Beach day w/ grandkids! Elder!Michael x Elder!reader
Having the kids for the summer was a dream come true. Nobody was more excited than their parents because that meant they wouldn't be stuck in the house on screens. You and Michael traveled a lot in your old age since you finally had enough time to. The kids didn't mind coming with you either. They got to brag to everyone about it later on.
"You need sunscreen." You sternly told your grandson. He groaned as he froze mid run to the water.
"I don't get sunburn." He spoke matter of factly. You gave him a look, you know he was lying.
"Boy, yes you do." You told him as Michael put the beach bag down next to you.
"A tan doesn't mean anything." Michael added as he took the sunscreen from you and put it on your granddaughter.
"See your sister is wearing it." His older sister stuck her tongue out at him before she sped off into the water with the youngest grandchild.
"She burns, not tans." He corrected as he walked away from you with his chest out.
You threw your hands up defensively. "Alright, you wanna be Billy bad ass be my guest."
Michael usually would fret over this but he shrugged. Sometimes you got to let the kids learn on their own. That's how your kids learned. You leaned back into the beach chair to read while Michael went to play along with the kids. You eventually joined and even got some cute pictures.
By the end of the day your grandson was groaning. His skin stung from the hot sun as you shook your head. You looked up from your book as he made his way over to you. Michael was dead asleep with your sun hat over his face. You tried to hide the smug expression on your face but you couldn't help it.
Your hands folded on your crossed legs as you watched him approach you. "Got something you wanna tell me?" You probed.
He grumbled as he gently touched the sore spot. "I think I got sunburn…" He mumbled.
"Can't hear you, gotta speak up. Old ears and all." You teased as you tapped your ear.
"I got sunburn, grandma!" He shouted causing Michael to jump out of his sleep and groan.
You laughed trying to hold it in. "What did we learn?"
"To listen when you tell me to." He whined as he leaned on you for comfort.
Luckily it wasn't a big spot and only a small patch behind his shoulder. When everyone got back to the room you rubbed aloe on it as he melted from the cooling effect. He later apologized for thinking he knew better than you to which you accepted. Kids would be kids at the end of the day. They don't want to waste a second of fun even at their own expense.
"Listen to me next time, alright?" You told him as he nodded letting you kiss his cheek before he went to go play with his siblings.
"They're a handful." Michael sighed as he sat down. You breathily laughed.
"You didn't put none on either." You reminded him.
"I went out there for a second and then I needed a nap." He reminded you with raised eyebrows.
"You forgot didn't you?" You more stated than questioned.
"I did." You laughed as he chuckled. You both falling into each other as your laughter died down. You spent the rest of the evening watching your grandchildren make a fort with the items in the room.
Living vicariously through them ugh I feel so mushy inside when I write for them 🥹
synopsis: you managed to do the one thing everyone thought was impossible, which was getting michael mad at you and he's giving you the cold shoulder. now, you're trying to find the best way to apologize to him.
content: 18+, smut (no p in v), porn w little plot, relationship issues (you're given the silent treatment), questionable behavior from reader (while drunk), oral (m receiving), make up blow job, jealously, no use on y/n, established relationship, slight dom!reader and sub!michael, use of pet names, michael is weak when it comes to you.
word count: 2.4k
a/n: i'm new to writing smut so please don't be too hard on me about this 😖. i studied a lot of this one (aka read a whole bunch of smut, but what's new). this one is shorter but i feel like that's better. as always, feedback is welcomed, thank you!
divider credit: @pixynari
"are you still mad at me?" you pouted, kicking your legs from where you sat on michael's bed.
absolute silence.
you let out a sigh, dramatically falling backwards and letting your back hit his comfy mattress. this was amusing two days ago, but now you're just irritated by this entire situation.
for the past three days now, michael has been giving you the silent treatment. it's not even like you did anything wrong. well…techinally you didn’t mean to do anything wrong, but you still managed to upset your boyfriend all the same.
“y’know you’re being really immature right now,” you teased, “the silent treatment is so childish.”
when you were once again met with silence, you pouted slightly. you never had michael this mad at you before. it’s not like he’s never been upset before—it’s quite the opposite actually. you’ve seen his (albeit quiet) anger directed at others a couple of times. pushy paparazzi, snobby music executives, sometimes even his brothers when they annoyed him enough, but never at you.
you were the center of michael’s world, and him yours. the two of you never fought past petty arguments and your friends always joked that michael was too wrapped around your finger to ever be mad at you. before, you’d always scoff and brush them off, but now, you’d wish that were still true.
getting the cold shoulder from anyone sucked, but getting it from michael? it felt like you died and went to hell. you rolled over to lay on your side. across the room was michael, sitting on the couch next to his bed reading a book. you squinted your eyes at him and caught him sulking a bit. you highly doubted that he was actually reading whatever book was in his hand. instead, you bet that he was just grazing over the words and periodically turning the page just to piss you off.
