont his shaft, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, "that... was a lot." he slaps your cheek again at that, "would you rather me spit on you?" yuji questioned slowly, "ugh. try it." a low chuckle escaped his lips, "next time. i don't want you passing out on me now, sweets."
"maybe, next time you should let me pass out on it."
authors note: ugh sorry if this is bad, i literally had to write this in a rush for myself no lie, i was desperate after seeing that animated.
Stepdad!Toji “teaches” you how to take his massive dick
cw: 18+ mdni, smut no plot, stepdad!Toji, slightly!tipsy!reader so, dub-con, tummy buldge, age gap (24 yo reader, 40 year old Toji, cheating.
If you were tipsy before, you were definitely sober now.
You took two (separate) shots of vodka while mindlessly watching some movie that had a sex scene in it. A one off, silly little joke.
“God, I need to learn how to do that.”
The girl in the movie was riding her boyfriend, you’d seen better in the porn you’d watched but the guy was moaning and groaning— that’s what you wanted to do. Have a man fucked out and delirious over you.
“Wanna learn?” Toji takes a sip of his beer, staring at you across the couch.
You scuff, shifting towards him, “Yeah.” You were just talking in general though, right? Not to him, not to your mom’s husband… right? you were used to having casual small talk with the man, he was, alright… Did you find him in your room more than once? Sure. Having to snap in his face when he stared for too long? That happens sometimes with casual aquantences. Staring at his back was we worked out in the backyard, sweat dripping down his flushed skin, every muscles flexing as he lifts the weight in his hand, — he’s attractive. Your mom has taste. Have you thought about it? Having your way with the old bastard—
“But I don’t have a boyfriend to learn,” you brush the thoughts off, “soon though.”
“Yeah, baby, soon.” He leered.
Didn’t even realize the man had been measuring right where his cockhead would be popping out of your stomach as you continued watching the movie. His green eyes trailed up the fat of your thighs, to the curve hips, your tits bound by the thin undershirt you wore, nipples peaking through. To that beautiful face he definitely stared to long at, curls rounding your face.
Movie didn’t even finish by the time he had you on your bed, legs spread wide as he rubbed your pretty pussy, letting the gush of your cunt rub the tip of the or so thin condom he had on.
You breath hitches, turning your head to face him while your needy hole gaped, “I-I thought you said you’d teach me Toji!”
Toji smacks his lips, flicking your pearl that makes your hole squeeze together, more of that sweet mess coming out that the man is dying to lap up, “You gotta learn t’ take it first, don’t you mama?”
Toji slowly fucks himself in your tight cunt, one hand on your hip and the other wrapped around your ankle, using it as leverage to nudge himself deeper and deeper inside you. The way his cock completly stretches you out inch by inch that as your toes curling, jaw slack and screaming. He’s got that devilish grin on him, giving your ass a harsh smack that makes you pulse. He’s tongue licks his pink lips, head tilting to the side, watching you try to climb up the bed, “Come back here doll face,” he shudders, guiding you back down his length.
He snickers, “Can’t be so fuckin loud, what if your ma comes home?”
Who comes home? You can barley think, the way youre being stuffed full of Tojis curved dick, drool dripping down the side of your mouth as Toji pumps himself in and out, such a perfect rhythm that gets better and better by the second. “Fuuck youre so deep ji, so full!” You moan.
“You love it don’t you pretty?”
“Mmm-ack- I love it so muuuch!” You keen that almost makes the vein Tojis thick cock pulse.
He hums, calloused hand pressing down on your back, “Then arch it for me, show your Daddy just how much you want it.”
You let out a gurgled moan, arching your back into the dovishly delicious way, ass perched high and plump, making Toji swing his hips into you yours, rough, in one full motion reaching the deepest sweet spots.
Your eyes lock on the older man, curls tossed to the side, can’t help but mewl a the the feeling of him inside you, stars in your big brown eyes, “A-am I doing it right Toji?”
He can’t help but grip your hips tights, your sloppy pussy taking every pound that he slamming into you, slick dripping down his balls, “Shit baby- youre a fuckin natural.”
Toji hisses, pulling your curls and up the bed, “Think you can fuck me back? Hm doll, show me what a good learner you are.”
The sound of the headboard hitting against the wall is loud, clawing at Tojis thigh while you throw your ass back against his toned muscles. Your combined grunts and groans fills the room, his tip bruising your g-spot with every thrust. Your squeezing down his length every time your roll your hips, hypnotic, watching as Toji throws his head back Adams apple bobbing.
“God, you fuckin nasty girl.” He groans, another smack coming down on your ass.
You bite your lip, “Anngh- You love it.”
Yeah, yeah, Toji does love it, being surrounded in this sweet cunt that just can’t get enough of him, loving the sultry looks his damn step-daughter is giving him while she fucks him silly. Likes the way your tits swing with every thrust, the bulge that forms when he’s knocking against your cervix the way you could moan his name over and over and over, he grits his teeth, abs tightening, “Fuck, hck- baby, fuck!”
Tojis thrusts faster inside you, cock massaging your walls so perfectly, you can feel electricity running through you, gushing and wetting Toji with your slick completely. His white sticky cum fills the condom, so warm inside you as Toji slips out.
