Vampussy

˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚

[shaymewizard]

𓆩𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔦𝔰𝔱𓆪

🦇 vampire!michael x fem!reader

🧛🏻 You work as a maid for Michael Jackson. After retiring from his music career he vanished from the public eye living hidden in the dark woods under the name "Maestro." Over time your maid role brought you closer to him and bit by bit you found yourself falling in love. However you soon uncovered the heartbreaking truth behind his decision to disappear from the world forever.

1 | the interview 2 | first day

3 | library

4 | first bite

5 | changes

6 | thrill her 18+

7 | reflection

8 | baby bat

[malepeacock]

Randy jr picking you up and throwing you in the water

𓊆ྀིANNOYING𓊇ྀི - RANDY J JR

𝝑𝝔 pairings: randy jackson jr x blackfem!reader

𝝑𝝔 warning: randy and Jermajesty are a bit annoying, mentions of Maddie

𝝑𝝔 a/n: someone tell Randy to come to my eyebrows. And me

The music hit you first. Low and thumping, vibrating through the soles of your sandals as you pushed through the gate into Randy’s backyard.

The place was packed. Bodies everywhere, people you half-recognized from Instagram, industry folks, friends of friends.

Floaties shaped like flamingos and swans bobbed in the deep end. Someone had set up a DJ booth near the cabana.

The pool shimmered turquoise under the afternoon sun, already crowded with people splashing and laughing.

You scanned the crowd, squinting against the glare.

No Randy.

Not at the grill where burgers were smoking. Not near the coolers stacked with drinks. Not by the diving board where some guy in a bucket hat was winding up for a cannonball.

You heard a loud laugh and knew it was him just from that.

You turned and saw him by the shallow end, and there he was, Randy Jackson Jr, your man.

His smile caught the sun. White teeth, easy confidence. The kind of smile that made you forget why you were ever annoyed at him in the first place.

You made your way through the clusters of people, stepping over a sprawled towel and dodging a kid sprinting with a juice box.

Randy saw you before you reached him. His face lit up.

“There she is.” He set his beer down on the pool’s edge and pulled you into a hug, one arm wrapping around your waist. “You late.”

“You said three o’clock,” you said, but you were already smiling, and then you kissed him.

His hand slid to the back of your neck, thumb grazing the hairline behind your ear.

“It’s three-fifteen,” he murmured against your lips.

“Traffic.”

“Sure.”

You pulled back and gave him a look. He gave you one right back.

“Jaafar’s already here,” Randy said, nodding toward the far end of the yard. You craned your neck and spotted him stretched out on a lounge chair, sunglasses on, skin gleaming with what had to be his second or third coat of tanning oil. Unbothered. Utterly horizontal. Classic Jaafar.

“Jermajesty’s somewhere filling up the water guns,” Randy added. “He’s been plotting all morning. Watch your back.”

“Noted.”

You kicked off your sandals and settled onto the edge of a lounger near Randy’s spot.

The sun pressed warm against your shoulders. For a while, you just talked about his week, about family gossip you’d missed, about the album he’d been working on.

Randy’s hand rested on your knee, absentminded, his thumb tracing circles against your skin.

“You getting in?” he asked eventually, nodding toward the pool.

You shook your head. “Can’t.”

“Why not?”

“My hair.”

He blinked. “What about it?”

“If it gets wet, it’s a whole thing. I just got it done. I’m not trying to spend two hours re doing it tonight.”

Randy stared at you like you’d just explained calculus in a foreign language.

“You can’t just... get it wet?”

“No, Randy. I can’t just get it wet.”

He processed this for about two seconds, then shrugged. “Alright. More pool for everyone else.”

You laughed, shaking your head. He genuinely did not understand. That was fine. He didn’t need to. You’d trained him on the important things already, like which takeout places you actually liked and how to not smother you when you were hangry. Hair care could wait.

Across the yard, Jermajesty emerged from behind a palm tree, clutching a neon-orange water cannon the size of a small dog. He caught Randy’s eye.

Randy tilted his chin up in that way guys do when they’re communicating something without words.

Trouble. That was trouble.

You watched as Jermajesty sauntered over, water gun slung over his shoulder like he was in some kind of tropical action movie.

He leaned down, and Randy cupped a hand around his ear

. Whispering. Nodding. Jermajesty’s eyes flicked to you for exactly half a second.

You knew that look.

You’d grown up with brothers. You knew exactly what that look meant.

Before you could call them on it, Maddie appeared beside you, iced tea in hand, looking effortlessly breezy in a wide-brimmed sun hat. Jaafar’s fiancée.

“Hey, girl.” She settled into the chair next to you. “You hiding from the water too?”

“Protecting the hair,” you said.

“Respect.”

The two of you fell into easy conversation. Maddie had a way of talking that made everything feel like a chat between old friends, even though you’d only known her for a year.

You were mid-laugh at a story about Jaafar trying to assemble a bookshelf when Randy’s shadow fell over you.

“Hey.” His voice was casual. Too casual. “Jermajesty wants to talk to you.”

You looked up. Randy’s face was a mask of innocence, which meant guilt, which meant you should absolutely stay right where you were.

“About what?”

“Something about a gift? I don’t know. He’s by the deep end.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Uh-huh.”

“What?” Randy spread his hands. “I’m just the messenger.”

Maddie was watching the two of you, amusement flickering behind her sunglasses. She knew. You knew.

Everyone knew except apparently you weren’t supposed to know, so you played along because that was sometimes more fun.

“Fine,” you said, standing. “But if this is—”

“It’s not.” Randy was already falling into step behind you.

That should have been your second warning.

You walked toward the deep end, Jermajesty’s orange water gun coming into view first, then Jermajesty himself, leaning against the pool ladder with a smirk that stretched ear to ear.

“What’s up?” you asked.

He shrugged. “Just wanted to say hi.”

Behind you, Randy’s footsteps stopped.

You understood everything in a single, horrible, glorious second.

Hands grabbed your waist then tour feet left the ground.

“Don’t you dare—!”

The water swallowed your scream.

Cold. Shocking cold, even in the summer heat. You went under completely, the world muffling into a blur of turquoise and bubbles.

When you surfaced, gasping, your hair plastered to your face and your lashes dripping, the first thing you heard was laughter.

Randy was at the pool’s edge, hands on his knees, howling. Jermajesty had dropped the water gun and was holding his stomach, tears streaming down his face.

“The look on your face!” Jermajesty managed. “Oh, man. Oh, man.”

You were laughing too. That was the thing. You were laughing because the whole thing was ridiculous, because it was hot out and the water actually felt good, because you’d grown up with chaos like this and some part of you had missed it.

But you were also laughing because the two of them had just made a very serious miscalculation.

A hand reached down through the water. Jaafar.

He must have abandoned his lounge chair mid-tan to come help.

His sunglasses were pushed up on his head now, and he was trying very hard not to smile.

“You good?”

“I’m good,” you said, letting him pull you up. Your feet found the concrete, water streaming off your clothes, your hair a dripping mess of undone hard work and wasted money at the salon. “Thanks, Jaafar.”

He gave you a nod, stepped back, and crossed his arms. Waiting. He knew what was coming. Maddie had wandered over too, standing at his elbow with her iced tea, clearly invested.

Randy and Jermajesty were still recovering from their laughing fit when you walked straight up to them, squelching with every step.

You hit Randy in the chest first. Not hard enough to hurt, just hard enough to make him stop laughing.

Then you turned and hit Jermajesty in the arm.

“Ow.” He rubbed the spot, still grinning.

“You think this is funny?” You motioned at your head. “Do you see this? Do you see my hair? ”

Randy opened his mouth.

“Nope,” you cut him off. “No excuses. You threw me in. Both of you. And now—” You paused, letting the threat gather weight. “Now you’re going to fix it.”

Jermajesty’s grin faltered. “Fix... your hair?”

“Fix my hair.”

“I don’t know how to fix hair.”

“You should have thought about that before you threw me in the pool.”

Randy held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. We’re sorry. Honestly. It was just a joke.”

“I’m not laughing.” You were still smiling, though. Just a little. “So here’s what’s going to happen. You two are going to come inside with me, and you’re going to help me fix my hair, and if you don’t—” You let the pause stretch. “I’m going to call your fathers.”

The color drained from Randy’s face so fast it was almost theatrical.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

The thing about their fathers was that they adored you. You’d been to family dinners. You’d charmed the uncles and made the aunts laugh. You’d listened to stories about the old days and asked the right questions.

If you called and said their sons had thrown you into a pool after you’d just gotten your hair done, there would be phone calls. And probably a foot up an ass.

Possibly the kind that came with consequences neither Randy nor Jermajesty wanted to think about.

Jermajesty looked at Randy. Randy looked at Jermajesty.

“She’s serious,” Jermajesty said.

“Yeah.” Randy exhaled, long and defeated. “She’s serious.”

Jaafar, still watching from a safe distance, let out a laugh. “Told you clowns not to try her.”

Jermajesty shot him a look. “Nobody asked you.”

“Inside,” you said, pointing toward the sliding glass door that led into the house. “Both of you. Now.”

They went. Shoulders slumped, the energy completely drained out of their earlier triumph.

You followed, dripping pool water onto the patio stones, hair hanging heavy and wet down your back.

Behind you, you heard Maddie say something to Jaafar, and Jaafar’s low chuckle in response.

Then the sliding door closed, and the music outside became a muffled thump, and you were standing in Randy’s living room with two very nervous young men waiting for instructions.

Randy turned to you, half-hopeful. “You really gonna call my dad?”

You folded your arms. Water pooled at your feet. “That depends entirely on you.”

Jermajesty eyed the bathroom down the hall. “I don’t even know where you keep your—what do you use? Products?”

“You’re about to learn,” you said.

[malepeacock]

『 IN THE CITY 』 - JAAFAR J

➜ pairing: jaafar jackson x blackfem!reader

➜ warning: angst, smut, cheating, Jaafar is annoying and the reader is a little bit of a bird. Y’all both annoying actually

➜ a/n: this literally made me mad while making it 🤨😭

The gala had been unbearable.

Not because of the champagne, which was cheap despite the crystal flutes it was served in. Not because of the music, some jazz quartet that didn't know when to stop soloing.

No, the gala had been unbearable because Jaafar Jackson had spent every single minute of it with his hand on the small of your back, his lips brushing your temple, his thumb tracing lazy circles against the curve of your hip like he had any right to touch you at all.

You'd smiled for the cameras. Of course you had. You'd smiled so hard your cheeks ached, your teeth gleaming under the flashbulbs, your body angled toward his like a sunflower toward the sun. The perfect girlfriend. The perfect couple. Jaafar and his girl, still going strong after all these years, aren't they just beautiful together, don't they just make you believe in love?

The car ride back to his place had been silent.

Now you were standing in his guest bathroom cause you'd refused to use the masters one, refused to even look at the bedroom where you'd spent so many nights wrapped up in him with the water running and your forehead pressed against the cold tile, trying very hard not to cry.

The shower was one of those ridiculous rainfall ones, the kind that made you feel like you were standing under a tropical waterfall. Steam was already curling through the room, fogging up the mirrors, turning the recessed lighting into soft golden halos.

You'd stripped off the gown, a burgundy velvet thing that hugged every curve and made you look like a goddess, the kind of dress you'd picked out months ago when you still loved picking out dresses for him and left it in a heap on the floor.

Your braids were pinned up, a few loose strands already curling in the humidity. Your makeup was smeared.

Not from crying, you hadn't let yourself cry, but from exhaustion, from the weight of pretending, from the sheer fucking exhaustion of being in the same room as him for four hours and not once being allowed to scream.

The water was too hot. Almost scalding. You stood under it anyway, letting it beat against your shoulders, your back, the tense muscles of your neck.

The bathroom door opened.

You didn't turn around. You didn't have to. You knew his footsteps, knew the way the air shifted when he entered a room, knew the scent of his cologne something woody and expensive that used to make your stomach flip and now just made you feel hollow.

"Get out, Jaafar."

"I've seen it all before." His voice was soft. Tentative. The voice of a man who knew he was walking on thin ice and had decided to tap-dance anyway.

"I don't care. Get out bro."

"Please." The word hung in the steam between you. "Please, baby. I just— I just want to be close to you. I miss being close to you. Can I— can I just get in? Nothing else. I swear. Just the shower. Just... being near you."

You should have said no. You should have turned around and screamed at him until your voice gave out.

You should have grabbed your ruined gown and your ruined dignity and never looked back.

But it was almost midnight, and you were tired, and the water was hot, and some traitorous part of you, the part that still remembered what it felt like to be loved by him, really loved, before everything went wrong opened its mouth.

"Fine. But only the shower. Don't touch me."

"Thank you. Thank you, baby, I—"

"Don't call me baby."

A pause. "Okay. Okay, I won't. I'm sorry."

You heard the rustle of clothing being shed. The shower door slid open, and cold air rushed in before he closed it behind him, and suddenly the stall that had felt spacious a moment ago was far, far too small.

The shower was big enough for two people to stand without touching, and you'd positioned yourself as far from him as possible, your back still turned, your arms crossed over your chest. The water beat a frantic rhythm against the tile. Neither of you spoke.

Then you felt him shift behind you, felt the water displacement as he stepped closer. Not close enough to touch. Not yet.

But close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his body, close enough that the steam seemed to thicken between you.

"I said don't touch me."

"I'm not touching you." His voice was a murmur, barely audible over the shower. "I'm not doing anything."

Another inch closer. Then another. And then you felt it, the barest brush of something against the curve of your ass.

Soft at first. But even as you registered the contact, it was already stiffening, already firming up, already pressing more insistently against your skin.

"Jaafar." Your voice was a warning. "Stop."

"I'm not doing anything." He wasn't even trying to sound convincing. His voice had gone rough, that low, needy rasp that you remembered from before. From when things were good. From when you would have turned around and dropped to your knees without being asked. "It's just— you're right there. And you're so beautiful. And I haven't— we haven't— in so long."

"So that's my fault?"

"No. No, god, no. It's my fault. Everything's my fault. I know that." He was fully hard now, his cock sliding along the cleft of your ass, his hips beginning to rock in tiny, desperate movements.

"I just— please. Please, baby, just the tip. Just the tip, I swear. I won't do anything else. I just need— I just need to feel you. Please."

"Are you serious right now?" You turned around to face him, and the sight of him, hair plastered to his forehead, eyes dark and desperate, cock jutting out toward you like an accusation made your stomach clench.