“i told you already i was drunk!” you spoke again in an attempt to defend yourself again but of course you were just met with silence.
you cursed yourself for drinking so much that night. four days ago, you dragged michael to some industry party. despite his protest and desire to just stay home and watch the three stooges with you (again), just by batting your eyelashes and tugging at his shirt, you were able to get him to come with you. it was usually so easy for you to convince him to do something for you, and he often told you about the power you had over him.
but, maybe you shouldn’t have used your powers for evil because at the party, you managed to push your luck. you got very a little drunk, which already had michael displeased, but what actually managed to set him off was aaron.
aaron was an old high school acquaintance of yours. how he managed to get into a high profile event like that? who knows. but, what you did know was that he was also obnoxiously drunk and obnoxiously talkative as well, much to michael’s dismay. if you were in your right state of mind, you would’ve just told him to buzz off, but you weren’t, so you just allowed him to talk your head off, eagerly nodding along to whatever nonsense he was sprouting, leaving michael to sulk in the corner, bitter and stone cold sober.
it wasn’t even the fact that you were talking to another guy that michael vexed—no, he was way more mature than that. it was the fact you were ignoring him that had him crossing his arms and grumbling under his breath. you had never ignored him before, and especially not for some guy, and it wasn’t a good feeling at all.
embarrassingly enough, you didn’t know you were receiving the cold shoulder at first. you were too hungover to realize michael was ignoring you, too focused on the massive headache you had acquired from the night before. but, by midday, you realized that he hadn’t once said anything to you, which finally raised some red flags for you. you tried apologizing, but it was already too late because michael had already decided to give you a taste of your own medicine.
you got up from your position on his bed and made your way over to him on the couch. you were over this completely. at first, you could understand his annoyance with you (you could admit that you were an annoying drunk), but this was too much for you. you thought you could handle the silence. you’ve been busying yourself with work and catching up on some chores, and catching up with some friends, but nothing could fill the void michael left behind, even if he was still physically here. you just wanted your baby back already.
michael couldn’t help but watch you from the corner of his eye. he tried his hardest to come off as unbothered, but watching you strut across his room towards him made him feel less like a man and more like your prey. he swallowed a lump in his throat and quickly pulled his attention back to his book, and tried to read something when he realized you were staring directly at him.
“baby, come on,” you hummed, pulling the book straight from out of his hand and onto the floor.
you smiled down at him. now he was forced to acknowledge you. michael forced himself to look up at you, but he immediately regretted it, realizing the visual of you looking down on him didn't do him any favors. before he could even realize it, he was holding in his breath. he was supposed to be mad at you, giving you a taste of your own medicine.
he wanted you to feel exactly how he felt that night: ignored, but that was easier said than done. it took more effort than michael originally realized to just ignore you. how could he? especially, with you looking down at him like that, laughing at him as if you already won—as if you already broke through his walls. he wanted to at least make you work a little harder for his attention, but he missed you and your company too much to even try anymore.
“i already said i was sorry,” you hummed in a sultry tone, moving even closer to him so that your knees were touching his, “and i meant it too.”
you tilted your head, pouting at him, causing him to follow your movement. michael subconsciously gripped the seat cushions, twiddling a loose thread between his fingers.you noticed the action, and suddenly an idea popped into your head. a great idea actually.
your frown suddenly turned into a wide and sinister smile as your gaze went from michael’s fingers to his face again. michael knew that look. he knew it too well, actually, and it meant you were up to no good. when you realized that he realized, your smile grew even wider and you let out a chuckle.
suddenly, and with warning, you sunk down onto your knees in front of him, placing your hands on his thighs. michael let out something between a yelp and a groan, causing you to laugh again, but this time more genuinely. you had some special talent when it came to making michael flustered and he both loved and hated it at times. you loved it when he got like this—all skittish and nervous—it was cute and so uniquely michael.
“but i can understand if you're still upset,” you continued, whispering, “so i want to make it up to you, is that alright with you?” you asked, innocently batting your eyelashes at him.
michael’s eyes lit up and he began shaking his head ‘yes’ repeatedly, with zero hesitation. you wanted to laugh again at this but you stopped yourself, not wanting to fluster him anymore than you had already done.
“you’ll have to use your words, baby,” you teased, resting your head in his lap, mindless tracing patterns into his jeans.
it took michael a while to respond because he was completely fixed on the way your head felt in his lap and the way you fingers felt against his leg and—shit, now he was hard. he closed his eyes, trying to focus his attention on anything other than the growing problem in his jeans. he looked up at the ceiling, because if he looked at you, he’d be a goner.
“y—yes, please…i would like that a lot,” he stammered out, giving in, finally opening his eyes to look down at you.
your eyes lit up, and you grinned. slowly (and painfully for michael), you let your fingers find the way to the button of his pants and unzipping them. you began working on pulling his pants down, which michael eagerly helped you with, wanting to speed the process up.
“slow down!” you giggled, “we have all night.”
michael let out a struggled laugh, “sorry—it's just that i can't wait any longer,” michael’s confession came out rugged.
it wasn't just spending time with you that michael missed. in four days, he felt pent up. you pulled his legs apart and stood up on your knees so that you could position yourself between his legs. not wanting to see your boyfriend suffer any longer, you moved to pull his unsurprisingly hard member out from his boxers.
his winced at the touch, feeling uncomfortably sore and restrained by his jeans. quickly, you realized he had already begun leaking precum from his tip, causing you to smile.