Toji hears the front door slam shut, the call of your mother. The end of his scarred lip curving upward, ruffling your hair, “ ‘ll teach you how to ride next lesson, alright kid?”
Pairing: SoftBoyfriend!Sukuna x insecure!reader
cw: fem!reader, mentions of body insecurity, chest, comfort fluff, worship, Soft Sukuna, light mentions of smut, lace lingerie
For the lovely: @cutestgirllyyyuu <3
Request for my Interlaced event
You had always been insecure about your body.
The comments you heard about it throughout your childhood and teenage years stuck with you more than you'd like to admit.
Especially the ones about your chest.
You couldn't control that, when you looked "more developed" than your friends or other girls your age.
Always sexualized by boys or getting odd looks from men, you grew to hate it.
Only wearing baggy clothes and avoiding swimming in the summer, don't even get me started on sleepovers or events where you had to dress more formal.
You thought you'd never get a boyfriend because of this, how unsure you were about your own skin.
They say you shouldn't love someone before you loved yourself.
You guess you got lucky.
Starting university you struggled to make friends, besides this one guy.
You were paired with him for some creative presentation.
His eyes only looked at your face, even if he looked a bit scary- those red irises and tattoos all over.
But he never once opened his mouth to drop a lewd comment or vile remark.
A stupid crush started to form.
You really liked Sukuna, spending lunch with him outside on a bench.
He smoked while you ate your sandwich.
He became something that made you feel more secure in yourself- even if Sukuna didn't know it.
He thought you were a shy mouse hanging by a big cat. In a good way.
After a few months of this, he asked you out.
You will never forget the bashful look on his face, and the little card he drew of your cute face as a gift.
Your face, he adored it.
Loved seeing you smile or how your expressions changed when he spoke to you.
Never your body.
It was bound to happen, it was his birthday and you wanted to surprise him.
You've seen a bunch of girlfriends buying lacy lingerie to wear for their boyfriends as gifts.
You had bought one that was like a sheer babydoll dress, the cups for the chest sheer and frilly.
What was supposed to be a romantic surprise ended up with you crying in the bathroom, not wanting to come out.
You had told him to wait in the bedroom, that you had to get something.
You changed into the pretty outfit- and your body just didn't look right.
A few soft knocks came from behind the door.
"Hey… i can hear you crying, yknow. What's wrong, baby?"
"…"
"Babe… unlock the door."
You turned the lock, hands moving to cover your chest and stomach. Your face having an embarrassed look, tears still pearling down your cheeks, gnawing on the inside of your cheek to try to calm down.
Sukuna just looked at your face, his own features shifting from a frown to a more gentle look.
Your face, he didn't even look down once.
"Baby… why are you crying?" He mumbled, stepping inside and reaching large palms to cup your sad face, wiping away the tears.
"Suku… i just.. hic.. wanted to surprise you… but i look so bad, I'm so sorry.."
Sukuna sighed, placing a small kiss to your temple, finally looking down to what you were trying to hide.
A hand slid down from your face to lightly pry your shaking arms off of your front, wanting to see.
"You're beautiful. You know i love how you look. Don't hide from me."
You sniffled, shifting to move closer, hugging him and hiding your face in his chest.
"You look real good…really good, now stop crying." Sukuna wrapped his arms around you, pulling you flush to him.
He guided you back to the bed, turning the lights low so you wouldn't feel too exposed.
Sukuna sat you on his lap, tender eyes looking over the lacy fabric, hands worshiping your sides, your chest, fingers running across your thighs. A palm feeling your soft flesh and tummy.
You never liked letting anyone see your body, but the way Sukuna looked at you… made you feel bashful and wanted.
He made sure you were comfortable, letting you take your time with things.
Making love with him felt so special, like your souls tangling up in one another. Soft kisses meeting and sweet nothings exchanged.
Suku was a happy birthday boy.
And you felt the burdens of your insecurities slowly vanish.
Yoon's notes: maybe i should just start venting in my fics this was so healing to write
giving streamer!choso head while he’s mid-stream !
choso’s streaming setup glowed softly in the dim room, purple led lights casting shadows across his face. his voice was low and calm as always while he played a horror game on screen.
“yeah, this part always gets me,” he murmured into the mic, clicking away. “chat’s saying it’s not even scary but y’all are lying.”
the chat scrolled fast on his second monitor.
satomiu: BRO your voice is doing things to me rn.
dolcevitadori: he looks extra breedable today😋😋
sukunathesetitties: EYES ON THE GAME CHOSO
m4mooonie: why is he gripping the mouse like it owes him money LMAO
you were hidden under his desk, kneeling between his spread thighs, fingers slowly tugging down the waistband of his black sweatpants. choso didn’t flinch. only the slight tightening of his jaw gave him away.
he was already half-hard when you pulled him out, thick and heavy in your hand. you looked up at him with a mischievous smile. his eyes flicked down for half a second—dark and warning—before returning to the screen.