Not with desire through but with something more complicated. "You cheated on me, Jaafar. You fucked someone else. And now you want me to let you put your dick in me in the shower?"

"I know." His voice cracked. "I know what I did. I know I don't deserve this. I don't deserve you. I've never deserved you. But I'm begging. I'm not too proud to beg." His hands came up, hovering inches from your waist, not quite touching. "Just the tip. Just for a minute. Please. Please, baby."

Your hand came up before you could stop it. Not to slap him though god knew you wanted to but to stop him, your palm flat against his chest.

His heart was hammering under your fingers. His skin was hot and wet and too familiar.

"Just the tip," you heard yourself say, and you hated yourself for saying it. "Nothing else. You don't move. You don't thrust. The tip goes in and that's it."

"Yes. Yes, I promise. Just the tip. Thank you. Thank you, baby—"

"I told you not to call me that."

"Sorry. Sorry, I'm sorry—"

You turned back around, bracing your hands against the tile. You couldn't look at him. If you looked at him, you'd see his face that face you'd loved for years, that face you'd woken up next to a thousand times, that face that had lied to you and said nothing happened, baby, it was a mistake, it didn't mean anything and you'd lose your nerve.

You felt him position himself, the head of his cock nudging against your entrance. Your body responded before your brain could stop it a flush of heat, a slickness that had nothing to do with the shower water.

"Just the tip," you reminded him.

"Just the tip." He pushed forward.

The stretch was immediate. Familiar. Infuriating. Just the head of him, barely an inch, and your cunt was already clenching around it like it had missed him, like it hadn't gotten the memo that you were supposed to hate him now.

Your moans and groans escaped before you could swallow it down.

"See? See, baby, it's good. It's so good. You feel so— fuuuck— you feel so perfect. I've missed you. I've missed you so much—"

"Don't— ah— don't talk"

"I can't help it. I can't help it, you're so tight. How are you still so tight? It's been months and you're still so fucking tight—"

His hips bucked. Just once. Just a little. But that little was enough to push him deeper, another inch, another two, and suddenly "just the tip" was a lie.

"Jaafar—"

"I'm sorry." He was already pulling back, pushing forward again, setting a rhythm that was slow but getting faster. "I'm sorry, I can't— you feel too good— I can't stop"

"You said— shit Jaafar you said just the tip"

"I know. I know what I said. I'm a liar. I'm a liar and a cheater and I don't deserve this, I don't deserve you, but please please let me have this. Please let me have you. Just this once. Then I'll leave you alone. I swear."

His hands found your hips, gripping hard enough to bruise, and he was fucking you in earnest now. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed off the tile.

The water streamed down your back, your thighs, the place where your bodies were joined.

Your nails scrabbled against the tile, looking for purchase, finding none.

"It's too good," you gasped, and the words tasted like defeat. "It's too good, I can't— I don’t wanna make you stop"

"Then don't. Please don't make me stop. Let me make you feel good. Let me make it up to you." His hips slammed into you, and you both moaned.

"I want to put a baby in you. I want to fill you up and watch you swell with my child and spend the rest of my life making this right. Please. Please let me cum inside you. Let me put a baby in you. Let me prove I'm serious about forever."

It was insane. It was absolutely fucking insane, and you knew it, and you didn't stop him. You couldn't stop him.

Your body was on fire, your cunt was clenching around him like a fist, and the orgasm building at the base of your spine was going to shatter you into a thousand pieces whether you wanted it to or not.

"Do it," you heard yourself say. "Cum in me."

"Yesss yesss thank you I'm sorry I'm so sorry I love you I love you so much " He was babbling now, his rhythm falling apart, his cock pulsing inside you. "Oh shit—I'm about to cum—fuck I’m cumming." He groaned so loud you felt it echo off the walls.

Hot spurts of cum flooded your insides as he buried himself to the hilt, his whole body shuddering against yours.

He clung to you like a drowning man, his face pressed into the curve of your shoulder, his breath coming in ragged gasps that might have been sobs.

"I'm sorry," he kept saying, even as his cock was still twitching inside you. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—"

"Stop J." Your voice came out flat. Hollow. "Just... stop."

You pulled away from him, and his softening cock slipped out of you with a wet, obscene sound. His cum was already starting to leak down your inner thigh, mingling with the shower water before it swirled down the drain.

The two of you stood there in the steam, not touching, not speaking. The water kept falling. The silence stretched.

"We should go to bed," you said finally.

"Together?"

"Don't push it."

But when you got out of the shower and wrapped yourself in one of his towels. You didn't stop him from following you to the guest bedroom. And when he crawled into bed beside you, keeping a careful six inches of space between your bodies, you didn't tell him to leave.

You lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, feeling his cum drying on your skin, and wondered what the fuck was wrong with you.

6:14 AM

The CVS on Wilshire was empty at this hour, all fluorescent lights and muzak and the faint chemical smell of floor cleaner.

You stood in the family planning aisle, staring at the boxes like they held the answers to questions you didn't know how to ask.

Plan B. Morning-after pill. Emergency contraception. Whatever they wanted to call it, it was the same thing in a different box, and you grabbed it.

The cashier was a tired-looking woman in her thirties. She scanned the box without comment.

"Bag?"

"Yeah. Please."

The transaction took thirty seconds. You walked out into the sky the color of old dishwater, the air cold enough to bite through your jacket.

Back in your car you tore open the package and swallowed the pill chasing it with lukewarm coffee from the drive-thru.

One pill. That's all it takes. One pill and last night never happened.

8:42 AM

Jaafar woke up alone.

He reached for you before he remembered you wouldn't be there, his hand slapping against cold sheets, and the disappointment hit him like a physical blow.

He'd hoped, stupidly and desperately that you might have stayed.

That you might have woken up beside him and looked at him with something other than contempt.

But the bed was empty. The house was quiet. And when he dragged himself out of bed and padded into the kitchen, there was no coffee brewing, no music playing, no evidence that you'd ever been there at all except for the faint scent of your vanilla shampoo still clinging to the guest bathroom towels.

He made his own coffee. Drank it standing up. Stared out the kitchen window at the perfectly manicured lawn and the perfectly grey sky and the perfectly empty driveway where your car should have been.

And then he went to take out the trash.

It was a stupid thing. A mundane thing. The kind of thing you did on autopilot while your brain was still trying to wake up.

He pulled the bag from the kitchen can, tied it off, and carried it toward the garage where the big bins were. But as he passed the guest bathroom, something caught his eye.

A white plastic bag on the counter. A CVS bag.

He shouldn't have looked. He knew he shouldn't have looked. But his hands were already reaching, already opening, already pulling out the crumpled box with the words Plan B One-Step printed across the front in bold, clinical letters.

Plan B.

Emergency contraception.

The morning-after pill.

Jaafar stared at the box for a long, long moment. The coffee in his stomach turned sour. The world tipped slightly sideways.

You took a Plan B after last night. After he told you he wanted to spend the rest of his life making things right. You smiled at him. You let him hold you in the shower. You made those sounds, the ones he’s been dreaming about for months, and the whole time you were already planning this. Already planning to erase it. To erase him.

He set the box down on the counter with trembling hands. He didn't know what to do with it.

He didn't know. He didn't know anything anymore, except that the woman he loved had just swallowed a pill to make sure no part of him stayed with her, and he had no one to blame but himself.

The box sat there on the marble countertop, accusatory and small and devastating, and Jaafar Jackson, heir to a musical dynasty, star of the biggest biopic of the decade, a man who could have anything he wanted stood in his empty house and cried.

If my slow ass remembers to make a part 2 what should happen?

He confronts you

He leaves it alone and tries to work on y’all’s relationship

Remaining time: 19 hours 23 minutes

[malepeacock]

Who were the girls that said they wanted to be white? That's so sad, like girlies go where you're appreciated. If you find yourself wishing to be a different race so a man can like you, it's time to do some soul searching.

So basically it was a video/slideshow of all Jermajestys exs and they were all white girls. Ts is sad asf like actually. Like mind u there’s wayyyy more races besides black and white baby 🫩

The last comment just genuinely killed me tho 😭 the song in the video was I think it’s called Donk by Beyoncè

[shaymewizard]

𓆩𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔦𝔰𝔱𓆪

🦇 vampire!michael x fem!reader

🧛🏻 You work as a maid for Michael Jackson. After retiring from his music career he vanished from the public eye living hidden in the dark woods under the name "Maestro." Over time your maid role brought you closer to him and bit by bit you found yourself falling in love. However you soon uncovered the heartbreaking truth behind his decision to disappear from the world forever.

Taglist: @tojiswifeforlife , @zanyana626 , @heubstr , @moonaarts , @pyt03 , @ksavamp , @asillysimp , @muddyloserlia , @madsreading

8 | baby bat

June 2nd 1997

The alarm clock on your nightstand hadn't gone off yet, but your stomach had.

You rolled onto your side, one hand pressed flat against your belly, and waited for the wave of nausea to pass.

It didn't. It crested higher, a cold sweat breaking out along your hairline, the ceiling above your narrow bed swimming in the gray pre-dawn light.

Get up, you told yourself. Get up and get dressed and get to the estate.

Your legs refused.

The headache arrived next, a dull hammering behind your eyes that made even the thought of standing unbearable.

You'd had headaches before. Everyone got headaches. But this one felt different, as though something inside your skull was pressing outward, testing the seams.

Your hand found your phone. Your thumb hovered over the contact for the estate's house manager.

Calling out sick felt like admitting defeat, and you'd never been the kind of woman who admitted defeat easily.

But when you tried to sit up, the room tilted violently, and you collapsed back onto the mattress with a groan that didn't sound like your own voice.

"Fine," you whispered to no one. "Just... a few more minutes."

Sleep took you before you could finish the thought.

 When you opened your eyes again, the light had shifted. The nausea had subsided to a low, rolling discomfort, but the headache remained, pulsing in time with the mark on your neck.

You became aware of a presence before you saw it. The way the air thickened. The faint drift of sandalwood cutting through the staleness of your small apartment.

"You're not at your post."

Your eyes snapped open.

Michael stood at the foot of your bed, tall and still as a statue.

In the dim light, his pale features seemed to float, the dark hair and darker eyes absorbing shadow.

He wore a black coat with the collar turned up, and his hands were clasped behind his back.

You scrambled upright, yanking the sheet to your chin. "How did you get in here?"

"Your lock is flimsy." He said it without apology, without embarrassment. As if the question itself were irrelevant.

"You broke into my apartment?"

"I was concerned." His gaze swept the room—the cramped space, the single window, the radiator that clanked all winter. "You didn't arrive this morning. No one had heard from you."

"So you just... let yourself in?"

"Why aren't you at your duties?" He asked getting irritated with all your accusations.

The absurdity of the question nearly made you laugh. You were lying in bed, still in yesterday's sleep shirt, your hair a mess, your skin clammy, and here was Michael Jackson standing in your bedroom like a landlord conducting an inspection.

"Because I feel like death," you said. "Because I couldn't stand up this morning without wanting to vomit. Because my head is splitting open and my body feels like it's been filled with lead."

His posture changed to a slight straightening of the spine, a tightening around the mouth.

"Describe the nausea."

"What?"

"Describe it. When did it start? Is it constant, or does it come in waves? Have you been able to keep food down?"

You stared at him. "Are you a doctor now?"

"Answer the question woman." The command came sharper than he'd intended; you saw him catch himself, saw him consciously soften his tone. "Please."

You let your head fall back against the pillow. " It comes in waves. And no, I haven't eaten anything today. The thought of food makes it worse."

Michael went very still.

His chest didn't rise and fall, his eyelids didn't blink, he seemed less like a man and more like a photograph of one.

"The headache," he said. "Where?"

"Like behind my eyes. My temples. Everywhere."

He didn't say anything next. He turned away, one pale hand rising to press against his mouth, and you saw something you'd never seen on Michael's face before.

Fear.

Real genuine fear that hollows out a person from the inside.

"Michael." Your voice came out smaller than you intended. "What's happening to me?"

He turned back, and his composure had returned, but it was a mask now, and you could see its edges. "I need to fetch something. I'll return shortly."

"You're leaving? You just got here, you broke into my apartment, and now you're leaving?"

"I'll be back. Rest." He was already moving toward the door, his stride fluid and unhurried despite the urgency thrumming beneath his words. "Don't open the door for anyone."

"I didn’t even open the door for you." You mumbled but Michael sure as hell heard you.

The door clicked shut.

 Silence settled over the apartment like dust.

You lay there, staring at the ceiling, your hand still pressed to your throat. The nausea rolled. And somewhere in the back of your mind.

T hadn't been willing to connect began to draw themselves together, the missing mirror, the light that gave him headaches, the bite that bruised in the shape of something inhuman.

No regular person's bite looks like that, you thought. The thought was too large so you pushed it away.

You must have fallen asleep again, because the next thing you knew, Michael was sitting in the wooden chair beside your bed, and a small paper bag rested on your nightstand.

"You were gone longer than an hour," you murmured.

"Bill is not a fast driver."

There was something different about him now. A decision made, perhaps. The mask was still there, but it was thinner, and behind it you could see someone who had carried a weight for a very long time and was finally preparing to set it down.

"I need to tell you something," he said.

"About why you broke into my apartment?"

"About what I am."

The room held its breath.

"I wasn't always like this," he began. He didn't look at you; his gaze was fixed on the darkened window, where the afternoon light had been muted by cheap curtains.

"I was a man. A musician. I had a career, a life that I thought I could handle."

You pushed yourself upright, the sheet pooling around your waist. "Was?"

"My now ex wife. She was unfaithful. I discovered it, confronted her, and she..." He paused, and his jaw worked silently for a moment.

"She went to a woman in the Quarter. A practitioner. She obtained something, bat's blood, mixed with other compounds I never understood. She gave it to me. She told me it was wine."

"She poisoned you?"

"Something like that." His eyes met yours then, dark and ancient and full of something that might have been sorrow. "What I am now, Y/N, it isn't human. It hasn't been human for an awhile."

The words didn't make sense but they made too much sense.

"The bite," you whispered.

"Yes."

"The missing mirrors."

"Yes."

"The way you don’t like sunshine. The way you never eat. The way you move through rooms like you're not quite touching the floor."

"Yes."

You should have screamed. You should have run. Instead, you sat very still, your fingers clutching the sheet, and said, "What did you do to me?"

"I bit you. Twice." He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his long fingers interlaced.