“wow, i haven't even done anything yet! i had no idea i had this effect on you,” you beamed, causing michael’s cheeks to heat up even more than before.
he moaned your name softly and pleading with you, “please don't do this to me right now. this is embarrassing enough as it is…”
michael wanted to say something else. something more assertive, something to let you know that he had some ounce of control left, but before he could get the words out, you kissed along his vein softly, causing him to let out a surprised groan.
for a while, you continued with your gentle kisses against him, from top to bottom, but the longer you gave him shy kisses, the more impatient michael became. he didn't know exactly how to say the words and how to tell you how painfully restless he was starting to feel, but thankfully for him, you could read his mind. after all, this was supposed to be your apology to him, so you decide to put him out of his misery.
you tested the waters first, giving him a couple quick kitten licks against his tip, but with a whine, michael immediately let you know that wasn't enough.
“don't worry, i’ll make sure you feel real good…” you reassured him, giving him a couple pumps with your hand.
your soft lips wrap around him, allowing you to finally taste him after what felt like an eternity. he let out a soft moan at the feeling of your wet mouth on his tip, now coated with a mixture of his precum and your saliva. you let out a satisfied hum before allowing yourself to sink further down onto him.
the vibration coupled with the feeling of your mouth caused michael to gasp, reaching for your head and grabbing a handful of your hair. he was trying to anchor himself back to reality and failing miserably at it.
slowly, you began bobbling your head up and down against him, finding a sickeningly sweet pace to repeat the motion again and again.
“ahh—that feels so—!” he moaned, shutting his eyes as tight as possible.
he was breathless and struggling with the overwhelming amount of pleasure he was being subjected to, which was only encouragement for you to continue.
you ran your tongue against the prominent veins of his member, making sure to show each special attention. you made sure to savor the feeling of him throbbing in your mouth and his taste.
the sight was filthy, but michael couldn't even imagine looking away. his hips began to jerk involuntarily, despite his wishes and he let out another moan. embarrassed of the sounds he was making, he slapped his hand over his mouth, but that only caused you pause.
“knock it off. i want to hear you,” you whined, pulling yourself off him completely, “you do that again and i’ll stop completely. understand?”
michael hesitated but eventually nodded and only then did you continue with your blowjob, bringing him back back into the wet warmth of your mouth. the way you managed to take him fully and repeatedly while also swirling your tongue around him? he was convinced he had died and gone to heaven.
quickly, that familiar feeling started bubbling up in his stomach and he let out a panicked whine. he tried to warn you. he called your name but the only thing that came out was yet another groan.
he gripped the locks of your tighter, and bit down on his lip. he swore he was seeing stars. feeling the inevitable coming, you quickened your pace, letting out a satisfied moan at the mess you were able to make of yourself boyfriend.
michael became restless, squirming in his seat every two seconds. you wanted to praise him and tell him how well he was doing for you, but instead you hollowed out your cheeks shifting your movements so that you could also use your hands as a replacement for your mouth.
“baby, please—” michael attempted to plead with you, although it was in vain.
with one last whine, michael finished in your mouth, painting it with the taste of his cum as. he continued to jerk his hips into your mouth, trying to ride out his pleasure for as long as he could and you happily obliged him, continuing your movements against him, he tasted divine and it wasn't until this moment that you realized how much you really missed that taste.
with one last suck, you pulled from him completely. you swallowed him in a second, letting out a satisfied hum.
“now do you see how sorry i am?” you joked standing up so that you could give him a quick kiss.
michael almost didn't process what you said because he was still breathless and attempting to come back down to reality, but the moment his brain started functioning again, he giggled.
“definitely. i could never stay mad at you for long anyways.”
bad!michael that makes you say affirmations in the mirror... while he fucks you
── .✦
the bedroom was swallowed in dim golden light, the air thick around you. michael had you positioned right in front of the full-length mirror next to the bed, your hands pressed flat against the glass just to keep your feet under you.
his forehead rested against your shoulder blade, his chest working hard against your back. every time he pulled back and drove deep into you, his moans slipped from between his lips — so gentle on the surface, but rough with the way he was working his hips.
"look up, baby," he mumbled against your neck. his voice was so soft, but it left zero room to disobey. "look at how pretty y'are f'me."
his hands were large on your waist, fingers pressing into your skin to hold you still as he snapped forward again, grinding so deep into your sweet spot that your vision went spotty. you let out a high, broken noise, your palms slipping against the glass.
"tell me," he whispered, his lips trailing hot up to your earlobe. he hitched your thigh up higher over his hip, burying himself to the hilt and holding you pinned right there. "say 'i'm pretty.'"
"michael, please—"
"shh, no," he soft-talked, his thumb rubbing over your hip bone even as his lower body stayed relentless, setting a rhythm that had you trembling from the inside out. "c'mon baby, y'gotta say it. tell the mirror."
"i'm... i'm pretty," you choked out, watching his eyes track your flushed face in the reflection.