“i’m good, chat. just focused,” he said, voice steady.
you leaned in and dragged your tongue slowly up the underside of his cock. choso’s breath hitched. his left hand left the keyboard, resting on the arm of his chair.
godhatesyouandi: why did he just stop moving💀
effervescent-dream: ts glitching so bad bruh
prized-jules: bro why is he blushing
lewisyonce: we hearing wet sounds or am i tripping👀
you took him into your mouth, slow and wet, lips stretching around his thickness. choso exhaled through his nose, long and controlled.
“fuck—this jump scare got me,” he lied smoothly, voice dropping a little lower. “almost died there.”
you hollowed your cheeks and sank deeper, taking more of him until he nudged the back of your throat. his cock twitched hard against your tongue. you moaned softly around him, the vibration making his thigh tense.
roseoftheflora: HIS VOICE CRACKED LMAOOOO
throatgoatt444: chat… i think our boy is getting his dick sucked rn
professionalgooner67: the way he just leaned back in his chairrrr
chososleftnut: WE ARE HEARING WET SOUNDS CONFIRMED
you started bobbing your head faster, sucking him with wet, filthy sounds only he could hear clearly. one hand stroked what your mouth couldn’t reach while the other gently massaged his balls. choso’s breathing grew heavier. he leaned back in his chair, trying (and failing) to look normal for the camera.
“alright… let’s move to the next area,” he said, voice noticeably rougher. his free hand dropped under the desk, fingers threading into your hair and gripping tight as you sucked him harder.
chosobabieboo: bro is fighting for his LIFE
normanfckingrockwell: CHOSO BLUSHING IS MY NEW RELIGION
dolcevitadori: if this man moans on stream i’m donating $100
you looked up at him, eyes watering, lips glossy and stretched around his cock. choso glanced down quickly, eyes burning with lust.
“keep going like that and i’m ending stream early,” he muttered under his breath, barely audible.
you smiled around him and took him all the way to the back of your throat, swallowing around his length. choso’s grip in your hair tightened as his hips twitched forward once.
“shit—okay chat, i’m getting tired,” he said suddenly, voice strained. “might cut this one short tonight.”
squirttttdemon: NOOOOO STAY WITH US
curseduserrr69: bro is about to bust I KNOW IT
satomiu: someone clip this immediately
you worked him faster, sucking harder, desperate to push him over. choso’s thighs started trembling.
“fuck…” he whispered, barely audible. then louder for chat, “yeah, i’m tapping out. thanks for hanging with me. love y’all.”
he slammed the “end stream” button right as his cock pulsed hard in your mouth. thick, hot spurts of cum flooded your throat. you swallowed every drop, moaning softly around him while he shook through his orgasm, teeth clenched, head tipped back against the chair.
the stream went black.
choso let out a long, shaky breath, fingers still tangled in your hair. he looked down at you—lips swollen, eyes glassy, and chin a little messy—and pulled you up into his lap.
“you’re actually insane,” he muttered, voice hoarse, pressing his forehead to yours. “almost made me moan live on stream.”
you smiled, kissing the corner of his mouth. “you held it together pretty well, baby.”
he kissed you properly, deep and slow, tasting himself on your tongue. his arms wrapped tight around your waist.
“get on the bed,” he said against your lips, voice low and dangerous. “i’m nowhere near done with you yet.”
you shivered in his lap, excitement blooming low in your stomach as he stood up, lifting you with him.
❤︎ thank you to everyone who let me use their username for this !
Modulo!Yuji who has outlived every single person he’s ever loved—trapped in the same body for over sixty years. He’s been around the world, met countless people, fought for the safety of generations that came and went while he stayed.
He’s bigger now. Taller. His face is set in a permanent frown, eyes dark and stoic, heavy with things he’ll never say out loud. He keeps a low profile, living a quiet, wandering life.
Modulo!Yuji, who is tired of living.
Who has seen everything. Felt everything.
And yet, he always comes back to that one shady strip club—the one filled with low-lives and cheap booze.
Just to see his favorite stripper.
He comes in at least once a week, hood pulled up, hands shoved into his pockets as he scans the room for the pretty thing who somehow managed to catch his attention—and keep it.
He takes you to the familiar dark room in the back. He leans against the chair, silent, as you move your body in that way that makes his heart race, blood rushing through him—something he hasn’t felt in years.
Your skin shines beneath the dim lights, slick with glittered oil. Your chest nearly spills from your top, your thong covering almost nothing as you grind down on him. Slow and controlled.
You ask no questions. You don’t linger. You don’t try to talk him into staying, or question when he’ll be back.
You give him exactly what he needs in the moment.
A release from being the strongest sorcerer alive.
Modulo!Yuji is weighing extremely heavy on my mind.
Personal Trainer!Toji who doesn’t know why the hell he agreed to a party one of his clients had invited him to.
He stopped drinking years ago, and don’t even get him started on smoking. He quit that life a long time ago and now lives on a strict routine of early mornings, clean meals, heavy lifts, work and home. Same thing every day.
And this?
This was little kid shit.
Loud slurred chatter, drunken laughter, people packed too close together in a place that smelled like sweat, liquor, and cheap smoke. His client, some young businessman with too much money and too much confidence, had insisted he come. Been on his ass for weeks about it too.