"I shouldn't have. The first time was impulse, your scent, your proximity, I couldn't—it doesn't matter why. The second time was weakness. Pure selfishness. I wanted you, and I took you, and I didn't consider what it might do."

"And what is it doing?"

"I don't know." The admission seemed to cost him something. "It could be that you're beginning to transition. The sickness, the headache, the sensitivity to light—these are signs. But it's too soon. Two bites shouldn't be enough." He hesitated. "There's another possibility."

He picked up the paper bag and handed it to you.

You looked inside. A pregnancy test.

"I lost my spark after the change," Michael said quietly. "The music died in me. Everything that had made my life worth living, gone. I retreated to that estate because it was far from the world, far from temptation, far from the possibility of doing exactly what I've done to you. I thought I could control it. I thought I was beyond connection." His voice cracked, barely perceptibly. "And then you arrived."

You stared at the box in your hands.

"If you're pregnant," he said, "I will take full responsibility. I will do whatever you want. Whatever you need. We could be a family, if that's something you would want. If that's something you could stomach, knowing what I am."

"Michael, I can't possibly be—"

"Please," he said. "Just take the test."

 You went to the bathroom and fumbled with the packaging, read the instructions twice without absorbing them, and then did what needed to be done.

While you waited, you looked at the mirror.

Your reflection looked back at you, but something was wrong. Your edges seemed soft. Blurred.

As if you'd been sketched in charcoal and someone was already erasing the lines.

You touched the glass with trembling fingers.

That's why there are no mirrors in his house, you realized. He doesn't have a reflection at all.

The timer on your phone went off.

You looked down.

Two lines.

You took a breath. Then another. The air felt thin, insubstantial, as though the world were losing its texture.

When you opened the bathroom door, Michael was standing exactly where you'd left him. He saw the test in your hand. He saw your face.

"Is it—"

"Yes."

The joy that broke across his features was unguarded, almost painful in its intensity. He crossed the room in two strides and stopped just short of touching you, his hands hovering at your shoulders as if you were made of glass.

"I know you need time," he said, and his voice was rough with restraint. "I know this is too much. But I want you to move into the estate. Stop working as a maid. Let me take care of you, you and the child. Whatever you decide about us, about this, I will honor it. But please. Let me do this."

"I need to think," you said. "I need—" You pressed your palm to your forehead, where the headache still throbbed. "This is a lot."

"Take all the time you need."

He stepped back. Gave you space. But as he moved toward the door, one question surfaced through the fog of shock and fear and impossible information.

"Michael."

He paused.

"How did you get in? Really." You chuckled.

Michael looked almost sheepish. "The door was unlocked."

You blinked. "It was?"

"I may have been... economical with the truth earlier. You left it ajar when you last came home. A habit you should break." A ghost of a smile. "The lock is flimsy, though. You should also get a deadbolt."

Then the door closed behind him, and you were alone with the weight of everything, the test, the fading reflection, the life growing inside you, and the vampire who had just asked you to be his family.

[malepeacock]

𓊆ྀིSECRETS𓊇ྀི - JAAFAR J

🃜 pairing: jaafar jackson x blackfem!reader

🃚 warnings: smut, oral (fem and mel receiving), dry humping, masturbation

🃖 a/n: something short and simple before I continue on with my vampire series and my off the wall story!

Day 1

You had come over to the house to hang out with Jermajesty, but after a few drinks, you realized you really had to pee.

You wandered down the hall, slightly disoriented, and pushed open a door thinking it was the bathroom. Instead, you found yourself in Jaafar's room.

He was sitting at his desk, but the moment he saw you in your pink mini-skirt, he stood up.

"Wrong room, babe," he whispered, though his eyes were dark with hunger.

"I was looking for the bathroom," you said, your voice coming out breathier than you intended.

He was standing close, too close, his bare chest illuminated by the faint glow of his phone screen. He must have been getting ready for bed because he was only in sweatpants, hanging low on his hips, his locs slightly damp.

"Bathroom's the other way." He didn't let go of your wrist. Instead, he pulled you further into the room, kicking the door shut behind you. "But since you're here..."

"Jaafar, your brother is waiting for me."

"He can wait a little longer."

You didn't make it to the bathroom. You were pushed onto the mattress and jaafar climbed on top of you, sliding your panties to the ride.

Jaafar didn't waste a second, his cock sliding deep into your soaking wet pussy with one heavy thrust.

You arched your back, a loud moan escaping you as you rode him frantically, the risk of Jermajesty walking in making every thrust feel like electric fire.

After you guys were done you slipped out of his room and found the bathroom, the right one this time, before making your way back to Jermajesty's room.

"Took you long enough."

"Sorry. Got lost."

He shrugged, oblivious, and handed you a controller. You sat down next to him, your body still humming with the memory of his brother's touch, and tried to focus on the screen.

Day 2

The sun was scorching, and you and Jermajesty had spent the entire afternoon at the pool. By the time you got back to the house, you were covered in chlorine and salt.

You stepped into the shower, letting the hot water sluice over your S/C skin. You were lathering up when the curtain slid back.

You didn't hear the bathroom door open. You didn't hear the soft footsteps on the tile. You only realized you weren't alone when the shower curtain slid back and a familiar voice said, "Room for one more?"

You yelped, spinning around, your hand flying to your chest. "Jaafar! What the hell are you doing?"

He was already stepping in, his swim trunks discarded somewhere on the floor, his body glistening under the bathroom light. "I saw you come up here. Figured you might want some company."

"I figured you might want to get caught."

He stepped into the shower, the water streaming over both of you, and pulled you against him. "Worth the risk."

His hands slid down your wet skin, gripping your hips, pulling you close. The water made everything slick, every touch electric, and when he lifted you against the cool tile wall, you wrapped your legs around his waist without a second thought.

"Someone's eager," he murmured, his lips brushing yours.

"You're so annoying."

He answered by pushing inside you, the water providing a slickness that made the intrusion smooth and deep. Your head fell back against the tile, a moan escaping your lips, and he captured it with his mouth, swallowing the sound.

The shower was still running, the steam billowing around them, hiding them in a cloud of heat and desire. He moved with a rhythm that was urgent but controlled, his hands gripping your thighs, your back, anywhere he could hold on.

"Jaafar," you breathed, your voice barely audible over the spray.

"I know, baby. I know."

He pressed his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. You could feel him trembling, feel the restraint he was barely holding onto, and it drove you wild.

You came together, your bodies shuddering in the warm water, your cries muffled by each other's mouths. When it was over, he lowered you gently to the shower floor, both of you breathing hard, the water still streaming over you.

"You're going to get us caught one day," you said, but there was no anger in it.

Day 3

Jaafar was driving you back to your place, the car humming quietly. You were sitting in the passenger seat, wearing a crop top that showed off your curves. You looked over at him, seeing the way he was gripping the steering wheel, his knuckles white.

"You look stressed, Jaafar," you purred.

Jaafar let out a choked gasp as you unzipped his pants and freed his thick, throbbing cock. You wrapped your lips around the head, sucking him deep into your throat.

He groaned, his head hitting the headrest as you used your tongue to swirl around the rim, your hand pumping the base.

He almost crashed the car as you accelerated the pace, your mouth working him over until he came with a violent shudder, filling your mouth with hot, thick cum.

Day 4

Your phone buzzed at 2 AM, pulling you from a restless sleep. You blinked at the brightness of the screen, your eyes adjusting to find Jaafar's name glowing back at you.

Jaafar: Can't sleep. Thinking about you.

You smiled, your fingers already typing a response. Missing you too. How's the set?

Jaafar: I’ve been having fun but I wish you were here.

A moment later, another message came through. This time, it was a photo.

You clicked on it, and your breath caught in your throat. It was him, shirtless, his body illuminated by the dim light of his hotel room. His sweatpants hung low on his hips, and his hand was already wrapped around himself.

Jaafar: This is what you do to me.

Your heart raced. You looked around your empty room, grateful for the privacy, and settled deeper into your bed.

You: Show me more.

He sent you a video and it was of him jerking himself off slowly, his hand gripping his shaft tight, his voice a low, gravelly moan as he whispered your name.

"I wish you were here to suck this, baby," he groaned in the video.

You spent the rest of the time rubbing your clit and watching the clip on loop, soaking your sheets.

Day 5

Jaafar returned, telling his family he was "visiting his girlfriend"—a convenient lie. In reality, he was at your house. You were sitting on Jaafar’s lap at your vanity, meticulously applying your winged eyeliner and pink lip gloss.

Suddenly, Jaafar lifted up your skirt and rubbing his hard dick right against your pussy, right through your lace panties. He started dry humping you, his hips grinding rhythmically against your backside. 

"Jaafar, stop... I'm doing my makeup," you huffed, though you were leaning back into him, your breath hitching. He just chuckled, nipping at your earlobe and grinding harder, the friction making you whine and nearly smudge your eyeliner.

Day 6

You dragged Jaafar on a shopping spree, filling bags with the most expensive, provocative lingerie you could find. When you got back to your place, you told him to wait in the bedroom.

"Prepare yourself," you called out sassily.

You emerged one by one, doing a slow, teasing fashion show. First, a sheer pink lace set that left nothing to the imagination; then, a black strappy harness that accentuated every curve of your S/C skin.

Jaafar was practically vibrating on the edge of the bed, his cock straining against his jeans. By the time you put on a tiny, open-crotch teddy, he couldn't take it.

He lunged at you, ripping the fabric aside and fucking you right there on the bedroom floor, surrounded by shopping bags and discarded lace.

Day 7

Your phone was propped up against your vanity, your three best friends' faces filling the screen. You'd been on FaceTime for an hour, catching up, laughing, sharing stories about your week. But your mind was elsewhere.

Because Jaafar was on his knees in front of you.

He'd shown up at your door twenty minutes ago, claiming he missed you, claiming he just wanted to see you.

You'd tried to push him away, tried to explain that you were on a call, but he'd just smiled that infuriating smile and said, "Then don't let them know I'm here."

And now he was between your thighs, his mouth doing things that made it impossible to focus on anything else.

"So, like, are you and Jermajesty ever going to happen?" your friend asked, her face filling the screen. "Because you guys are literally perfect together."

You bit your lip, trying to suppress a moan as Jaafar's tongue worked against you. "We're—ah—we're just friends."

"Girl, please. I see the way you look at him."

Jaafar's pace quickened, his fingers joining his mouth, and you had to grip the edge of your vanity to stay upright. "I don't—look at him—any way—"

"Are you okay? You keep like... pausing."

"Just—tired. Long week."

Jaafar pulled away just long enough to whisper, "You're doing so good, baby. Don't stop talking."

You wanted to kill him. You wanted to kiss him. You wanted to scream.

"I think you should go for it," your other friend chimed in. "Life's too short to be pining after someone."

"I'm not—pining—"

Jaafar's tongue found that spot, the one that made your vision blur, and you had to bite your hand to keep from crying out.

Your friends were still talking, still giving advice about a relationship that didn't even exist, completely oblivious to what was happening on your end of the call.

"Just think about it, okay?" Your friend said. "We'll talk later. You sound like you need to sleep."

"Yep. Sleep. Definitely need sleep. Talk later. Love you. Bye."

You ended the call with a fumbled tap and let your head fall back, a moan finally escaping your lips.

Jaafar didn't stop, didn't let up, until you were trembling and breathless, your body wracked with pleasure.

When he finally surfaced, his chin glistening, his grin wide, he said, "You know, I don't think I've ever heard you hold in your moans that well."

You threw a pillow at him. "I hate you."

He caught it, still grinning. "No, you don't."

"No," you admitted, pulling him up for a kiss. "I really don't."

He settled beside you, his arm wrapping around your waist, his lips pressed to your shoulder.

Jermajesty texted you: You free tomorrow? Wanted to show you this new game I got.

You looked at the message, then at the man in your bed, and felt a twinge of guilt. But not enough to stop.

Sure, you typed back. Can't wait.

Some secrets were worth keeping. Even the ones that broke your heart a little.

[malepeacock]

❝GIRL NEXT DOOR❞ JAAFAR J

🪽₊˚⊹ pairings: jaafar jackson x blackfem!reader

🏹₊˚⊹ ࿔ warnings: Smut, explicit sexual content, Jaafar’s a bit awkward, you and jaafar fast asf

💭₊˚ෆ word count: 3k!!!

💌ྀི⋆.˚ a/n just wanted a reason to use this song tbh.

💌ྀི⋆.˚ a/n 2 : I just realized I write so much for jaafar like I’m literally gonna take a break from this man 😭

Warm afternoon sunlight spilled through your living room windows, painting soft golden streaks across the hardwood floor as laughter echoed throughout the house.

The sound was so familiar by now that it almost felt like background music.

Every afternoon seemed to end the same way with toys scattered across the floor, cartoons playing quietly in the background, and Jermaine's youngest son giggling until he could barely catch his breath.

"You can't catch me!" he squealed as he darted around the couch with a toy dinosaur clutched in his tiny hand.

"Oh, really?" you laughed, placing your hands on your hips. "You think you're faster than me?"

He nodded confidently before taking off again.

You exaggerated a dramatic gasp before chasing after him, making sure to stay just a step behind.

Every time you got close, he'd squeal even louder, weaving around the coffee table like he was competing in the Olympics.

Eventually, you slowed down on purpose and dropped onto the couch with a theatrical sigh.

"I give up," you announced, pretending to wipe sweat from your forehead. "You're officially the fastest kid in the neighborhood."

"I told you!" he beamed proudly.

You couldn't help but smile.

Moments like these reminded you why you enjoyed babysitting so much. It had never really been about the money.

Sure, Jermaine insisted on paying you, but living right next door made everything easy, and spending your afternoons with his little boy never felt like work.

He had become like a little brother to you.

Every morning he'd knock on your door with the biggest smile on his face, already telling you about whatever exciting thing had happened before breakfast.

Every afternoon you'd help him with homework, make snacks together, build blanket forts, draw superheroes, or watch his favorite movies for what felt like the hundredth time.

You never minded.

If anything, you looked forward to it.

A soft timer chimed from the kitchen.

"Oh!" you said, standing. "Cookies."

His eyes lit up instantly.

"The cookies!"

You laughed as the two of you hurried into the kitchen together.

The sweet smell of chocolate filled the room as you carefully pulled the tray from the oven, setting it on the stove to cool.

"They're hot," you reminded him gently. "We have to wait."

He let out the most dramatic groan imaginable.