"yeah y'are. you're so pretty," he hummed. he tugged gently at your hair, tipping your head back until your eyes locked onto his in the glass.
you looked wrecked — chest heaving, skin slick, hair sticking to your forehead, your lips were swollen and parted.
"now say 'i'm beautiful.'"
"i-i'm beautiful," you sobbed, arching back into him as his hand slipped down between your legs, fingers finding your clit and circling it until your legs shook.
"that's right. an' what else?" he commanded softly, driving into you hard enough to make your knees buckle, his voice dripping with sweetness. "say 'i deserve this.'"
“michael, please. enough,” you whined, your face flushed from the words he was making you say.
you tried to turn your head, desperate to break contact with your reflection, but his hand came up instantly, fingers gently gripping your chin keep it in place.
“c’mon, sweet girl. you're doin' such a good job f'me, jus’ one more time."
"i deserve this," you cried out.
"yeah, y'do," he muttered against your jaw, his breath ragged as he pounded into you, his eyes glued on the mirror. y'deserve feelin' so good, don't you? deserve the way i'm makin' y'feel."
you nodded frantically, choking on a sob as he kept hitting that exact spot. "yes—yes—"
"y'deserve my cum too, don't you? tell me y'want it."
"yes, yes, i want it," you sobbed, your thighs shaking, almost giving out on you if it wasn't for him holding you up. "i want you to fill me up, michael, please—"
"good girl," he rasped, smiling behind you. "listening so good f'me... 'm gonna give y'whatever y'want."
and that he did.
with one last snap of his hips, he buried himself to the hilt, groaning your name into the crook of your neck as he flooded you, his dick pulsing and spurting deep inside you until you could literally feel it overflowing, trickling warm down the inside of your thighs.
inspired by a tiktok i saw this but i lost it</3
if yk what im talking abt or have seen it pls send the link
summary: you’re michael’s personal assistant on the bad tour. when a snowstorm grounds your flight and leaves you both stranded, you’re forced to share the last hotel room—and its one bed. the quiet night leads to more than you ever expected. (or let yourself hope for)
pairing: bad!era Michael Jackson x reader
w/c: 9.8k
notes: & THERE WAS ONLY ONE (1) BED—smut ahead!!!
boss/employee relationship. forced proximity (or is it?), unprotected sex, they're pathetic and desperate your honor!!! michael EATS.
there is discussion of michael’s struggle with insomnia & loneliness. the story also briefly touches on his eating habits.
michael is a level 10 yearner, but so is the reader—so much vulnerability. he is a cheeky lil shit in this but still an absolute lover boy & dirty talker.
some suspension of disbelief may be required—there are probably (definitely) historical and timeline inaccuracies. also, the role of a personal assistant in this universe is very subjective but lets pretend for The Plot
disclaimer: i give absolutely no one permission to use my writing to train AI ‼️
masterlist • ao3 • wattpad
DENVER, COLORADO. MARCH 26, 1988.
It’s late—11:47 p.m., according to the glowing red digits on the backstage clock. The air inside the McNichols Sports Arena still hums with the leftover electricity of the final night in the city. You can practically feel it in your bones—the faint echo of applause, the way the floor still seems to vibrate even though the crowd has long since spilled out into the cold Denver night.
Normally, you would have already been on Michael’s private jet, halfway to Hartford, Connecticut—the next stop on the Bad World Tour. Tonight ran longer than usual, though. Michael stayed behind after the concert to finish a series of post-show interviews with local charities before leaving the city—something he refused to skip, no matter how exhausted he was.
You watched with a knowing smile as he pushed through his fatigue with the same gentle determination he always had when it came to causes that mattered to him. He even paused for a few fan interactions, signing posters and offering words of encouragement—giving everything he had left.
You’re exhausted yourself—the good kind. The kind that comes with pride, with the quiet satisfaction of knowing you did your job well. You’ve been Michael Jackson’s personal assistant for nearly a year now—your first job in the industry—and somehow you’d managed to keep pace with the whirlwind of the tour for the biggest star in history.
You’re good at this job, better than you had expected.
Frank DiLeo had told you more than once that you were “a natural,” and Michael himself thanked you every chance he got for keeping things running smoothly.
You still don’t quite believe it, but you love the work you’re doing—even when it pushes you to your limits. Especially when it pushes you to your limits.
You clutch your clipboard to your chest as you step toward the arena’s back exit, your coat half-buttoned, mind already shifting into travel mode.
Pushing open the heavy door, you brace for the usual bite of early spring in Colorado.
Instead, bitter cold hits you like a physical blow. The air claws at your cheeks, sharp and metallic, and the ground is already buried under a fresh layer of white. Snow pours from the sky in thick, relentless sheets, causing the entire parking lot to look blurry and unreal.
Bill stands near the SUV, talking urgently with the other security guards as you approach. Michael stands a few feet behind you, hands stuffed into his pockets. His thick winter jacket is zipped all the way up to his neck, the furry hood pulled over his head, making him look smaller than usual. A small smile graces his lips as he watches the snow swirl under the streetlights with childlike wonder.