Toji didn’t even know why he agreed. Maybe it was Megumi’s constant teasing—always on his ass about how he didn’t have any friends besides that good-for-nothing Shiu. Maybe it was the fact that all he ever did was work, train, and spend the rest of his time making sure Megumi stayed on track for college.
Whatever the reason, it led him here.
Staring down at the prettiest thing he’d seen all night.
Your skin glowed with a thin layer of sweat under the low lights, hair loose in its most natural state, and an easy smile on your face, like you had no idea what looking at you did to a man. Your eyes were a little glassy, a little dizzy, but still bright when you looked up at him. Warm. Open.
Too damn pretty.
“Toji? Toji?”
He blinked, finally dragged out of his thoughts by his client’s voice cutting through the music.
“Huh?”
The younger man grinned, oblivious to the way Toji’s mood had already started going sour. “This is my girlfriend.”
Girlfriend?
Toji’s eyes flicked back to you so fast it damn near made his neck snap. Surely he’d heard wrong. Surely the music was too loud to have heard that right.
But then you smiled again and held your hand out like this was normal. Like you weren’t standing there looking like every filthy fantasy he’d never had time to entertain.
“It’s nice to meet you,” you said.
Toji stared at your hand for a second too long before taking it. Your palm was warm. Smaller than his by a lot. Soft, too. His whole hand closed around yours. He could smell the mixture of coconut vanilla seeping from where he stood. And for one embarrassing second, his brain went completely blank.
Then he noticed the man sling an arm around your waist.
And the grip on his red cup filled with water tightens.
“Yeah,” Toji said at last, voice rougher than he meant it to be. “Nice to meet you too.”
The client laughed, clapping a hand against Toji’s shoulder like they were boys. “See? Told you he was a little intense. He looks scary, but he’s chill.”
Toji didn’t answer. His eyes stayed on you.
Because now that he was closer, he could see the details. The way your lip was a little shiny from whatever you’d been drinking. The lazy sway in your hips as you moved to the music.
You opened your mouth to say something until-
“Hey,” some guy yelled from one of the tables, prompting your boyfriend to look and yell back before giving u a quick kiss and going toward the table. Leaving you standing with the tall, intimidating figure who’s
You sigh, biting your lip in frustration. Of course he leaves you with a stranger, he always does shit like this. But the heavy stare on you pulled you back.
“So,” you clear your throat, “you’re Takami’s personal trainer,” you nod, taking a seat next to him at the bar.
All he does is nod, a small grunt leaving him.
“I’ve heard a lot about you—you’re a big inspiration for Takami,” you offer a smile.
“He’s a good kid. Little cocky, but he’s a hard worker,” he says simply, eyes roaming around the room, not settling on you for too long.
“You been together long?”
The question catches you off guard. “Year and a half now.”
“Long time…” he drags, taking a sip of whatever’s in his cup.
And after that, you drift into easy conversation. Well, more like you just talking about everything and anything, and him just nodding and answering once in a while. You ramble a little, not even thinking too hard about what you’re saying, just filling the space because he lets you. Doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t rush you either.
Every now and then you catch his attention shift back to you, like he’s trying not to look too long but keeps doing it anyway. It’s subtle, but you notice.
You lean a little more into the bar as you talk, turning your body more toward him without realizing it. He doesn’t move away. If anything, he stays exactly where he is, like he’s letting it happen.
“You mind if i smoke?” You ask, not waiting for an answer as you place open your purse, taking out your little cigarette holders and placing a blunt right between your glossy lips and lighting it up.
“I do mind,” he says lowly, “Pretty thing like you shouldn't be smoking,” he adds, leaning back against the seat to catch a better look at you. “S’not good fornyour lungs,”
“Right,” you snort, taking a drag and offering him some, “you dont smoke?”
”no.”
”at all?”
not anymore“ he sighs
“Right, because you're all about health and shit right?” You laugh, taking a drag before continuing. “Tamaki told me all about your codes,”
he crack a smile, and you swear you felt yourself swoon. It would be a big fat lie if you said you hadn’t had a small crush on your boyfriends personal trainer for a long time now. The moment he had shown you a picture of him flexing his bulging muscle, ink adorning his arms, and that scar on his lip, you were smitten. Stalking his page behind your boyfriends back constantly.
you didn’t know if it was the mixture of alcohol and weed that was making you so confident. But you knew you shouldn’t do this. You were a taken woman, and he was a grown man, at least 15 years older. And he was your boyfriend’s personal trainer.
“It’s too loud,” he leans forward, so close you could feel his breath against your ear, “let’s go outside.”
Right.
Everything else you were thinking was thrown out the window as you followed behind him, hands lacing easily into his as he leads you out.
That was enough for you. You grabbed your bag and hooked your arm through Toji’s, letting him lead you outside.
The music fades out slowly, and all that was heard is your laughter as Toji gives you a dry joke, your arm still hooked in his.
The night is cool, cooler than you expected. You bring your hands up over your shoulders, rubbing your arms a little, trying to ignore it. Before you can say anything, you feel a warm cotton fabric settling over you.
His jacket.
You look up at him, a little confused. “You’re not cold?”
“Nah,” he mutters, like it’s nothing.