"But waiting is boooring."

"I know," you teased. "Good things take time."

He crossed his arms with an exaggerated pout before both of you burst into laughter.

While the cookies cooled, you helped him pack the few things he'd brought over earlier that morning.

His coloring book disappeared into his backpack first, followed by a few crayons and the dinosaur he'd insisted on carrying everywhere that week.

Just as you zipped the backpack closed, three familiar knocks sounded at the front door.

You smiled before opening it.

Standing on your porch was Jaafar.

Like always, he greeted you with an smile that somehow made the afternoon feel even better.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey," you replied, stepping aside. "Come on in."

He thanked you quietly before walking inside.

The second his little brother spotted him, he ran across the room at full speed.

"Jaafar!"

"Hey, little man."

Jaafar caught him effortlessly before ruffling his hair.

"Did you have fun today?"

"We made cookies!" he announced excitedly.

"And she let me help."

You laughed.

"He means I let him stir the batter."

"I helped."

"You absolutely did."

Jaafar glanced toward the kitchen, noticing the tray of cookies waiting to cool.

"I can see that."

His little brother nodded proudly.

"I did a really good job."

"You sure did."

Watching the two of them together always made you smile. They cared about each other in a way that didn't need words.

As Jaafar helped his brother slip on his backpack, the little boy suddenly wrapped his arms around your leg.

"I'll miss you."

Your heart melted.

"I'll miss you too."

"You'll be here tomorrow?"

"If your dad needs me," you replied with a smile, "I'll be right next door."

"Promise?"

You gently held out your pinky.

"Pinky promise."

His tiny finger hooked around yours before he grinned from ear to ear.

"Promise."

Jaafar watched the exchange quietly, unable to hide the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

It was one of the many reasons he admired you.

You never treated his little brother like babysitting was a job.

You treated him like family.

After one last hug, his little brother skipped out the front door, happily talking about the cookies he couldn't wait to eat after dinner. You followed them onto the porch, leaning lightly against the doorframe as the warm breeze brushed past.

"I'll save you two," you called after him with a smile.

"You better!" he shouted back.

You laughed quietly, watching him race ahead down the walkway while Jaafar trailed behind at a much slower pace.

Just before reaching the steps, he stopped.

Turning around, he glanced back toward you, his hand rubbing the back of his neck, a habit you'd noticed whenever he seemed nervous.

"Uh..."

You tilted your head.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah," he answered quickly, letting out a small laugh. "I was just... wondering something."

You folded your arms loosely across your chest, giving him your full attention.

"What is it?"

For a brief moment, he looked as though he was trying to convince himself to say whatever was on his mind.

Then he smiled.

"Are you doing anything tonight?"

You thought about it for a second before shaking your head.

"No. I was probably just going to stay home and watch a movie."

"Oh."

His shoulders relaxed ever so slightly.

"I actually wanted to ask if you'd maybe... want to go out somewhere with me."

You blinked.

He hurried to explain.

"There's this little diner that opened not too far from here. I've heard it's really good, and I thought..." He laughed softly at himself. "I thought it might be nice if we checked it out together."

The sincerity in his voice made it impossible not to smile.

"I'd like that."

His eyes widened just a little.

"Really?"

You nodded.

"Really."

A grin spread across his face before he could hide it.

"Great. I'll pick you up around seven, if that's okay."

"I'll be ready."

"Okay."

For another second, neither of you moved.

He looked like he wanted to say something else but decided against it.

Instead, he smiled one more time.

"I'll see you tonight."

"I'll see you then."

As he walked back toward his house, you caught yourself smiling long after he'd disappeared through his front door.

You hadn't expected your afternoon to end with a date invitation.

You were looking forward to it.

⸻

The moment Jaafar stepped inside, he barely had time to close the front door before another familiar voice called out.

"Well?"

Jermajesty was sprawled across the couch with a knowing grin already on his face.

Jaafar tried to play it cool.

"What?"

"What do you mean, 'what?'" Jermajesty laughed. "Did you ask her?"

Jaafar couldn't hold back his smile anymore.

"...Yeah."

"And?"

"She said yes."

Jermajesty shot up from the couch.

"I knew she would!"

The two brothers laughed as Jermajesty gave him a quick pat on the shoulder.

"I told you all you had to do was ask."

"I seriously thought she was going to say no."

"And yet she didn't."

The excitement hadn't worn off by the time they made it upstairs.

Jermajesty immediately opened Jaafar's closet.

"Alright," he said, already sorting through hangers. "First dates are important."

Jaafar chuckled.

"It's just dinner."

"Exactly."

Jermajesty held up a hoodie.

"No."

Then a wrinkled T-shirt.

"Absolutely not."

Finally, he pulled out a clean button-up shirt.

"There we go."

Jaafar looked at it before looking back at his brother.

"You've been waiting for this day, haven't you?"

Jermajesty shrugged dramatically.

"Maybe a little."

An hour later, after plenty of teasing, a few outfit changes, and one last reminder to "just be yourself," Jaafar grabbed his keys and headed out the door, feeling nervous all over again.

Tonight was the beginning of something he hoped would become much more.

———-

Exactly at seven, Jaafar pulled into your driveway.

He walked up the porch steps, took one deep breath, and knocked.

The door slowly opened. For a moment you forgot every word he'd planned.

You stood there wearing a simple dress that suited your perfectly, smiling as if you'd been just as excited for the evening as he had.

"You look beautiful," he admitted before he could stop himself.

"Thank you." You looked him over before smiling even wider.

"You look really handsome."

His grin grew instantly.

"You ready?"

"I've been ready."

The drive to the diner was nice and calm.

Music played softly through the speakers while you guys talked about childhood memories, favorite movies, and the funniest things his little brother had ever said.

By the time both of you arrived, neither of them felt nervous anymore.

Inside, you both slid into a booth by the window.

The diner had black-and-white checkered floors, glowing neon signs, and the comforting smell of fresh burgers and fries.

Hours slipped away before either of you realized it.

"I haven't laughed this much in a long time," you admitted.

Jaafar smiled. "I'm glad I could help with that."

"I'm glad you asked me."

His heart skipped. "So am I."

⸻

The drive home felt quieter.

As he parked outside your house, neither of you reached for the door.

You both just sat there. "I actually wanted to tell you something," Jaafar said softly.

You turned toward him. "What is it?"

He took a slow breath. "I've liked you for a while now." He chuckled nervously.

"Longer than I'd like to admit."

"I kept trying to convince myself it was just because you're great with my little brother..." He smiled sheepishly. "...but it turns out I just really like you."

You looked at him for a long moment before smiling. "I was wondering when you were going to tell me."

His eyes widened. "You knew?"

"I had a feeling." You laughed quietly.

"And... I like you too." For a second, Jaafar just stared at you.

Then the biggest smile spread across his face. "Seriously?"

You nodded. "Seriously." You leaned forward first, closing the small space between ya'll, and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

When you pulled away, both of you were smiling so hard it almost hurt.

"I've wanted to do that for a while," you admitted with a laugh.

"I'm really glad you did."

You both eventually made ya’ll way onto your front porch, where you both spent another hour talking about everything.

Then Jaafar's phone buzzed.

He glanced down at the screen and sighed.

"My dad."

You smiled knowingly. "You should probably answer."

"I know." He slipped his phone into his pocket after the call ended.

"I have to head home."

You nodded. "I figured."

He stepped a little closer. "I'll come see you tomorrow."

"I'll be looking forward to it."

"I promise."

With one last smile and one final hug, Jaafar walked back to his car. As he drove away, he couldn't stop smiling.

Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough.

———-

The morning light filtered through your kitchen curtains, thin and buttery. You were still in your robe, hair in a bonnet, kettle just beginning its low whistle when you heard knocks on your door.

Your heart did something stupid, that little stutter-step it had been doing since last night. Since Jaafar's mouth had found yours in the warm dark of his car.

Now you crossed the house, bare feet cool on the hardwood, and pulled open the door expecting Jaafar little brothers backpack slung over one small shoulder, Jaafar's apologetic half-smile about being a few minutes early.

Instead, it was just him.

Jaafar stood alone in your doorway, no little brother in sight. A cream-colored sweater hung loose on his frame. His hands were tucked into his pockets. The morning sun caught the angles of his face, the soft curl of his lashes.

"Hey," he breathed.

"Hey," you said back, and the word came out like a question.

"My brothers with my dad today. I just..." He paused, searching your face. His smile crept in slowly, the shy kind that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. "I couldn't wait. I know I said tomorrow, but it's tomorrow. Technically. And I needed to see you."

You stepped aside, and he walked in.

The air shifted. It always did when he was near, something quiet and charged, like the stillness before a storm you actually want.

You'd known Jaafar for nearly a year. Every drop-off, every pick-up, every brief exchange in your doorway while his little brother tugged at Jaafar’s sleeve. You'd watched him be gentle with the boy, patient, attentive.

You'd felt his eyes linger on you a beat longer than necessary. You'd told yourself it was nothing, that you were imagining the warmth in his voice when he said your name.

Last night at the diner, over shared fries and laughter that rolled easy as a tide, you'd learned you weren't imagining anything.

Here he was, standing in your kitchen, looking at you the way someone looks at a thing they're afraid might dissolve if they blink.

"I made tea," you said, because your brain had temporarily abandoned anything more sophisticated.

"I'd love some."

You poured two cups. Steam curled between you. The morning news played low on the television, something about traffic on the 405, a weather report promising sun. Neither of you paid it any attention.

On the couch, your shoulders touched. His thigh pressed warm against yours. The tea went lukewarm, then cold.

"You're not watching the show," he murmured.

"Neither are you."

His laugh was soft, a little breathless. "Can't focus on anything when you're right there."

Your robe had slipped off one shoulder. His fingers found the exposed skin, just his knuckles, just a feather-brush along your collarbone. The teacup nearly slipped from your grip.

"Jaafar."

"Hmm?"

"Last night you had to leave."

The knuckles became fingertips. Tracing down your arm now, leaving a trail of raised skin in their wake.

"I thought about it all night. Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about what I wanted to do if I had more time."

Your breath caught. "What did you want to do?"

He turned toward you fully. The morning light caught the gold flecks in his eyes.

"Everything." The word hung between you. "But not rushed. Not in a car. I want to take my time with you. I want to—" He stopped, swallowed, and the shyness was back, coloring his cheeks. "I want to spend the rest of today making love to you. If you want that too."

The teacup found the coffee table. Your hand found his jaw.

"Mmkay" you whispered. You stood and took his hand and took you both upstairs.

Your bedroom was soft with morning shadow, the curtains still drawn. The bed was unmade sheets rumpled from a night of restless, wondering sleep.

Jaafar paused at the threshold, taking it in. Taking you in, robe hanging open, the thin strap of your nightgown visible beneath. His breath shuddered out of him.

"You're so beautiful," he said, and it came out almost pained, like the words hurt to hold in any longer.

You reached for the hem of his sweater. "Can I?"

He nodded, lifting his arms so you could pull it over his head. The fabric whispered against his skin. Beneath it, he was lean and warm. Your palms flattened against his chest, feeling the rapid drum of his heart.

"You're nervous," you said.

"Terrified." He laughed at himself, that breathless sound again. "I've wanted this for so long. I don't want to mess it up."

"You won't." You took his hands, guiding them to the tie of your robe. "Just go slow."

He did.

Jaafar Jackson was methodical in his tenderness. He undid the robe's bow like unwrapping something precious. The silk slid from your shoulders and pooled at your feet. His fingers traced the strap of your nightgown, then tugged it gently down one arm, then the other. The fabric caught at your hips, and he knelt to ease it lower, his breath warming the newly bare skin of your stomach.

From your navel to your ribs, his lips traveled.

"Lie down," he whispered against your skin.

The bed received you. The sheets were cool beneath your back. Jaafar stood above you for a moment, just looking, and there was nothing predatory in his gaze, only wonder. Only the kind of disbelief that comes from holding something you'd convinced yourself you could never have.

Then he was beside you, then above you, his weight settling gentle as a season change. His mouth found the hollow of your throat. The curve of your shoulder. The swell of your breast.

When his lips closed around your nipple, your back arched off the mattress.

He was patient there. Patient and attentive, learning the rhythm of your breathing, the soft sounds that escaped your throat. His tongue traced slow circles while his hand discovered the dip of your waist, the flare of your hip, the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," he murmured.

"Please don’t ."

His laugh vibrated against your stomach. He kissed lower, one rib at a time, like counting prayers. His fingers hooked into the waist of your panties, and he looked up at you, asking without words.

You lifted your hips. He drew them down.

What followed was slow immersion. His breath first, warm and unsteady against your center. Then his mouth—soft and exploratory, learning you the way a musician learns a new instrument. His tongue parting you with patient strokes. His name fell from your lips in fragments.

A single finger pressed inside you. Then two. Curling, finding.

Your hands fisted in the sheets. The morning light had shifted to full gold now, painting stripes across the ceiling, and you watched them blur as your vision went soft at the edges.

"Right there?" he asked, voice thick.

You couldn't form words. Your thighs trembled against his shoulders. He stayed exactly where he was, exactly how you needed him, until your spine lifted from the bed and a sound wrenched out of you that was half his name, half nothing at all.

He rose up over you, lips slick, eyes dark and soft all at once.

"I need you," he said, and the rawness in his voice undid something in your chest.

You reached between your bodies, finding him hard and hot and trembling slightly in your palm. A condom from the nightstand. Your hands shook together as you rolled it onto him.

Then he was poised at your entrance, forehead pressed to yours.

"Okay?" he breathed.

"Okay."

He pushed inside.

The stretch was slow, exquisite. Inch by inch, he filled you, both of you breathing through it like a shared meditation. When he was fully seated, he stopped. His eyes searched yours.

"I'm not going anywhere," you whispered. "Move. Please."

He kissed your forehead, your nose, your lips. "Tell me if it's too much."

Then he started to move, slow and deep, and you both moaned, a sound that seemed to fill the whole room. He stilled, letting you adjust, his forehead pressed to yours, your breath mingling.

"God, you feel so good," he whispered. "So tight. So perfect."

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he began to move. Slow at first, long, languid strokes that made you see stars. He kissed you through it, his lips never leaving yours, his hands cradling your face like you were something sacred.

"Look at me," he breathed, and you did. His eyes were dark, full of something deeper than lust. "I love you. I think I've loved you since the first time I saw you with my brother, the way you smiled at him."