You shuffle toward the men, your boots crunching in the snow. “Are we good to go?” You ask, breath fogging in the air.
Bill turns toward you, his expression tight. “We’re not going to the airport.”
“What? Why not?” You ask, although the reason is obvious.
”It’s a really bad storm,” he says. “Even by Colorado standards. They’ve halted all flights. Nothing’s going out tonight—private or not. They’re saying maybe noon tomorrow, once the weather clears.”
His words hit you, causing your stomach to drop.
Noon. Nearly a half a day behind schedule.
You immediately start mentally rearranging everything—rehearsal times, load-in windows, Michael’s rest schedule, the press commitments waiting in Hartford. You can practically see the calendar in your mind: the carefully-arranged blocks of time shifting, overlapping, collapsing.
You’re already calculating how early Michael will need to wake up tomorrow, how quickly you can get him fed, dressed, transported, boarded—
You sigh in reluctant acceptance. You’ll make it work, you always do, but that doesn’t stop you from cursing the weather for screwing up your plans.
You mutter under your breath, irritated: “It’s late March, for God's sake… we should be well past snowstorms and blizzards.”
Michael hears you—because of course he does—and he chuckles softly at your petulant griping. Storms don’t rattle him the way they rattle you. He steps closer, voice gentle but slightly strained. “Is everyone else already on their way?”
You nod. “They left a couple hours ago, they should be landing soon.”
The majority of the crew—the dancers, the band, technicians—had left soon after the show had ended, boarding their flights and leaving only a small group behind: Michael, Bill, a few security members, and you.
Bill nods in confirmation. “I already checked, they beat the storm. Everyone’s safe, joker. No need to worry.”
Michael exhales, slow and heavy. He’s relieved that everyone is safe, but you know him well enough by now to recognize the tension behind it. He hates being late. He hates not being there when the crew starts setting up—a control freak in the most endearing way; he’s a perfectionist, overseeing sound checks and checking lighting angles himself.
He likes to walk the stage, to feel the space. To become the Michael Jackson, not only in body, but in spirit, ready to perform his soul out for thousands of fans. Being delayed, even by a few hours, twists something tight inside him.
Bill turns to the SUV, pulling open the back door. “We’re gonna head back to the hotel. Let’s move before it gets worse.”
Michael steps aside and lets you climb in first—something he always does, a gesture that feels strangely intimate despite you reminding yourself that he’s just being polite. You slide into the middle row, and he follows, settling beside you so closely that your thighs press against each other.
The warmth inside the vehicle is immediate, the windows fogging with every breath. The wipers drag across the windshield in slow, strained arcs, barely keeping up with the onslaught of ice and snow. The moment the vehicle starts moving, the tires spin on the ice, and your body tenses immediately.
Michael notices, nudging you lightly with his elbow. “You’re jumpy.”
”I’m not,” you mutter, even though you absolutely are.
“You sure about that, girl?” He drawls out, poking you in the side, pressing hard enough for you to feel his pointy finger through your thick coat.
You swat his hand away, trying not to smile. “I grew up on the West Coast. This kind of weather isn’t natural.”
He giggles in response, his arm draping casually behind you against the car seat, around your shoulder. “Well, I’m used to it. Gary got storms like this all the time. And touring with my brothers all over the place… I’ve seen worse.”
You roll your eyes, but his teasing does settle something inside you, despite the shiver that rolls through you as he scoots closer to you—subconsciously, you tell yourself. Probably just huddling for warmth.
He’s always been flirty and touchy with you—little nudges, soft teasing, gentle brushes of his hand against yours when he hands you something.
That’s just how he is, though. He was like that with everyone—it was in his nature.
You’ve always remained professional—he’s your boss, after all. But you’ve spent so much time together—late nights and early mornings, getting to know one another, talking for hours about things that have nothing to do with schedules or checklists or responsibilities—that you like to think he’s become your friend, too.
Still, you’d be lying if you said you never thought about it—about him—like that. That you hadn’t dreamt about his damn smile, or about the way he looks at you sometimes like you’re the only person in the room.
But you love your job, and he’s Michael Jackson. You’re just… you. His employee. He’s your boss, you remind yourself again. So you push your thoughts down, ignoring your stupid feelings—burying them under professionalism and responsibility.
Another skid jolts the SUV, and you tense again. Michael leans in, voice softer now. “Hey. Stop stressin’.”
“I’m not stressing,” you lie, letting out a shaky breath.
”You are,” he insists, smiling. You can feel his warm breath against your ear as he speaks. “The next show isn’t for a few days. It’ll be alright.”
You know he’s trying to make you feel better, despite being stressed himself. He can’t stand being away from his crew while they need him. But you appreciate the comfort anyway, especially with the storm raging outside.
The drive stretches on endlessly, tires spinning occasionally on hidden ice and the wipers continuing to fight a losing battle against the snow. Finally, the SUV pulls up to the hotel—a luxury tower in the heart of downtown Denver, the same one that you had been staying at for the past week—snowdrifts already pile against the entrance. You watch as even Bill struggles to open the door against a strong gust of wind.