It’s still warm. You pull it a little closer around yourself without thinking. His scent fills your nostrils. “Didn’t take you for the sharing type.”
He huffs quietly, leaning against the side of his car. “Don’t make it a habit.”
You smile at that, stepping a little closer without really meaning to. “So I’m special?”
His eyes flick down to you, slower this time. Focusing on the way your full lips move with every word.
“Didn’t say that.”
You tilt your head, watching him. “But you didn’t say no either.”
“You always talk this much?” he asks.
“Only when I’m trying to figure someone out.”
“And you got me figured out?” he mutters, leaning his head to the side. He was itching to pull you closer.
“Not yet,” you say, quieter now. “But I’m getting there.”
He glances away for a second, jaw shifting, thinking carefully of his next words.
“Used to it,” he says after a moment.
“To what?”
“Taking care of people.”
You raise a brow. “That so?”
He nods once. “Got a kid.”
That catches you off guard. “You’re serious?”
“Yeah.”
You look at him differently for a second, the information weighing heavy for some reason. “Didn’t expect that.”
He hums.
“How old?”
“Old enough to talk back,” he mutters, amusement laced in his tone as he rolls his eyes.
You smile a little at that, then your expression shifts at the sound of your phone dinging.
Takami
He eyes your phone, then back to where you’re gripping your phone
“I should probably go back inside,” you add, gripping the fabric tighter around you.
He walks closer, and you feel the heat coming off him.
“Then go,” he says. His expression is different though. Hungry.
Your breath catches, and you instinctively pull his jacket closer. You dont want to tho.
You’d be lying if you said you weren’t affected by the way he’s been looking at you since you walked up to him. Dark eyes dragging over you, slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world. His tall, broad frame taking up space at the bar like it belonged to him.
It was hard not to notice him.
Harder not to feel it.
You were already drunk and high, head just light enough to make everything feel a little warmer, a little slower. You weren’t thinking rationally. That would be your excuse.
You bite your lip, shamelessly eyeing Toji up and down. The way his muscles bulge under his black shirt, his gray joggers hanging low, the huge imprint impossible to miss.
He exudes masculinity. And you hate to admit it, but it does something to you. You feel your heart begin to pound against your ribcage, that familiar warmth washing over you. The more he stares at you with those lazy dark eyes, the more you feel your panties stick to you.
Before you can think of another word to say, you’re already in his backseat. Legs thrown over his shoulders, your head resting awkwardly against the seat, panties tossed to the front while Toji’s warm, long tongue glides up and down your soaking cunt.
“F-fuck, Toji,” you moan breathlessly, forcing yourself up on your elbows to glance toward the club where people move in and out. You’re parked near the back, car door open as he leans down between your legs, eating you out like he doesn’t care who sees.
“Ah—” a sharp slap to your pussy snaps you back.
“Eyes on me,” he grunts, spitting on your cunt, making an even bigger mess before diving right back in. His tongue circles your swollen clit before dragging down to your hole.
You’re sweating, hair clinging to your skin as your nails drag against the leather seat before moving into his hair. You throw your head back, arching your back as you feel him groan into you.
“Pussy tastes so fucking good,” he mutters, almost to himself. He’s not sure he’s ever tasted anything this good in his life. The way you try to muffle your sounds only makes his chest swell.
His hand slides up your stomach, pushing your dress higher, past your breasts. He doesn’t waste time, gripping and pinching your nipples, making you gasp and dig your fingers into his arm.
“Tastes like fucking candy,” he mutters again, his other hand dropping to adjust himself through his pants before coming back to push his thick fingers inside your spasming hole.
“Holy fuck, Toji,” your mouth falls open into a perfect O as you stare down at him, your thighs jiggling with every tremble.
You shouldn’t be doing this. You don’t know why, maybe it was all the alcohol you’ve consumed, or all the weed but there’s something in your chest telling you this is wrong. But the way his rough hands move over your body, the way he makes you feel—you can’t focus on anything else.
His fingers move faster, deeper, curling just right as they work your gummy walls. Your eyes sting, tears pricking as you finally let your head fall back against the seat, letting the feeling take over—
Until your phone rings.
You yelp, accidentally hitting his head with your foot as you scramble for your purse, not even sure where you threw it.
Toji groans in annoyance, pulling back and straightening up.
“Hello?” you answer breathlessly, the ache between your thighs still throbbing.
And just like that, the night is cut short.
Only a quick, surprising peck from the older man, and you’re back inside the bar, your bare cunt slick with your wetness and his saliva as you go looking for your boyfriend.
And now Toji’s driving back home. Knuckles completely white as he smells your arousal on his fingers. His jacket and your panties lays in the passenger's seat filling his car with coconut vanilla and weed.
He didn’t need a drink to feel the lightness he felt. Not when his head kept circling back to you, your taste—like something he should’ve known better than to touch.
cw: masturbation, rough sex, spanking, puke(in a sexy way), watersports, degradation, shibari, hair pulling, gooner reader for Gojo’s, one(1)pussy slap, Toji calls you mama but whos gonna stop me🫵🏼
a/n: don’t mind the hashtags i suck at tagging shit. They were supposed to be p link but that shit is lowkey kinda hard.