Your heart swelled, tears pricking at your eyes. "I love you too."

He kissed you then, deep and passionate, and his pace quickened, driving you both toward the edge. His hand slid between you, his thumb finding your clit, circling in time with his thrusts, and you shattered, your body arching, a cry torn from your throat.

"I'm close," he managed, voice breaking.

You pulled him deeper, heels pressing into the small of his back. "Let go. I've got you."

His body shuddered. His release came with a guttural sound, buried against your throat. The sensation tipped you over after him, a second crest rising from the first, your walls pulsing around him in waves that made him gasp and cling.

Afterward, he didn't pull out right away. He stayed buried inside you, breathing hard, his weight a comfort you hadn't known you craved.

"Stay," you murmured, already half-drifting.

His lips pressed to your temple. "I'm not going anywhere."

Sleep came soft and certain, wrapped in tangled sheets and the scent of his skin. The afternoon light was different when you stirred. Jaafar's arm was draped across your waist, his breathing deep and even.

You lay there, watching the dust motes float in the sunbeam, feeling the soreness between your thighs like a remembered song.

Then his fingers twitched against your hip.

His voice, sleep-rasped, murmured into your hair.

"I love you"

You gave him one last kiss on the lips "I love you too baby." You both drifted off the sleep in each other’s arms.

[malepeacock]

𓊆ྀིDENIAL𓊇ྀི - JAAFAR J

ꗯ pairing: jaafar jackson x blackfem!reader

ꗯ warning: Smut, explicit sexual content, edging, rough jaafar, multiple orgasms

ꗯ: this bullshit took to damn long… but this is also what I’m gonna post bc I am going in vacation 😫😩

Jaafar lay sprawled across the king-sized mattress, his lean body a masterpiece of tension.

His chest rose and fell in shallow, ragged breaths.

"N-nnh— please," he'd been whimpering for the last ten minutes, his voice cracking on the vowels. His hands were fisted in the cotton sheets.

His dick was perfect, it was just thick enough that your fingers couldn't quite meet around it, the shaft a shade darker than his complexion with a rosy-brown flush at the tip, uncut, the foreskin currently peeled back and swollen it looked almost painful, bobbed against his lower belly, leaving a glistening smear of precum across the defined ridges of his abdomen.

You were going to kill him. You're actually going to kill him and he's going to die with his dick hard.

"That's four," you said, your voice a low, syrupy thing. You'd been kneeling between his legs, naked except for the smirk on your lips and the sheer black lace panties clinging to your pussy like a second skin.

You'd taken him to the edge four times now. His dick pulse against your tongue, your palm, the slick of your throat, and then you would pull away. Left him gasping and twitching and aching. "I think that's enough for now."

Jaafar's eyes flew open. "No— no, baby, please, I'm right there, I'm so close, just— just let me—"

"You know what you have to do," you said, swinging your legs off the bed, letting him watch the sway of your hips, the curve of your bare ass beneath the lace.

You'd been at this for weeks now, this delicate negotiation. You wanted him to take control. To stop treating you like spun glass and just fucking take what was his.

But Jaafar was soft. Not in bed though, the man could fuck, could make your eyes roll back and your toes curl, but he held back.

Always held back. Afraid to leave marks. Afraid to go too hard, too deep, too rough. He loved you too much to hurt you, he said, and it was sweet, it was tender, it was absolutely maddening.

Tonight, you'd decided, would be different.

Build him up, deny him, build him up again until the pressure inside that beautiful, gentle skull of his finally cracked.

Until the animal you knew was lurking in there—you'd glimpsed it once or twice, a flash of something dark and hungry in those warm eyes—finally broke its leash.

"I can't," he croaked, his cock twitched against his belly like it was trying to argue on its own behalf. "Baby, I can't hurt you, I won't—"

"You won't hurt me." You leaned down, pressed a kiss to his sweat-salted forehead. "I'm not made of sugar, Jaafar. I'm gonna go shower. When I come out, I want you to have thought about it."

He didn't follow you. Didn't grab you and throw you back on the bed like you desperately wanted him to. Dammit, Jaafar.

You left him there, his reflection caught in the dresser mirror across the room.

You took your time in the shower. Let the hot water sluice over your shoulders, your breasts, the ache between your legs that had been building for an hour of edging him.

Your pussy was swollen and slick, your clit a hard little pearl that pulsed with every heartbeat. You didn't touch yourself. That was part of the game.

You wanted to be just as desperate as him, just as wound-up, so that when he finally snapped you'd feel every single second of it.

Twenty minutes later you stepped out, skin hot from the heat, wrapped in a towel that barely covered your thighs.

The apartment was quiet. You padded down the hallway, water droplets still beading on your shoulders. The bedroom was empty. The sheets were a tangled mess, and Jaafar was gone.

You frowned. Checked the kitchen. The living room. Nothing. The front door was still deadbolted from the inside. He hadn't left. So where did he go?

You decided to continue with your after shower routine. If he wanted to pout, let him pout. You hung your towel on the hook behind the bathroom door, pulled on an oversized t-shirt that was his, and settled onto the plush velvet ottoman in front of your vanity.

The mirror reflected your face, skin still dewy from the shower, lips slightly swollen from the hour you'd spent wrapping them around his cock, eyes bright with unspent need.

That's when you heard the floorboard creaked outside the bedroom door.

And then the door slammed open so hard it bounced against the wall, rattling the perfume bottles on your vanity, and Jaafar was there, filling the doorway, his silhouette backlit by the hallway light, and you barely had time to register the look on his face before he was on you.

"AAH—" The shriek tore out of you as his hand fisted in your hair, and he yanked your head back. Not hard enough to hurt.

Just hard enough to make your breath catch, to make your pussy clench so violently your knees buckled.

"You think that shit was funny?" His voice was low. Nothing like the soft, pleading whimpers from a while ago.

He pressed his body against your back, you could feel him. "You think you can just edge me and then walk away?"

"I—" you started, but the words died in your throat when his free hand slid around your hip, dipped beneath the hem of the t-shirt, and found you bare underneath.

Of course you'd skipped panties after the shower. His fingers slid through your folds with an ease that made you gasp, it was almost embarrassing.

"Fuck." The word punched out of him, ragged. His middle finger circled your clit and your hips bucked.

"You're fucking soaked. Is this what you wanted? This what you've been trying to get out of me?"

"Yes," you gasped, and the comb clattered to the floor as both your hands shot out to brace against the vanity.

The mirror showed you everything, Jaafar behind you, The gold chain swinging against his collar.

The way his biceps flexed as he yanked your hips back, bending you over the ottoman, and rucked the t-shirt up around your waist.

"Say it." He kicked your feet apart with his own—bare feet. The thick, blunt head of his dick nudged against your entrance, and you whimpered. "Say you want this. Say you want me to stop being soft on you."

"I want you to stop being soft on me." The words came out in a rush, breathless and desperate. "I want you to fucking wreck me, J. Please. Please, baby, I can take it—"

The sound he made was half-groan, half-snarl, and then he was inside you.

One brutal thrust that put him to the hilt and punched the air right out of your lungs. "Oh—fuuuck—"

Your vision whited out for a second. The stretch of him was unbelievable,you'd been so wet, so ready, but he was so thick, and the angle had him hitting that spot, that perfect devastating spot, right from the first stroke.

Your fingers scrabbled against the velvet of the ottoman, Your cheek pressed against the cool wood of the vanity.

In the mirror, you watched yourself fall apart, mouth open on a silent scream, eyes glassy, hair a tangled mess around your face.

Behind you, Jaafar's reflection was something out of a fever dream. His brow was furrowed, his teeth bared, sweat already beading at his temples again, and he was watching himself disappear into you, watching the way your ass jiggled with every thrust.

"This what you needed?" He pulled out almost all the way, just the tip of him still inside, and then slammed back home. Harder than he'd ever fucked you before.

The sound of it, the wet obscene slap of skin on skin filled the room. "You needed me to bend you over and fuck you like this? Like a— fuck— like a little slut who can't stop teasing her man?"

"Yes— fuck, yes, J, just like that—"

Every thrust drove you forward, your hipbones pressing into the edge of the ottoman, and you knew you'd have bruises there tomorrow, pretty purple marks that you'd press on just to remember this.

His hands were everywhere, fisted in your hair one moment, gripping your hips the next, then sliding up under the t-shirt to palm your breasts, his fingers rolling your nipples with a roughness that made you keen.

"Unh— unh— unh—" Little grunts punched out of him with every thrust, and they were the filthiest sounds you'd ever heard.

He was vocal now, no longer holding back, no longer censoring himself for your sake. "Take it. Take this dick. Gonna make you cum so many times you forget your own name."

And he did. His hand snaked around your hip, found your clit with unerring accuracy, and started working it in tight, merciless circles.

Your first orgasm hit you like a freight train, your cunt clamping down on him so hard he had to stop mid-thrust, groaning through gritted teeth while you spasmed around his cock.

You gushed slick fluid coating his thighs and dripping down your own, leaving dark spots on the carpet below.

"Fuck, that's it, soak me—" He didn't stop, he fucked you right through it, through the overstimulation, through the screaming.

Before the first orgasm had even fully faded, you felt the second one building. "N-no— wait— Jaafar, it's too much—"

"Too much?" He laughed and slowed his hips just enough to make you sob with frustration. Two could play at this game.

"You edged me baby. You don't get to tell me what's too much." He thrust in deep and held there, grinding against your cervix, and your eyes rolled back.

"You're gonna cum again. And again. And then maybe I'll let you tap out."

The second orgasm crashed over you, stronger than the first, and you screamed yourself hoarse. Then the third. By the fourth, you were crying—tears of pleasure and overstimulation streaming down your cheeks.

He'd pulled out somewhere around the third orgasm to put you onto the bed and put your legs hooked over his shoulders and his cock driving into you at an angle that made stars explode behind your eyes.

The t-shirt was still bunched around your collarbones, your breasts bouncing with every thrust, your nipples so hard they ached.

But then he stopped. Your clit was throbbing and your cunt was fluttering and you were right there, he pulled out.

His cock, slick with your juices and his own precum, slapped wetly against your thigh. You let out a sound that was barely human.

"What— why—"

"Apologize."

The word dropped into the space between you like a stone into still water. Jaafar was still standing between your spread thighs, his chest heaving, his cock so hard and wet it looked almost angry, a thick vein pulsing along the underside.

His hand was wrapped around the base of his own dick, squeezing, staving off his own orgasm.

"Wha—"

"Apologize," he said again, and his free hand came down to trace a feather-light circle around your clit.

You bucked your hips, trying to chase the pressure, and he pulled his hand away. "For teasing me. For making me wait. For thinking I didn't know exactly what you needed. Say you're sorry."

"I'm— I'm sorry—" The words came out in a pathetic rush.

"For?"

"For teasing you. For making you wait. For— for thinking you didn't know— please, J, please—"

He smiled. Slow and dangerous and absolutely breathtaking. "You better be sorry."

And then he was inside you again, one hand braced on the ottoman beside your head, the other still working your clit, and he fucked you through orgasms five and six in quick succession until you were nothing but a trembling, sobbing, boneless mess beneath him.

His own control was fraying, his thrusts were getting erratic, his rhythm faltering, his grunts turning into desperate, high-pitched whines.

"Gonna cum," he gasped, and his forehead dropped to yours, his curls tickling your cheeks. "Baby, I'm gonna cum,"

"Cum in me. Inside. Please fill me up, Jaafar, need it—"

"Aaahh— fuuuck—" His back arched, his hips slammed home one final time, and you felt the hot, pulsing gush of his release flooding your insides, rope after rope, his cock twitching and jerking inside you.

His whole body shuddered, his hands fisting in the t-shirt, his moan a broken, beautiful thing that vibrated against your lips. "Oh god— oh god—"

You held him through it, your fingers threading into his sweat-damp curls, your lips pressing soft kisses to his forehead, his closed eyelids, the bridge of his nose.

His heart was pounding so hard you could feel it against your chest. When he finally stilled, he collapsed on top of you, his full weight pressing you into the bed, and neither of you moved for a long moment.

The room smelled of sex now. The thick, musky scent of sweat and cum and sated bodies. The candle had guttered out in its own wax.

Outside, a siren wailed somewhere in the distance, and the city lights kept their silent vigil through the windows.

"I'm sorry," Jaafar murmured into your neck, and his voice was back to soft now. "Was that too much? Did I hurt you?"

You laughed and tightened your fingers in his hair. "Baby. That was perfect. That was exactly what I wanted."

He lifted his head to look at you, that little furrow between his eyebrows that meant he was overthinking.

He knew he could do this now. Knew you wanted it.

"C'mon," you said, pressing a kiss to his pretty mouth. "Help me up. We need a shower."

The warm shower was much needed for the both of you. His hands soaped your body with reverence, massaging the ache from your hips, your thighs.

He washed your hair with the shampoo, his fingers working through the tangles with none of the roughness from before. You returned the favor, lathering up his chest, his back, the curve of his backside.

Afterwards, wrapped in towels, you slipped into your pajamas that was actually his pajamas, a pair of silk Calvin Klein bottoms that hung low on your hips and he pulled on a fresh pair of boxer briefs.

The sheets were a lost cause, so you tugged the duvet off the bed and carried it to the living room.

The windows had fogged from the heat inside, and the city lights beyond looked like something out of a dream.

Jaafar pulled you against his chest, his arms wrapping around you, his chin resting on top of your head.

"Next time," he said, and there was a smile in his voice, "just tell me what you want. You don't have to mess with me to get it."

You snorted. "Where's the fun in that?"

His laugh rumbled through his chest, vibrating against your cheek. His heartbeat was steady now.

You’d do it again tomorrow, you thought, and smiled into the dark.

[shaymewizard]

idk if I’m just overthinking but do people actually like moan during sex….? I’m still a virgin and don’t plan on loosing it any time soon but is moaning necessary? *asking for a friend*

[malepeacock]

𓊆ྀིBUBBLES𓊇ྀི JAAFAR/MICHAEL

　͡𓈒𝜗𝜚 pairings: Jaafar Jackson as Michael Jackson x blackfem!reader

　͡𓈒𝜗𝜚 warnings: smut, explicit, content, blowjob, fingering

　͡𓈒𝜗𝜚 a/n: jaafar fine as jaafar and michael 😩

The afternoon sun spilled across the grass in fractured gold, filtered through the leaves of the sprawling oak.