You shake the snow from your coat and hurry to the front desk, Michael and the security team close behind. The concierge looks frazzled as you approach him—cheeks flushed, tie crooked.
“Good evening," he says, even though it’s clearly anything but. “How can I assist you?”
You clear your throat, slipping immediately into professional mode. “Hello. We checked out this morning. We were scheduled to fly out tonight, but our flight was canceled due to the storm. We need new rooms for Mr. Jackson and his team.”
The man behind the counter winces, swallowing loudly. “I’m very sorry. Because of the concert tonight bringing in tourists—and now the weather—we’re nearly at capacity. We have very limited availability.”
Your pulse quickens. “How limited?”
”The penthouse is occupied. No suites left. Not a single one…” he says apologetically. “But perhaps I could ask another guest to give up their room for Mr. Jackson. I’m sure someone would be willing—“
Michael tunes into the conversation then, stepping forward immediately. “No. Please don’t do that.”
You knew he would never accept that. He would never take a room from a fan—he’d sooner sleep in the lobby.
The concierge nods quickly, looking relieved to avoid an awkward interaction with another guest. “We do have two standard rooms available—one with a king-sized bed, another with two queens.”
Two rooms. For all of you. You sigh—it would have to do.
”We’ll take them.” You nod, sliding the company credit card in his direction.
Keys in hand, you turn back to the group. Michael stands closer than you realized, and he catches you as you nearly bump into him, hands landing on either side of your shoulders. Snow clings to his curls, the flakes beginning to melt slowly. Tiny droplets remain on his lashes.
You force your gaze away, blushing, and gesture toward the elevators. “Let’s head up.”
The group moves as one—the four security guards flanking you and Michael on all sides. You fall into step beside him, hyperaware of his presence.
Inside the elevator, a soft chime marks your ascent to the eighth floor. It’s not as private as you would prefer—typically reserving the penthouse for Michael, or an entire floor. Not simply for comfort, but for safety. Anything to ensure his privacy and protect him from the unpredictable energy of crazy fans—
No—spirited fans. You correct yourself with a wince.
You knew better than to refer to Michael’s fans like that, even in your head. He made that rule clear on your first day—to treat his fans with love and respect.
They’re not ‘crazy’; they’re passionate, devoted, and overflowing with love. And he loves them back with equal intensity.
Admittedly, you had grown to love them, too. Even the ones who pushed boundaries from time to time. They meant well… usually. Besides, up until a few months ago, you were one of them, admiring your favorite singer and performer from the sidelines.
Still, you’re glad to have security guards there. Four of them total, including Bill. You steal a glance at them as you step off of the elevator, and your heart tightens.
They’re clearly exhausted—faces drawn, shoulders slumped, eyes heavy. They had been working since early morning; transporting Michael safely to and from the venue, managing crowd control and backstage access, keeping him safe. They should have been on a plane by now, asleep and recovering.
You swallow the guilt, knowing there was nothing you could do to change the circumstances, short of being able to control the weather.
The elevator doors glide open, spilling warm light into the hallway. Bill takes the lead with his team, assessing the two rooms quickly. “We’ll take the one with the two queens. Shifts as usual—first team, get some sleep. I’ve got point for now.”
Bill gives instructions to the other guard taking the first shift, and gives you a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Y’did good, kid.”
You smile back, grateful—growing warm at the praise.
Over the past few months of working so closely, Bill had become one of the few constants you relied on throughout the whirlwind of the tour, and he had quietly taken on something of a “work-dad” role—always offering advice, checking in, nudging you toward confidence as you learned the ropes of the job. His approval felt like a small victory.
You turn back to Michael, who waited patiently a few steps away, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. You gesture toward the second room. “This one’s yours.”
He follows you inside, the door swinging shut behind him. You take in your surroundings, and you almost laugh. It’s a “standard” room, technically—but it's still a luxury hotel.
To you, a “standard” room meant a Holiday Inn room containing two double beds with stiff floral comforters (hopefully without bedbugs), and a complimentary breakfast buffet, if you were really splurging.
This room, though, was nothing like that. A king-sized bed sat against the far wall, crisp white linens tucked perfectly, pillows fluffed to maximum softness. (Bedbug-free, you’re sure.)
A small seating area faces the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooks the city—although the view tonight was nothing but swirling white. A mini-bar sits on the other side of the room, stocked with neatly arranged bottles and snacks that you know Michael won’t touch. A large-screen TV sits opposite to the bed. The carpet is thick enough that your boots sink in slightly as you step.
“I’ll call room service,” you say, completing a mental checklist as you scan the room for anything he might need—extra blankets, bottled water, towels. “Have them bring up some orange juice for you. And dinner. Don’t even try to lie to me, Michael Jackson—I know you have barely eaten today.”
You hear Michael snicker quietly at your accurate assessment and drop his duffel bag onto the floor. You continue looking around, making sure everything is perfect. You check the thermostat settings. “I’m really sorry it’s not a suite. If I could’ve—“
“Wait,” he interrupts. You turn toward him with a raised brow. “There were only two rooms. Where are you staying?”