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
Higuruma: #punishment #bdsm #sadistdom
Like everything else in his life, he takes this porn shit seriously. There’s nothing lazy about it. He has an entire room dedicated to filming and editing — proper lighting, mounted cameras, a clean backdrop, a desk with software pulled up and organized files labeled by date. It’s structured.
He’s a very niche actor. Not mainstream. Not soft. The kind of content that people either can’t handle or can’t stop watching.
He knows exactly how to draw reactions out of his partners. He likes to play with people. Push them. Test them. Control the pace. Blindfolds. Restraints. Hands tied behind their back or secured to the headboard so they can’t move unless he lets them. He’ll drag his fingers down their stomach slowly, tug at sensitive spots just to hear the shift in their breathing — all while he’s still fully dressed, watching them unravel first.
He even has a whole wall dedicated to his toys. Paddles, whips and other things that would make the average person stare in horror
This is serious for him — not just content, not just a side hustle. It’s a lifestyle. He runs it with structure. Strict schedules. Planned releases. Private sessions slotted down to the hour.
“Look at the audience and say sorry,” he grips your hair tight, yanking you upright so you’re forced toward the bright light and camera. His warm breath fans against your ear as you whimper on his lap.
The grip at your scalp burns. Your whole body does. You’re shaking, covered in marks and bruises, skin flushed hot against the cold room.
You’re sprawled over his lap, tits dangling over his thigh, completely bare while he’s still dressed in his usual suit.
“I-I’m soso—so s-sorry,” you hiccup, nose runny and chest having, staring straight into the camera like he instructed.
It’s been almost an hour of this punishment. You hadn’t meant to act up. You were just needy — desperate enough to touch yourself. But that’s one of his rules: his subs don’t get to touch his cunt without permission.
His large hand lands heavy on your already sore ass. You jump with a cry, fresh tears sliding down over the dried tracks on your cheeks. Your lips are bruised from how hard you’ve been biting them.
“Wipe those tears and say it again. You don’t sound sincere.”
You quickly scrub at your face and force a shaky smile at the lens. Eyes completely empty.
“I’m hiccup sosorry,” you manage, trying to steady your voice.
“Again.” Smack.
“Nghh ahh i— I’m sorry!” you yelp, eyes squeezing shut for a split second, feeling the sharp pain course through your whole body.
“Sorry for what?”
You sniff, “M’sorry for hiccup t-touching Sir’s hiccup p-pussy,”
“Good,” he hums.
He lets go of the grip he has on your hair, your head falling down on instinct as his calloused hand rubs over the heated skin he just struck. It’s piping hot beneath his palm. You arch instinctively, sticking your ass out as he trails a finger down the mess between your legs, rubbing a knuckle on your folds. The light, gentle touch was enough for you to mewl and beg, shaking your hips weakly, but a harsh slap to your cunt brings you back to reality.
“Don’t fucking move. This is still a punishment.” His eyes are intense, stripped of warmth.
“Now get on your knees.” His voice drops an octave. “M’gonna clamp those pretty nipples.”
Toji: #rough #amature #oldman
He’s old school in a way that isn’t even trying to be a bit. Doesn’t actually understand OnlyFans or “content” or any of that polished, algorithm-brained shit people swear you need. You could explain lighting and angles and editing apps until you’re blue in the face and he’d just blink at you like you started speaking in fractions.
He’s got an iPhone 4 and a fat cock. What else does he really need?
That little cracked camera lens, the grain, the weird yellow tint from a single overhead bulb— and he’s ready. Doesn’t do retakes. Doesn’t do “wait, let me crop it.” He sets it down wherever it lands, hits record and goes right back to business.
Quality? For what?
You can see everything you need to see just fine. The weight of his dick, his dark pubes peeking out and his balls hanging low and heavy. He doesn’t soften it with filters or pretty music. No aesthetic. No captions. Just the hashtags needed.
“T-Toji… fuck,” you cry, mascara streaked down your cheeks, lashes clumped and damp. Your hands reach weakly for him, clawing at the hands keeping your legs pinned to his chest. “Please… touo deep…”
“Nah, baby,” he breathes.
And then he stops.Not pulling out — just staying buried inside you. The sudden pause makes your stomach drop. Your breath catches and your eyes widen because why would he stop like that?
Then slowly — deliberately — he begins to pull out. Inch by inch. You feel every bit of it. Every veing and every bump. Your body instinctively trying to follow him, hips lifting without thinking.
He keeps watching you through the phone screen.
Then he thrusts back in without warning. Hard.
The impact knocks a sharp yelp out of you. Your toes curl tight. Your chest bounces with the force.
“This is deep,” he groans low, veins standing out along his neck as he feels your tight gummy walls clench and spasm around him.
And he keeps going like that — pulling out slowly before thrusting deep into you again. Every time, it draws another whine or sharp yelp from your lips, your fingers twisting into the sheets as he uses you exactly how he wants.
“Look at this pretty fucking face,” he pants, lifting the phone higher, closer to your face.
You’re a mess. Brows drawn tight. Eyes unfocused and glossy. Mouth open in a perfect, breathless “oh.”