Michael adjusted the red-and-white checkered blanket for the third time, smoothing a wrinkle that only he could see.

Bubbles sat a few feet away, systematically pulling petals off a daisy and examining each one like it held the secrets of the universe.

"You're gonna behave, right?" Michael asked, glancing over his shoulder. "She's special. You understand that word? Special."

Bubbles tilted his head, blinked once, and returned to his daisy.

Michael laughed. Soft and a little nervous. "Yeah. Me too."

He'd been planning this for two weeks. Ever since you'd mentioned offhandedly that you'd never met a chimpanzee outside of a zoo, and there was something about the way you'd said it, not a trace of judgment that had planted the idea. Bubbles wasn't a pet.

He was family.

The crunch of tires on the gravel drive pulled him out of his head.

You stepped out of your car clutching a woven picnic basket and wearing a sundress that hugged every gorgeous curve of your body, Michael’s heart skipped.

The fabric moved against your thighs as you walked, and Michael felt his throat tighten.

He watched you, his eyes softening with an intensity that always made you feel like the only woman in the world.

When you saw him you gave him a smile that made him feel like the only man on earth.

"You're early," you called out, walking toward the blanket. Your hips swayed with each step, and Michael's fingers twitched at his sides. "I thought I was gonna beat you here."

"I had help with setup. This is who I wanted you to meet."

He turned and called for bubbles. "Bubbles, look who's here!" Michael called out, his voice light and melodic.

Bubbles paused his antics and looked over. The chimpanzee tilted his head, studying you for a moment remembering all the details about you that Michael had told him, he let out a happy noise and scurrying over.

To Michael's immense relief and joy, Bubbles didn't just tolerate you, he adored you.

The chimp climbed up your leg, clinging to your hip and nuzzling into your neck.

Michael felt a surge of overwhelming emotion. Seeing you laugh and cuddle Bubbles, your warmth enveloping the little animal, made him feel a profound sense of completeness.

He stepped closer, wrapping an arm around your waist and kissing your temple. "I knew you two would get along," he whispered, his voice thick with affection.

"Oh, Michael. Oh, he's beautiful."

Bubbles made a soft hooting sound.

"He thinks you're beautiful too," Michael said.

You smiled and set your basket down. "Hi, sweetheart. I've heard so much about you. All good things. Mostly."

The chimpanzee's fingers curled around yours. Something tight in Michael's chest loosened.

"He likes you."

"I like him too."

The picnic unfolded in lazy, sun-drenched stretches of time. You'd packed strawberries and honey-drizzled brie and crusty bread that crackled when you tore it.

Bubbles discovered that strawberries stained his fingers and spent ten minutes fascinated by the red smears on his knuckles.

Michael fed you a piece of honey-dripped cheese and his eyes locked onto the way your lips closed around his fingertips. You held his gaze longer than necessary.

"What?" you asked, voice low.

"Nothing." He shook his head, but the corner of his mouth tugged upward. "Well… everything."

Later, after the food was gone and the blanket was littered with crumbs, you pulled out a small plastic bottle of bubble solution.

"Has bubbles ever blown bubbles?"

"Never."

"Then we're about to make his whole day."

You demonstrated first, dipping the wand, lifting it, blowing a stream of iridescent spheres into the air.

Bubbles tracked them with laser focus, leaping to pop them one by one. His delighted screeches echoed across the lawn.

Michael watched you laugh, head thrown back, throat exposed, light catching the curve of your jaw, and felt desire coil low in his belly. The kind he couldn't ignore.

"Your turn," you said, handing him a wand.

By the time the sun started its descent toward the hills, all three of you were sticky with bubble solution and grass-stained and breathless from laughing.

Bubbles had mastered the art of dipping the wand but preferred eating the bubbles to blowing them.

"He's perfect," you said, as Michael packed up the blanket.

"He's a menace too."

"Just like you Michael." He rolled his eyes smiling.

The drive back to the main house was short, but Michael's hand found your thigh and caressed it.

His thumb traced absent circles against the fabric of your dress. Neither of you spoke.

The air in the car thickened, charged like the moment before a storm breaks.

Bubbles was settled somewhere in the house. Michael pulled the Twister box from a hall closet.

"You serious?" You were standing in the living room, barefoot now, your sandals kicked off by the door.

"I've been practicing."

"Michael Jackson, you have not been practicing Twister."

"There's a lot you don't know about me girl." He smirked at you

"Come on, let's see who's more flexible!" he teased, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

He spun the board first. Right hand red. You watched him stretch across the mat, his shirt riding up to reveal a strip of stomach.

Your mouth went dry. When your turn came, left foot green, you positioned yourself beside him, close enough to smell the sunlight on his skin.

Three spins later, you were twisted around each other. His chest pressed against your back. His breath hot on the nape of your neck.

“This is cheating,” you murmured.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Another spin. Your foot slipped. You crashed onto the mat, and before you could right yourself, you were above Michael , braced on your forearms, your body a warm cage he had no desire to escape.

Your legs fell open to accommodate his hips. The sundress bunched at your thighs.

Your face hovered inches from his. Up close, his eyes held flecks of amber you’d never noticed before.

“Hi,” you whispered.

“Hi.”

The silence stretched. His gaze dropped to your mouth. You watched his throat work as he swallowed.

Then you both moved.

Michael’s tongue swept into your mouth, claiming you with a passion that left you breathless. His hands wandered, sliding down to squeeze your ass, pulling you harder against the growing hardness of his cock.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he breathed against your jaw.

“It’s not.” Your voice came out ragged, unfamiliar to your own ears. “Don’t stop. Please.”

He flipped you both over and his fingers slid beneath the hem of your dress. Trailed up the sensitive skin of your inner thigh with agonizing slowness.

You bucked upward, seeking contact, and he made a low sound in his throat that you wanted to bottle and keep forever.

When he reached the damp cotton of your panties, he paused. Forehead pressed to yours. Eyes open.

“You’re—”

“I know.” You were dripping through the fabric.

His middle finger traced the wet spot, following the outline of your folds.

Your hips chased the pressure. He pressed harder, found your clit through the soaked cotton, and circled once. Your back arched off the mat.

“Michael.”

“I’ve got you.”

He pushed the fabric aside. Skin on skin now, his fingers sliding through your slickness, spreading it. One finger dipped inside you letting you feel every knuckle and your inner walls clenched around the intrusion.

He added a second. Curved them forward, seeking, and when he found that rough patch of nerves, your vision whited out for a half-second.

“Right there,” you choked.

He worked you with a rhythm that built and built but never let you tip over, his palm grinding against your clit on each thrust.

Your thighs trembled. You were making sounds you’d never made before. Your fingers clawed at his shoulders.

Your orgasm caught you mid-gasp. You let out a wrenched a cry from your throat and left you shaking, pulsing around his fingers, gripping his wrist to hold him inside you while you rode it out.

When you opened your eyes, he was watching you with an expression that bordered on reverence.

“You’re so beautiful like that,” he said.

You kissed him instead of answering. Tasted yourself on his tongue when he met you halfway.

Then your hands were on his belt. The metal clinked as you unfastened it, pulled it free, worked the button of his jeans.

He lifted his hips to help you push them down far enough. His cock sprang free, thick and flushed, the tip already glistening.

“Show me what you like.” You murmured against his mouth.

His breath shuddered out. “Anything you do—anything—it’s gonna be good. I promise you that.”

You positioned yourself between his thighs, still shaky from your own climax, and wrapped one hand around the base of him.

He was hot in your palm, velvet skin over iron. You licked a tentative stripe up the underside, following the thick vein that ran his length, and his whole body jerked.

“Like that?”

“Yeah.” His voice cracked. “Yeah, like that.”

You took him into your mouth. Slowly. Letting the weight of him settle on your tongue, letting your lips stretch around his girth.

He hit the back of your throat and you pulled off, gasping, then sank down again. His hand found the back of your head, just resting there, trembling.

“Look at me, please” he whispered.

You lifted your eyes to his without pulling away. The eye contact seemed to undo something in him. His hips jerked, thrusting shallowly into your mouth, and you hollowed your cheeks and sucked.

"I'm... I'm gonna cum! Just like that, baby, just like that"

You doubled your efforts, working what you couldn’t fit with your hand, and he came with a broken moan that sounded like your name.

Hot salt flooded your tongue. You swallowed around him, milking every pulse, until he gently tugged you away and collapsed onto his back, chest heaving.

For a long moment, you just lay there tangled together on the Twister mat, limbs overlapping, breathing syncing.

Then a shuffling sound echoed from the hallway. A familiar hooting followed.

Michael’s eyes flew open. “Bubbles.”

You both scrambled. You yanked your dress down, shoving the hem past your thighs. Michael hauled his jeans up, fumbled with the button.

By the time Bubbles rounded the corner, hooting for attention and looking for his favorite humans, you and Michael were standing side-by-side, breathing heavily, faces flushed, and trying your absolute best to look "normal."

Michael let out a shaky laugh, picking up the chimpanzee and hugging him tight. "Hey there, little guy! Ready for more games?"

As he looked at you, a secret, knowing smile played on his lips, the taste of y’all encounter still lingering in the air.

[malepeacock]

𓊆ྀིTOUCH MYSELF𓊇ྀི JAAFAR J

𓍢🌷͙֒🎀 🦢⋆ jaafar jackson x blackfem!reader (you can imagine any race tho <3)

🦢🎀 ~ warning: masturbation, virgin reader, virginity loss, inexperience reader, multiple orgasms

☁️ 🎀 🧸˖ a/n: he’s winking at me btw. Also S/C stand for skin color 🩷

The afternoon sun filtered through the heavy velvet curtains of the living room, casting a warm, golden glow that danced across the mahogany furniture.

You were curled up on the oversized sofa, trying your best to focus on the book in your lap, but the words were blurring together.

For the last hour, a strange, pulsing heat had been building deep in your belly, radiating downward until your center felt heavy, swollen, and aching with a hunger you didn't understand.

You had never felt this way before, this insistent, throbbing need that made your skin feel too tight and your breath come in shallow hitches. Without even realizing it, you began to shift.

You pressed your thighs together, rubbing them in a slow, rhythmic friction that brought a momentary, flickering relief to the fire between your legs.

Your hand wandered beneath the fabric of your skirt, your fingers brushing against the soft, damp swell of your mound.

You pressed tentatively, your heart hammering against your ribs, chasing a feeling you couldn't name.

Every time you shifted, your hips tilted instinctively, seeking a pressure that your own hand couldn't quite provide.

Jaafar had been watching you from the doorway for several minutes, his dark eyes hooded and observant.

He saw the way your eyes had grown glazed, the way you were fidgeting with your clothes, and the subtle, desperate way you were rubbing your thighs together.

A knowing, tender smile touched his lips. He knew exactly what was happening; your body was waking up, demanding a release that your innocence had kept you from seeking on your own.

He walked over softly, his presence commanding yet gentle, the scent of sandalwood and expensive cologne preceding him.

"Sweetheart," he murmured, his voice a low, soothing vibration that seemed to echo in the pit of your stomach. "What's wrong? You seem uncomfortable."

You looked up at him, your cheeks flushing a deep, burning crimson. "I... I don't know, Jaafar. I just feel weird. Like there's something humming inside me, and it won't stop. It's like I'm itching, but on the inside."

Jaafar's gaze darkened with a mixture of affection and raw desire. He reached out, cupping your cheek with his large, warm hand, his thumb stroking your skin.

"I think I know exactly what that feeling is, baby. Come with me. I'll help you feel better."

Trusting him implicitly, you let him lead you by the hand into the bedroom. The air here was cooler, smelling of clean linens and the intimacy of a shared life.

He guided you to the edge of the bed, his movements slow and deliberate, creating a tension that made your knees weak. With a soft, dominant grace, he began to strip you.

He peeled your clothes away piece by piece leaving on your panties, his eyes admiring every inch of your S/C skin glowing, lingering on the curve of your hips and the swell of your breasts.

He worked slowly, savoring the sight of your anticipation until you were left shivering slightly in nothing but your lace panties.

"Straddle me," he commanded softly, his voice leaving no room for doubt but wrapped in velvet.

You obeyed, climbing onto his lap and wrapping your legs around his waist.

The friction of your wet panties against the rough fabric of his jeans sent a jolt of electricity straight to your clit.

Jaafar gripped your hips, his large hands grounding you, his fingers digging slightly into your flesh.

"Now, just move for me," he whispered. "Grind your hips against me. Slow... just like that."

As you began to rock your pelvis against him, a soft, broken moan escaped your lips.

The pressure was perfect, hitting exactly where the ache was the sharpest.

You felt the hardness of him beneath the fabric, a solid pillar that promised the relief you craved.

"How does that feel, baby?" he asked, his voice a caress.

"It feels... so good," you whimpered, your head falling back, your chest heaving as you sought more friction. "I like it... please don't stop, Jaafar, please."

Jaafar continued to guide your rhythm, his hands squeezing your backside to keep you pressed tight against him, ensuring every movement maximized the contact.

While you were lost in the sensation, he began to question you, his voice a steady anchor in the storm of your arousal.

"Tell me, when did this feeling start?" he asked. "Did it happen suddenly, or has it been building all day?"

"I... I think... since this morning," you gasped, your movements becoming more frantic, your hips snapping forward. "It just... it wouldn't go away... oh, Jaafar, it's so hot!"

"And where do you feel it the most? Tell me exactly where it hurts, sweetheart," he urged, pushing you to acknowledge the raw desire blooming inside you.

"Down there... right here... it's throbbing..." you sobbed, grinding harder, your internal muscles clenching violently around the void.

You felt a sudden, sharp peak of intensity, a wave of warmth that crashed over you, making your toes curl and your vision blur.

It was an explosion of light and heat, a shimmering, golden peace that washed away the ache.

You slumped against his chest, panting, your heart hammering against your ribs.

Jaafar held you close, kissing your forehead before he gently shifted you. He slid his hand down, slipping a finger beneath the waistband of your panties.

"Let me see, baby."

He tugged them aside. The fabric clung, peeling away from your skin, a glistening sheen that coated the inside of the gusset and smeared across your inner thighs. His fingers came away wet.

"Look at that." He held his hand up so you could see. The afternoon light caught the moisture on his fingertips. "You came for the first time."

Your mouth formed a perfect O. "That's what that was?"

"Mmhmm."

"I came." The words were wondrous, like you were trying them on for size. "That was me cumming."

"And now you know what that feeling means." He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Every time."