Your stomach sinks. You’d hoped—foolishly—that you could slip away before he had a chance to ask. You hadn’t made a plan for yourself yet, wanting to get everyone else settled first.
That’s your job. That’s what you do.
You try to skirt around the question, waving dismissively. “Oh, that. Don’t worry about me. I’ll figure something out.”
Michael plants his hands on his hips, giving you a look that is so perfectly, unintentionally mother-hen that you almost laugh, biting the inside of your cheek to hold it in.
He doesn’t say anything—simply waits with an expectant look on his face that says ‘explain yourself.’
You sigh, defeated. “I was… probably going to try to crash in the lobby. Or maybe sleep in the SUV if they give me a blanket. Or I think I saw a motel next door—“
Michael’s horrified reaction is immediate. Appalled, he cuts you off, the words coming out so fast and firm they catch you off guard.
“Absolutely not.” He steps toward you, shaking his head in exasperation. Before you can sputter out a defense, he reaches forward and practically yanks your bag off your shoulder, setting it on the floor beside his own.
“That is a ridiculously stupid plan,” he continues, incredulous. “You’re not staying in a lobby. You’re not sleeping in a car. You’re not going out in this weather. Absolutely not. Over my dead body.”
You open your mouth to argue—even though you already know that you’re not winning this one. It was a dumb plan, and you knew it. (Even dumber to think he might let you get away with it.)
He cuts you off with a single look.
”You’re staying in here. With me.”
You stare at him, stunned. He crosses his arms, doubling down on his mother-hen posture. You almost giggle at how serious he looks. Michael Jackson—global superstar, beloved icon, standing there like a stern parent scolding you for trying to sleep in a car.
The spitting image of Katherine Jackson herself, right then. It would be funny if you weren’t so irritated.
”Michael,” you sigh. “I can’t just—“
”You can,” he says simply. “And you will.”
You stand in front of him, your arms now folded tightly. Your foot begins tapping in a steady rhythm that betrays your irritation. Michael mirrors you instantly—arms crossed, his own foot now tapping, chin tilted upward—determined to match your stubbornness beat for beat.
It’s ridiculous, and childish.
You narrow your eyes at him, trying to look stern, but his soft bambi-eyes make the attempt very difficult.
“You’re my boss.” You remind him, weakly. “I can’t share a room with you.”
It’s a flimsy argument and you know it. You’d spent months practically living together—working side by side, eating meals together, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, traveling the world. You had yet to share a room, granted—but the line between professionalism and something else was already blurry.
Michael raises a single eyebrow—the cocky one that you try so hard to hate—and suddenly he looks every bit like the superstar the world views him as. “Then don’t make me play the boss card.”
“The boss card,” you repeat, deadpan.
He nods, leaning into the spiel with almost theatrical confidence. “That’s right.”
You stare at him, wholly unimpressed and unsure where he’s going with this. He stares back, absolutely delighted with himself.
”I’m your boss,” He continues, voice smooth and authoritative. “And I’m ordering you to stay in this room for the night.”
Your jaw drops, and you sputter—caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone. He’s never ‘ordered’ you to do anything. “That—that is… so not fair, Michael.”
A wide grin stretches across his stupidly handsome face—triumphant and boyish. He knows he’s won. He knows you know he’s won. And he’s enjoying every second of it.
You roll your eyes and scoff, muttering something unflattering under your breath—something about egotistical pop stars—before crouching down to pick up your bag and shuffle toward the couch.
Michael clears his throat. “What do you think you’re doing?”
You gesture vaguely at the couch, confused. “I’m taking this.”
He looks at the piece of furniture like it personally offended him. “No, you’re not.”
”It’s fine.” You insist, not sure you have any more fight left in you. “Seriously, Michael. I’ll take the couch. You need the bed. You just performed for forty thousand people and you have a packed schedule tomorrow as soon as we land. You need to rest.”
He shakes his head immediately, having absolutely none of it. “You’ve been working all day, too.”
”That’s different.”
”It’s not.” He counters.
You glance at the couch again, helplessly. It’s… not great. Not terrible, but definitely not meant for sleeping. It’s one of those decorative pieces hotels use to make rooms look fancy, but certainly not meant for comfort.
The kind of furniture that says ‘look, we’re pretty and expensive’, but absolutely does not say ‘please relax here for eight hours’.
You wince. “I’ll be fine.”
”No.”
”Michael, please—“
He cuts you off with a decisive shake of his head.
”I’m a gentleman.” He says, voice firm. “Do you know what my mother would say to me if she found out I let you sleep on the couch? I’d never live it down. I can’t deal with all that.”
You snort—you can’t help it—because the image of Katherine Jackson scolding her grown son for poor manners is both funny and entirely believable.
Still, you can’t bring yourself to accept. “Michael, seriously, I can—“
“No.”
”But—“
”No.”
You huff, crossing your arms again. Your track record of winning arguments against him was already abysmal, and clearly tonight was no exception.
“We’ll share it.” He gestures toward the bed with yet another grin. You briefly consider smacking it away. “It’s king-sized. There’s plenty of space. It’s the only option that makes sense.”