He keeps filming as he changes pace again. A few fast, short thrusts — enough to make you squeak — then slowing right back down, only grinding his hips into you. The contrast makes your body jolt, your pussy making all sorts of wet noises for him.
He lowers your legs gradually, letting them fall to either side of him. Your muscles tremble as they drop, relief washing through you for half a second — until he shifts his hips and leans back in his heels.
You whimper, sniffing as you push faintly at his shoulder. “Stop whining, ma,” he mutters, dragging the camera down your body, catching the way you arch for him even though you can barely think straight.
He pauses the video. For a second, the only sound is your uneven breathing. Then he tosses the phone aside.
“Let me fuck you like this for a little, mama,” he smirks. His hands move slowly from your stomach to your waist, fingers spreading, gripping. He adjusts you carefully, almost lazily, before pushing back inside you from that new angle.
He’s going fast and hard, like he’s been holding back this whole time. He uses his whole body to thrust into you, each one harder than the last.
You’re babbling now, drool seeping out as you throw your head back, “ff-fuck fuckfuck tojiiiii,”
“Yeeah, thats my fucking girl,”
Sukuna: #monstercock #cnc #puke
He’s a nightmare. Truly.
Too rough. Too taboo. Hes into the fucked up shit that makes people hesitate before saying it out loud. Loves to make you gag around him until youre puking all over him, tears streaming down your eyes as he laughs at you and smacks the side of your head with a crude comment. He’ll piss all over your clothes like a dog, make you lick his cum off the while stepping on your head. Pushing limits just to see how far you’ll bend before you break. And that’s exactly why people can’t stay away.
His name gets passed around in private group chats like a warning. “You sure?” “He’s not normal.” “He’ll ruin you.” And somehow that only makes the curiosity worse. Because there’s always someone who thinks they can handle him. Someone who thinks they’ll be the exception.
They’re not.
“Oi,” he barks, staring down at you like you’re nothing. “If you use teeth again, I’ll fuck you up,” he threatens lowly, his face twisting in irritation, and the look alone makes you whimper in fear, because you know he’s not playing.
You cry around him, mouth stretched as far as you can manage. You’re not even sure it’s possible not to use teeth — he’s too big, too thick, the tip barely grazing the back of your throat no matter how hard you try. Your face is a mess — spit, smeared mascara, tears, dried cum. One lash barely clings on while the other rests uselessly against your cheek. You look wrecked. Filthy.
And it only makes him harder.
You keep moving, carefully tucking your teeth behind your lips as best you can while you bob your head. Spit drips down, trailing along his length to the base where your hands grip, twisting and stroking in rhythm to make up for what your mouth can’t manage.
“You’re too fucking slow,” he mutters, sounding bored — like you’re not even trying. Like you’re not practically dying on his cock.
He leans back slightly, then grabs both sides of your head.
It’s a small shift, barely anything — but you feel all of it. You gag instantly, coughing around him at the sudden change in depth. He clicks his tongue in annoyance.
“Fucking useless.”
And then he moves.
He thrusts forward without warning, forcing himself into your mouth. His grip tightens in your hair, so hard you swear strands will rip free. You grab his thigh on instinct, bracing yourself as he sets the pace, using you.
It feels impossible. Like your body physically shouldn’t be able to take it. But he keeps pushing, forcing himself deeper, past the limit you thought you had. You can feel the stretch, the panic rising in your chest as your eyes water uncontrollably.
Your stomach twists.
Before you can pull away, you’re already emptying yourself, everything he made you swallow earlier spilling out over him — over his lap, his thighs. You barely manage to drag yourself back, gasping and coughing.
His dick drops against his leg with a heavy, wet thud.
And all he does is smirk. “Finally you do something right,”
He rubs himself slowly, watching you choke and cry for mercy at his feet like it’s the most satisfying sight in the world.
Gojo: #malesolo #masturbation #prettyboy
Mostly posts solo. He doesn’t need anybody to make a deliciously filthy video. Acts like the entire platform revolves around him and whoever’s lucky enough to be watching.
Only once in a blue moon does he bring someone in — man, woman, doesn’t matter. He doesn’t discriminate.
Half the time he’s not even looking at the camera — he’s looking at the live comments rolling in. Smirking when they start begging. Raising a brow when someone tips big. He loves the attention, but more than that? He loves deciding who gets it back.
He’ll flex to the camera while pumping his pretty, fat dick because he can. Give the camera that slow, infuriating smile like he’s in on a joke nobody else understands. The lighting is perfect — of course it is. He upgraded everything. High-definition camera, soft warm lighting, clean backdrop. He wants every detail visible. Every reaction clear.
Because presentation matters when you’re the main event.
“Fuuuck—” Gojo drags the word out in a breathy, low groan, the phone shakes slightly in his hand as he films himself, angling the camera just right.
He strokes himself slow, twisting his wrist every time he reaches the tip. His fingers circle lazily before gripping tighter, making a show of it for the camera. He squeezes his tip, angling the camera closer to show the bead of precum oozing out. He gives it a subtle, teasing wiggle like a smug bastard.
“Bet you dumb sluts wish you were here,” he laughs under his breath, lifting his hand to the lens, letting the camera catch the sheen on his fingers before pressing them together and pulling them apart again. A thin line stretches between them, glistening under the harsh bathroom light.