You beamed up at him, flushed and proud and utterly, devastatingly content.

Then your expression shifted. "Jaafar?"

"Yeah, baby?" His thumb stroked the inside of your wrist.

"Can you show me how to touch myself. So I can do it too."

The corner of his mouth lifted and he laid you down on your back, removing your panties. "Spread your legs a little. There. Just like that."

Your legs parted, both of you staring down at the landscape of your own body.

"Now," his lips brushed your earlobe, "I want you to touch yourself. Right here."

His finger pressed yours down until the pad of your index finger met something swollen.

Something that made your hips buck involuntarily. "Feel that?"

You nodded, throat too tight for words.

"That's your clit. That's where the feeling lives. Circle it. Slow. Like you're drawing little rings around it."

His hand stayed over yours, steering. The first rotation made your stomach clench. The second pulled a shaky exhale from your lungs.

"How's that?" he asked.

"Feels good. Really good."

"You can go lighter. Just barely graze it. That sometimes works better."

You adjusted the pressure. Let your fingertip skim instead of press, and the sensation turned electric, crackling up your spine, fanning out through your hips.

"I think i found it," you whispered.

"Yeah you did." His teeth grazed your earlobe. "Keep going. Don't stop."

Your wrist found its own rhythm, a lazy orbit that made your thighs tremble.

Jaafar's hands left yours to wander, one splayed flat on your stomach, the other cupping your breast.

His thumb circled your nipple in time with your circling finger, a mirror image, and the synchronicity made your head fall back against his shoulder.

"Listen to you," he breathed. "Making those pretty sounds already."

You hadn't realized you were making any sounds at all. But now you heard them, high and needy, catching in the back of your throat.

"Feels like before," you managed. "It's building up."

"Let it build. Let it be whatever it wants to be."

Your finger moved faster. Slick sounds now, wet and rhythmic. Jaafar's breath grew heavier.

"You're so beautiful like this. Learning your own body. Taking what you need."

The knot in your belly pulled tighter, tighter. "I think I'm gonna cum"

"Do it baby. Cum on your own fingers. Let me watch."

The permission was all you needed. Your back arched, hips grinding up into your own touch, and the climax hit like a wave you didn't see coming, shuddering and bright, your mouth open on a silent cry.

Jaafar held you through it, both arms wrapped tight, his lips pressed to your temple.

When you came back to yourself, you were shaking. Laughing, almost giddy.

"Jaafar... I want to know... what makes you feel like that. Show me. Please show me what pleases you."

A dark, hungry look crossed his face. He loved your curiosity, your willingness to surrender every part of yourself to him.

He gently flipped you over, positioning you on your stomach.

Your breasts were pressed into the mattress, your ass arched up, presenting your wet entrance to him.

"I'm going to go inside you now," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, becoming guttural.

"I want you to focus on the photos wall, or the curtains... just distract your mind from the feeling for a moment, okay? Just breathe for me, baby."

You nodded frantically, clutching the sheets. You felt him press against you, then with a slow steady push, he began to enter.

You let out a sharp gasp of surprise, your body tightening around him as he stretched you open for the first time.

It was a full, heavy sensation that filled every void inside you, a pressure that felt both overwhelming and right.

"Shhh, just breathe... you're doing so well, baby. Just relax for me," he encouraged, waiting for your muscles to yield.

Once you relaxed, Jaafar didn't hold back. He gripped your hips firmly, his fingers bruising your skin, and began to fuck you with a deep, rhythmic intensity.

Each thrust was a blunt force of pleasure, hitting your depths and making you cry out in a mixture of shock and ecstasy.

The sound of his skin slapping against your ass filled the room, a primal beat that matched the pounding of your heart.

He drove into you relentlessly, his movements becoming faster and more powerful, his cock sliding deep into your tight heat.

He was no longer just the soft guide, he was the man claiming you, filling you completely, stretching you to your limit.

You sobbed his name, your body vibrating under the onslaught of his pleasure.

"My beautiful, sweet girl. You feel so tight... so perfect around me."

you sobbed. "Don't stop don't stop don't stop—"

He didn't. He fucked you through it, steady and relentless, and when the climax shattered through you, it had you whining into the pillow, body clenching around him in waves.

His rhythm broke. A guttural sound punched out of his chest, and he pulled out just before his own release, hot and wet against your lower back. His forehead dropped to your shoulder.

You felt the warmth filling you, a brand that marked you as his.

You collapsed into the pillows, completely spent, your heart full of love and your body humming with a satisfaction you never knew existed.

For a long moment, only breathing. Only the humid tangle of limbs and the afternoon light slanting golden across the sheets.

"That was different from before."

He laughed, exhausted and fond. "Yeah, baby. It was."

"Can we do it again?"

He let out a laughing sigh. "Give me a few minutes."

You smiled into the pillow, already counting down.

[lady-in-your-life]

[mrshargreeves]

yall ever read a fic so bad you block the author

[shaymewizard]

And it’s all over the screen!

Credit to: invincimar

[malepeacock]

𓊆ྀིNOT FROM HERE𓊇ྀི - MICHAEL J

⋆｡°✩🌙₊˚ ༘. — parings: captain eo x alien princess!reader

｡˚🌌✦⊹✧ — warnings: Smut, explicit sexual content, alien biology, oral sex (female and male receiving), vaginal sex, creampie, cum play, excessive cum, overstimulation, size difference, strangers to lovers type shit, mild dub-con (hesitation), fluff and humor

°✩🚀⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚ — a/n: I don’t see much captain eo stuff on here and I def loved this film <3333 I’m also ovulating if you couldn’t tell! I’m thinking about making a tag list so if you wanna be apart lmk!!

The cosmos had never seen a messenger quite like Captain EO.

With a single silver glove raised to the stars, he had danced his way across galaxies, his ship humming with the rhythm of a heartbeat that matched his own.

His companions, Fuzzball, the tiny, furry creature with an insatiable curiosity, and Hooter, the squat, trumpet-nosed sidekick who communicated in a series of honks and grunts, had made the journey chaotic but never lonely.

They had bickered, they had played, and they had nearly sent the ship into an asteroid belt twice, but EO had guided them through with the kind of effortless grace that only he possessed.

Now, as the ship descended through the swirling, amber-tinted atmosphere of Tamaran, EO pressed his face to the viewport, his wide eyes drinking in the sight below.

The planet was a tapestry of impossible colors, violet skies streaked with gold, flora that pulsed with bioluminescent light, and structures that curved and spiraled like living things.

It was beautiful, yes, but it was also foreign. He had been sent here for one reason: to retrieve the Star Diamond of Xar, a gem of unparalleled power that was said to be held by the planet's royal protector, a woman known only as Starfire.

The landing was soft, the ship settling onto a bed of crystalline grass that chimed under the weight.

EO turned to his companions, placing a hand on each of their small heads.

"Stay," he said, his voice melodic, almost sung. "I'll be back before you know it. And no—"

He pointed a gloved finger at Fuzzball, who was already eyeing a control panel, "—no touching."

Fuzzball chittered in protest, but EO was already out the hatch, his boots clicking against the alien ground.

The air was warm and sweet, carrying a scent that reminded him of nectar and ozone.

The Tamaraneans he passed were humanoid, their skin ranging from deep gold to pale lavender, their eyes glowing with an inner light.

They moved with a fluid grace, their voices a symphony of trills and melodic tones that EO found himself swaying to.

He approached one of them, a tall figure with hair like liquid copper, and asked, "Excuse me? I'm looking for Starfire?"

The alien tilted its head, emitted a series of sounds that seemed to twist and spiral through the air, and then pointed a slender finger toward a structure that defied geometry.

It was shaped like a teardrop turned inside out, its walls shimmering with a mother-of-pearl iridescence.

EO thanked the alien with a bow and a smile, then made his way toward the house, his heart thrumming with anticipation.

The door was a sheet of what looked like liquid glass, and when EO knocked, ripples spread across its surface. "Hello?" he called out, his voice carrying that signature blend of confidence and charm.

"I'm Captain EO. I've been sent by the Supreme Council to retrieve the Star Diamond. I mean no harm—I come in peace."

The door slid open with a sound like wind chimes, and there you stood.

For a moment, EO forgot how to breathe.

You were tall, your hair, a cascade of fiery orange curls (imagine wtv hair texture), fell past your shoulders and down your back, wild and untamed, like a solar flare captured in human form.

Your eyes were the green of new leaves, sharp and knowing, and your body was a masterpiece of divine architecture, curves that spoke of power and grace, a waist that flared into hips that could command armies.

You wore a dress of deep violet that clung to you like a second skin, and when you smiled, EO felt the ground shift beneath him.

"Captain EO," you said, your voice a low, melodic purr that seemed to resonate in his chest. "I have been expecting you."

EO blinked, shaking himself from his reverie. "You have? Then you know why I'm here. The diamond—"

"Is safe," you interrupted, stepping aside to let him enter. Your home was as surreal as its exterior, filled with floating orbs of light and furniture that seemed to grow from the floor.

"But I will not give it to you so easily."

EO sighed, his shoulders squaring. He had expected this. "I was afraid you'd say that. Look, I don't want to fight you, but if that's what it takes—"

You laughed, a sound like bubbling champagne. "Fight? Oh, no, Captain. I do not wish to fight you."

You stepped closer, your eyes tracing the lines of his face, the sharp angles of his jaw, the way his jacket hugged his lean frame.

"I want something else."

Before he could respond, you took his hand, your touch was warm, almost electric and led him through the house, past rooms that glowed with alien technology and art that seemed to move when he wasn't looking.

You stopped at a door that pulsed with a soft, amber light, and when you pushed it open, EO found himself in a bedroom that was all deep purples and silvers, the bed massive and draped in silks that seemed to float on their own.

You turned to face him, and there was a hunger in your eyes that made his breath catch.

You placed your hands on his chest and pushed, and EO fell backward onto the bed, the silks cushioning his fall.

Before he could sit up, you were on top of him, straddling his waist, your thighs pressing against his hips.

"Wait," he said, though his hands were already moving to your waist, his fingers gripping the curve of your hips.

"I have to get back to my ship. Fuzzball and Hooter will worry—"

"Then I will be quick," you said, but the smile that curled your lips was a lie, and you both knew it.

You leaned down and kissed him.

Your lips were soft and demanding, and EO melted into the kiss, his hands sliding up your back, pulling you closer.

You tasted like the sweet wine of your planet, and the scent of your hair, something floral and exotic filled his senses.

When you pulled back, your eyes were half-lidded, your breathing shallow.

"Touch me," you whispered, taking his hands and placing them on your body. "Touch me everywhere."

He did. His hands roamed over your curves, over the warmth of your skin, and every touch drew a soft whimper from your lips.

You were so soft, so warm, and the sounds you made were like music. He felt himself hardening beneath you, and you must have felt it too, because you smiled and reached down, your fingers working at the fastenings of his pants.

You pulled them down, and when you took him in your hand, your eyes widened.

"I have never seen a penis like yours," you said, your voice hushed with wonder. "It is very big."

EO flushed, a rare heat creeping up his neck. "You think so?"

You answered by lowering your head and taking him into your mouth.

The sensation was electric. Your mouth was hot and wet, and you moved with a skill that left him gasping, his hands fisting in the silks beneath him.

He tried to hold back, tried to make it last, but you were too good, too eager, and with a shuddering groan, he spilled into your mouth.

You swallowed every drop, squeezing him to see if more will come out, your eyes closing in satisfaction, and when you pulled away, you licked your lips.

"You taste so sweet that I want more," you said, and before he could catch his breath you climbed on top of him, positioning yourself at his entrance. You sank down onto him in one slow, smooth motion, and EO gasped at the sensation. You were impossibly tight, your walls gripping him like a vice.

"How are you so tight?" he asked, his voice strained.

"Tamaranian anatomy," you said, a breathless laugh escaping your lips. "We are built to accommodate. But you... you fill me so completely."

You began to move, riding him with a rhythm that was both frantic and controlled. Your hips rolled, your breasts bouncing with each thrust, and your whimpers filled the room.

"Touch my pearl," you said, your voice breaking into a whimper.

"Your what?" he asked, his mind hazy with pleasure.

You took his hand and guided it to your clit, but when his fingers brushed against it, he felt something hard and smooth, a tiny, actual pearl, nestled in the folds of your flesh.

He rubbed it, and you cried out, your movements becoming frantic, your whimpers turning into full-throated moans.

You moved together, a symphony of heat and friction, until EO reached his peak again, his body shuddering as he poured himself into you.

You slowed, then stopped, and when you climbed off him, he lay there, panting, trying to regain his senses.

You pulled off him, and he watched as you reached down, your fingers dipping into your own core bringing it to your lips, licking it clean.

"What are you doing?" EO asked, fascinated.

"Tasting you," you said, your eyes half-lidded. "Tasting us."

"You don't have to do that," EO said, still catching his breath.

"I want to," you said, your voice dreamy. "Your taste is... addictive."

You continued to dig out the cum, scooping it up and swallowing it, a look of pure bliss on your face. He watched, mesmerized, until a thought occurred to him.

"Did you—" he started, sitting up. "Did you get to finish?"

You shook your head, a lazy smile on your lips. "If I do, I will make a big mess."

"I don't care," he said, and he meant it. He wanted to please you as much as you pleased him.

He pushed you back onto the bed, his head descending between your thighs.

You gasped when his mouth found you, and he tasted the mingling of your bodies, the sweetness of your skin.

He licked and sucked, learning your rhythms, and when he pressed his tongue against that tiny pearl, you arched off the bed, a scream tearing from your throat.

You came, and it was exactly as you had warned, a flood of cum soaking the sheets beneath you.

He lapped at you, trying to catch it all, but the more he licked more kept coming, wave after wave, and you couldn't stop, your body trembling, your whimpers filling the room.

"Is this normal?" He asked, his voice muffled.

"It’ll—stop soon—"

He pulled away, his face glistening, his eyes wide with concern. "Are you okay?"

You couldn't speak. Your mouth opened, but no words came out, only broken gasps.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you managed to whisper, "The diamond. It is in the chest by the window."

EO retrieved it, the gem pulsing with a warm light in his hand. He turned back to you, and you were still cumming, your legs twitching, your body wracked with aftershocks.

"Can we see each other again?" he asked, a smile tugging at his lips.

You were still cumming, putting your hands over throbbing pussy and squeezing your legs together trying to stop the flow.

You tried to sound unbothered, but your voice was strained. "You know where to find me."

He smiled, tucking the diamond into his jacket, and left you there, still trembling, still lost in the aftermath of what you had done.

When he returned to his ship, Fuzzball and Hooter immediately surrounded him, chittering and honking in question.

"What took you so long?" Fuzzball seemed to ask, his tiny eyes narrowing.

EO just smiled, his mind still full of orange curls and green eyes and the taste of your skin. "Let's just say I like pearls more than diamonds." (is that corny?)

And as the ship lifted off, heading for their next destination, EO couldn't help but wonder when he would find his way back to you.

[shaymewizard]

Check out my new post!!! 👽

[yoonitoocutie]

the.concept or Michael being a vampire

[cherrishkissed]

Sneakin out. ‎ꫂ᭪݁ ( Jackie jackson )

Sneaking out with your boyfriend always ends well. ᝰ.ᐟ

older bf! jackie x younger blk fem (early 20s so it don't be weird ya know, kinda short. I got a lil lazy mb, not rlly proofread)

Your mom and pops didn't like hearing of this boyfriend you had, especially since you never brought him around. Of course not, they'd flip out if they only knew.

You didn't wanna hear, "He's a lil older aint he?" Or "He graduated with me back in 19-"

No. You did not wanna hear it.

Sure, you were grown, but that didn't mean your parents had stopped being protective of you. And bringing home a man like Jackie was out of the question. Yes, he was kind, thoughtful, and treated you well, thats what matter. But your parents would still look sideways. You had no interest in trying to convince anyone that your relationship was something real when they already got their minds made up about you and Jackie. So you kept it quiet, secret calls and hidden outings.

A pair of headlights flash twice from down the street. Jackie's old Chevy is parked beneath a streetlamp, elbow hanging out the driver's window, watching to make sure you get there safely before he even thinks about pulling away. The moment you slip into the passenger seat, he locks the truck.

His brown eyes glance over to you, "So…" he murmurs. "What made you sneak out tonight?"

"I missed you. I can't see my man?," you asks smiling at him.

Jackie smiled at that, "Ah, you miss me" he repeats, unable to hide the grin spreading across his face. "Course you can see me baby."

He starts the truck and slowly drives off. He kept one hand on the steering wheel and the other tangled with yours, stealing little glances every few minutes. "Hows your family?" he asks you quietly.

"Good and asleep," you respond glancing over the sidewalks where others walked.

Jackie nods leaning back against his seat. "Every time I pull up to your street, I feel like that man gon' come bustin' through the front door," he chuckles.

"You so dramatic."

He glanced over with a crooked smile. "I ain't dramatic." He glanced over with a crooked smile. "I'm cautious. Tryna be respectful of your pops… and stay on your mama's good side."

You rolled your eyes. "Jackie, you could show up with flowers, a suit, and a Bible tucked under your arm."

He looked over. "And?"

"My daddy still wouldn't like you."

That earned a genuine laugh from him. "Now that," he said, shaking his head, "I believe." Jackie lived just a few miles away in a quiet little neighborhood. Bringing him home was never an option, but the opposite? That was much easier. If the two of you wanted a few uninterrupted hours together, his place was always waiting for you.

After a while he speaks again, softer this time. "Ion like you sneakin' out though mama, ain't right."

You raise an eyebrow at hearing that, "Hmmm, but you picking me up?"

"Hmmm," he hums back playful. "I know, that's the problem."

"Then stop coming to get me," you said with a playful shrug, glancing over at him as if the answer were that simple.

Jackie huffed out a quiet laugh and shook his head. "Yeah..." he murmured. "That ain't happenin'."

You smirked at him saying that, "Oh alright, then quit complaining',' you gave him a taunting look before looking back at the road.

"So now you got jokes?"

"Learned from you," you replied with the sweetest smile you could manage, as if you hadn't just thrown his own words back at him.

He stole another glance at you, shaking his head with an amused smile. "Nah," he said. "I don't remember teachin' you to be that slick."

"Oh, you definitely did."

He glanced over, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smile. He looked back to the road, the smile still lingering on his face. A few seconds passed before he reached across the center console again, his large hand finding yours without so much as a second thought. His fingers slipped easily between yours, giving your hand a gentle squeeze before resting there.

Jackie shut the door behind you, the lock clicking softly into place like the rest of the world had been cut off on purpose. His place was quiet, no distant voices, no footsteps in the hallway, just the low hum of the night outside and the faint sound of music still playing somewhere in the background. You followed him further inside, your eyes adjusting to the dim light of his living room as he tossed his keys onto a nearby table.

"Make yourself comfortable," he said softly, setting his keys on the table before shrugging off his jacket.

You slipped yours off as well, hanging it over the back of a nearby chair while taking in the quiet warmth of his place. You smoothed out your dress as you walked over, your red flats graced along the floor.

Jackie glanced over his shoulder. "You can stay as long as you want too." He wandered toward the kitchen, opening the refrigerator with an absent-minded pull. "I think I got somethin' to snack on around here…"

You were about to answer, but your attention drifted elsewhere. Instead of looking around the room, you found yourself watching him. They traced the line of his back, the way his shirt pulled tight across it, the slow flex of muscle every time he shifted his weight. Those fingers that worked with steady patience, the sight of them made your stomach tighten with insistent hunger. Not for anything on a plate. Just him, right there.

"Hm no it's okay Jackie," as you eased over to him, your hands eager to feel all over him. Your hands found his shoulder before slowly wrapping around his neck. "Just wanna be with you."

The teasing in his eyes faded, replaced with something warmer, more serious.

He reached out gently, letting his hand rest at your waist before pulling you in just enough that you were close, but still giving you room to breathe.

"Yeah?" he murmured. "You got me."

He then gave a small nod toward the hallway. "C’mon," he said quietly. He stopped at his bedroom door and pushed it open with ease, stepping aside to let you go in first. Jackie lingered in the doorway for a second longer than necessary before finally following you in and gently closing the door behind him.

"You cold or anythin baby?" he asked after a moment, voice quieter now.

You shook your head. "No m'good Jackie."

He nodded at you, though his eyes stayed on you a little longer than normal. Then he moved toward the bed, sitting down first before patting the space beside him. "Come here then," he said simply. You laid down beside him slowly, curling into his side as the mattress dipped again under your weight. His arm came around you naturally, resting like it belonged there, like it had done this before even if it hadn’t.

He gently kissed the side of your face, a small innocent gesture. Jackie figured you just wanted to sleep, so he closed his eyes quietly. He had already started drifting, breath slowing, when your fingers began their slow journey. Then some more, your hands drifted down his chest. Your palm glided over the hard plane of his chest, tracing the line between his pecs through the shirt before sliding lower. The muscles there twitched under your touch.

Jackie’s eyelids fluttered open, heavy with sleep, “What you doin'?” he asked softly, the voice low and still thick with sleep.

"Just feelin you," you say quietly, your hand then traced right down right to his pants, pressing across his crotch. He let out a soft grunt before his eyes glanced up to yours. You blink your pretty eyes at him before pressing your hand further against his bulge.

He let out that low grunt again, eyes flicking up to meet yours, heavy-lidded and darkening fast.

"Girl…" The word dragged out slow, thick with warning and want at the same time. His eyes flicked over your movements, just watching.

You smiled, teeth catching your bottom lip, then pulled your hand away completely. The sudden absence made his hips twitch forward, chasing the lost pressure. Jackie’s jaw flexed. He didn’t say anything at first, just watched you with that sleepy, focused look while his dick kept swelling, straining hard against the zipper now.

Bad move girl.

After a beat he shifted closer, rolling onto his side so his body pressed along yours. One big hand slid down your stomach, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your dress without hesitation. He found the damp cotton between your legs and pressed two fingers right against your soaked panties, rubbing slow circles over the wet spot.

"You get this wet just from playing my dick?" His voice came out low, almost amused.

Before you could answer him, he leaned in and pressed a soft, slow kiss against your lips, one after another, tasting the little sounds that slipped out of you. His fingers carefully hook the edge of your panties, he slowly pulled them off. You felt a cool breeze hit you as the fabric was removed.

"Hm?" he asks you. You let out a soft moan against his lips. Now Jackie knew exactly what you wanted. Jackie had you right there, sprawled across his lap in the low light of his bedroom, legs spread wide over his thighs. His thick middle finger sank knuckle-deep into your dripping cunt with a wet, filthy sound that filled the quiet room.

"Mmm, listen to how wet you get for me" he hummed low against your ear.

"Hmmm Jackieeee," you say desperately quiet against some sheets, you felt yourself clenching onto his finger. His gentle fingers slowed on your puffy clit hearing your plea.

"Hm you got it baby, just relax," he says slipping his finger out. You let out a annoyed grunt but he just smiled. He then lightly spreads open your pussy, and runs his middle finger down your slit, collecting your wetness before trailing it back up to work around your clit.

Your back arched from the sensation of just being on the edge to cum, then slowly have it taken away. You let out a soft whine. "Few more minutes, as a lil payback" he replies.

He then eased his thick middle finger back deeper into your soaked pussy, the wet squelch loud enough for the sound to fill the empty silence. His finger worked inside you, curling occasionally to feel you clench some more.

"Listen to that pussy talkin' back," he murmured against your ear, his voice low and praising.

"You just love teasin' a man," his thumb dragged slow circles over your swollen clit while his finger pumped the lazy curls. Every time your hips jerked, he tightened his arm across your waist and held you down.

"Don't pull away. You came all this way mama. Now you gon' take what I give you."

Your back arched hard against his chest. The over stimulation built fast, too much pressure, too much slick friction, too much of his calm yet commanding voice telling you exactly how long you had to take it.

"Jackie m'sorry," you muttered his name sweetly. Thought you weren't sorry, you loved teasing him.

"Mhm," his eyes then glanced down to the scene. "Look how fat this clit get when I rub it just right." He gave a few taps to the sensitive nub, then went back to those torturous slow rubs. He then pulled his finger free, shiny with your slick, and spread your puffy lips apart so he could watch your hole clench around nothing once again.

"Bet it been throbbin' all day thinkin' about me touchin' it," Jackie leans down to kiss the side of your neck, still rubbing, still pushing, still talking low and dirty right against your skin.

"Don't it?" he asks you low.

"Fuck, yes it does Jackie!," you nod your head as low whimpers slip through your lips.

His other hand slid down and caught a handful of your ass, squeezing firm enough to make you gasp and push back into his grip. His palm filled with soft flesh while his fingers kept stroking your soaked pussy, spreading your wetness up and down. He watched your face the whole time, eyes half-lidded but focused.

"You think you should cum mama? Cum over my fingers?" he asks you in that taunting voice.

"Jackie please let me cum," you say feeling yourself about to release. His fingers go faster, just at the speed you needed.

He then slipped them out before looking at you smirking, "Ion think so."

The slick of your own wetness glistens on his fingers as he brings them to his lips, sucking them slow, his eyes locked on you. A low hum rumbles in his throat, tasting you.

"Mmm," he murmurs, pulling his fingers out with a soft pop. "Sweet as honey, but you ain't ready for that reward yet."

Your thighs clench, empty and aching, the pulse between them throbbing with denied release. You squirm on the bedspread, the sheets sticking to your damp skin. "Jackie, c'mon now… you can't just—"

"But I did baby, think you can just be teasin' me?" he emphasizes at you. He grins, that crooked smile that makes you weak in the knees even when you're already lying down. He reaches down and unbuckles his belt. "You wanna cum? Show me then."

He pulls himself free from his jeans, thick and already half-hard, his hand lazily stroking his length as he holds your gaze.

"And maybe, just maybe, I'll forget about that teasin' mess you was pullin' earlier."

You roll your eyes before a slow smirk comes to your lips. You give a slow lick of your lips before you lean over and slowly take him in your mouth, just an inch at a time. You sucked slowly on the head, licking up each bead of precum that pushed out his tip. Your free hand lightly stroked along his shaft feeling the veins, he leans his head back watching you go ahead.

"That's my good girl," he says. He grunts quietly feeling your wet tongue swirl around his dick so good.

He brushes the hair from your face with a tenderness that belies the filth he's been whispering. His hand cups the back of your head, guiding you up and down, not forcing, just leading, setting a rhythm you fall into easy.

You hollow your cheeks, suckling a little slower, dragging your fingers along his sides. The slick sound of saliva swirling around your mouth mixes with the low, breathy grunts escaping his throat.

"Shit," he hisses through his teeth. "You know exactly what you doin', don't you? Tryna make me forget I was ever mad."

You hummed softly and slowly took him out your mouth, "Hm you was mad at me Jackie? Couldn't tell from the pistol in your pants," you say as you kiss along the sides of his dick.

Jackie chuckles low as he cups your face, "Hm, think you've done enough now." He then shifts upwards. You smile to yourself, rolling onto your stomach, arching up while looking back at him. His hand caresses over your plump ass, squeezing and humming to himself. "Way bigger than some lil pistol," he says to you.

You chuckled and teasingly shook your ass to him. He grips your ass again while spreading your cheeks open with one hand. He slowly rubs his tip between your entrance, still slick and wet. "You want it fast or slow baby?"

"Lil bit of both, just want your hands all over me" you replied. And oh he gave it to you.

His grip on your neck was firm, his palm flattening against your shoulder blade, stroking down your spine as he slowed his pace.

"Look at you," he murmured, voice gentle. "Takin' me so good, baby." He pulled out slowly, almost all the way, then pushed back in with a deep roll of his hips.

The slickness from each of you fills the sounds, your muffled whimpers deep in the pillow. His lips found your shoulder, placing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your skin. "This what you needed, huh?"

You could barely form words, just a strangled "Mhm" into the pillow as he rocked into you. "Fuckkk Jackie please, please," you say keeping your back arched. "Please baby, I wanna cum," you whimper out.

"You wanna cum baby?" he asks. "Go ahead and cum then, lemme feel it." His pace quickened, the wet slap of your ass meeting his hips filling the room. That familiar heat began to build low in your belly, coiling tighter with each stroke. You could feel yourself clenching around him, your pussy gushing as he drove deeper. A few more thrusts from him and the tension snapped, a hot wave flowing through you as you came right on his dick, your body trembling as he followed right behind, spilling into you with a low, moan.

©cherrishkissed ‎ꫂ᭪݁

authors note; got a lil lazy but I wanted to write sum that isn't Jackie being a complete butthead he can be sweet too 🫦, more works with him in the future ofc

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