You watch from your phone, lips parted with drool seeping out and you breath shallow. Your hand is already buried between your thighs, rubbing desperately as the white-haired man fills the screen.
What a filthy freak you were. Getting off to a man who would probably laugh in your face if he knew, knew you spent your hard earned money on him just so you could spend your free time rubbing to him. And if you were being honest, the thought only makes you wetter.
He tilts the camera up slightly, showing off his defined abs. He lets go of his dick briefly, running a hand over the tight muscle before trailing lower, squeezing himself with a sharp hiss escaping his lips. Then he wraps his hand around himself again, picking up the pace.
Today was supposed to be quick. A short video. He’d had a busy day — no time for his usual theatrics. So a rough little session in a public bathroom would have to do.
And it absolutely did.
Your wrists ache. Your thighs are sore. The phone nearly slips from your sweaty fingers as you keep touching yourself, hours spent scrolling through every video he’s posted. Even the ones where he ruins some model with that same lazy smirk and those sparkling blue eyes, tongue peeking out as he stares straight into the camera.
You’re so close now, rubbing frantic circles, matching his rhythm as he speeds up.
“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he groans, voice strained.
You slide two fingers inside, moving faster, trying to keep up with his pace. Pretending it’s you wrapped around him instead of his hand.
“Ah—fuck, take it,” he groans, throwing his head back as he finishes. Thoch, white roaps shooting out onto the toilet beneath him. Making a complete mess.. He keeps stroking through it, dragging out the last of it, chest rising and falling heavily.
That’s enough to send you over.
“O-oh my God,” you cry, eyes rolling back as your own climax crashes through you. Your toes curl, your body tightening before finally going slack.
The video cuts abruptly.
No goodbye. No aftercare. No acknowledgment.
Only the reflection of your fucked out expression on the dark screen—back to reality.
Nanami: #shibari #piss #pleasuredom
He’s definitely much tamer than the rest — but that doesn’t mean he’s soft.
He leans into artistry. Precision. Presentation. He decorates his models in red, blue, and yellow ropes, intricate patterns wrapping around limbs and torsos like living sculptures. It’s not just restraint — it’s design.
He doesn’t just have a room for this. He has a full studio. Racks of rope in every size and texture, neatly coiled and color-coded. Equipment mounted cleanly along the walls. Lighting positioned to highlight curves and tension points. It feels less like a dungeon and more like a gallery.
He loves suspending a model just right, letting them dangle carefully from the ceiling while he films. He’ll circle them slowly with the camera, capturing every angle like he’s shooting a documentary. He absolutely makes montages — slow cuts, close-ups, breath sounds layered over ambient music.
He’s gentle when it serves the moment. Rough when it doesn’t.
The combination is what makes him dangerous.
“Gorgeous,” he mutters under his breath, eyes racking every inch of your body while his fingers trace lightly over the ropes adorning your delicate skin.
You’re suspended from the ceiling, wrists bound above your head in tight, intricate patterns that stretch your arms and pull your shoulders back. More rope wraps around your torso and thighs, keeping your legs slightly parted, leaving you completely exposed.
His voice is calm — too calm for the torture he’s putting you through.
You’re gagged and blindfolded, body spasming as he turns up the intensity of the Hitachi pressed against your leaking cunt.
“Mfghh—” you muffle through the gag, drool slipping down your chin and along your chest.
“So fucking gorgeous,” he repeats, almost to himself.
You can’t take it anymore. You’ve already come at least three times in a row, no break, no mercy. Your cunt is sore, throbbing, swollen. But that only seems to excite Nanami more.
“Just one more, baby,” he says softly while smiling — though you can’t exactly see it.
He leans forward, pressing a slow kiss against your bound chest. His hand tightens around the vibrator, pushing it harder against you.
Your whole body shakes. You can’t even cry properly through the gag. All you can do is take it as another wave builds — different this time. Sharper. Stranger.
“C’mon, baby. Let go for me.”
He sounds almost delighted.
You feel it snap low in your stomach — but it’s not the same as before.
Heat spreads and humiliation burns hotter than anything else as piss spills beneath you, dripping down your legs and onto his floor like a faucet.
Nanami laughs, completely pleased with the mess youre making.
“Yeah… that’s it. Let it out.”
He replaces the Hitachi with his fingers, sliding them inside you easily, thrusting deeper, faster, prolonging it. The mess spreads — floor, furniture, even the camera catching everything.
You twist against the ropes, toes curling, head shaking side to side, begging for him to just give you mercy.
“My perfect muse,” he murmurs, voice steady despite the chaos he’s created.
toji fushiguro who just loves a fat pussy. he doesn't know why. it’s just something about how those plump lips engulf his face as he eat you out. and don't get him started on the way your thick thighs shake as you get closer and closer. he loves being between your thighs. doesn't matter when or where, he’ll find an excuse to bury his face in your cunt. he honestly has to thank you for letting him absolutely munch on the delicacy that’s your pussy.
a/n: a bit self indulgent cause i’m a big girl who's big everywhere
izzy806
gummygunk
jbbartram-illu
snowghoul