You nod shyly, biting your lip as heat rises to your cheeks at the implication of sharing a bed with him, even for one night.
At that, he notices your hesitation—the way your arms are folded tightly, and how you can’t quite meet his eyes. Suddenly feeling guilty for pushing you, his cocky expression fades into something gentler.
“Hey,” he says quietly. “We can put up a pillow wall, I won’t touch you. It doesn’t have to be weird. I just want you to get some rest… you’ve been runnin’ around all day taking care of everything—taking care of me. Let me take care of you a little. Okay?”
Your heart flutters—traitorously—at his sincerity. You shove the feeling down. Hard.
He doesn’t mean anything by it, you remind yourself. He’s just being kind. He’s just… being Michael.
Still, it melts the last of your resistance. “Okay. Fine.” You sigh, long and resigned.
His smile returns—wide and toothy.
”But,” you add quickly, pointing a single finger at him. “You get first dibs on the shower. That’s my final offer.”
He laughs then—bright and genuine. Relieved. “Deal.”
Michael turns, disappearing into the bathroom with a skip in his step—far too pleased with himself for winning yet another argument.
You watch as the door closes behind him, shaking your head in amusement. You let out a soft laugh despite yourself. He’s impossible. Absolutely, utterly impossible. And yet… you wouldn’t trade him for anything.
You finally allow yourself a moment to relax—your body sinking onto the couch. You grunt as the cushions barely give beneath your weight. You would never admit it out loud, but the couch really is uncomfortable as hell. You wouldn’t have gotten ten minutes of sleep on it, let alone a full night. You’re very glad Michael isn’t there to witness your discomfort, it would only make him more insufferable.
Still, it’s the first time you’ve sat down all day—the relief washing over you immediately. Your shoulders throb, your legs ache, and your feet feel like they’ve fused to the insides of your winter boots that are still on—wet and cold from the snow. You toe them off one at a time and let out a relieved groan as you stretch out.
You hear the shower start—the rush of water muffled by the door—and then you hear him. Humming at first, low and gentle, before a soft melody lifts into quiet singing. He knows full well he’s supposed to rest his voice between concerts, but he just can’t help himself. Music lives in him the way oxygen lives in everyone else.
You giggle softly. You briefly consider tapping on the door, reminding him to be quiet, to save his voice, to follow his doctor’s orders. But you don’t—you love hearing him sing.
You hear him perform nearly every night and still never get tired of it. For a single moment, you let yourself pretend you have him all to yourself—his voice, his presence. Him.
You instantly scold yourself as that familiar flutter in your chest returns—He’s your boss. He’s your boss. He’s your boss.
You repeat the words like a mantra—attempting to smother the feeling before it grows into something unmanageable. Something dangerous.
You have to be okay with boundaries, with that invisible line drawn between you. Tonight is no exception, even if you’re sharing a bed with him. Because if you let yourself acknowledge your feelings, for even a moment, it will only hurt.
You don’t want to lose him—That is… your job. Yes, that’s all—your job, nothing more. Surely having him as only your boss is better than not having him at all. Right?
You shake your head, forcing your thoughts into something practical—something safe. Work. Work always helps.
You pull your clipboard out and begin flipping through the pages. The familiar columns ground you as you begin rearranging the next days’ schedule, calculating how early you and Michael will need to wake up once flights resume.
You jot down notes, arrows, reminders. You plan out when you’ll need to call the venue manager, when to check into the next hotel, and a reminder to confirm transportation. You make a note to yourself to make sure Michael eats breakfast in the morning, not to let him skip it again.
At that thought, your stomach growls, a reminder that you hadn’t eaten much today, either. Hunger hits you all at once, sharp and insistent. He was right about one thing: you had spent all day taking care of everyone else.
You reach over to the phone on the endstand and call for room service. You order orange juice for Michael—his favorite, you learned on day one—and something light for him to hopefully eat, as well as your own dinner.
You hang up the phone with a soft thanks and your gaze drifts toward the duffel bag he had dropped earlier. His coat was crumpled on the carpet beside it, having been shrugged off and dumped unceremoniously on the floor at some point during your argument.
You stand, walking toward the pile and pick it up, your fingers brushing softly over the material. It’s still warm from his body heat, his scent wafting from it. You bite your lip, about to make a dumb decision.
You glance around the room nervously, as if making sure no-one was watching, and bring the coat to your face, inhaling deeply.
The scent of his cologne mixed with sweat, stage smoke and something uniquely him fills your nostrils, and you close your eyes—allowing the sensation wash over you for a single, stolen moment.
Your heart flutters again, harder this time, and you quickly pull the coat away, forcing yourself to come to your senses. Your cheeks warm with embarrassment as you realize what you just did. You scold yourself again—
He’s your boss. He’s your boss. He’s your boss!
You repeat the words in your head until they lose meaning, a useless rhythm in your mind.
You walk over to the wall hook and hang the coat neatly—trying to pretend the gesture is purely professional. You’re still adjusting his coat on the hook, softly smoothing the fabric down when you hear the bathroom door open with a soft click. You jolt, jumping away from the coat hook like you had been burned.
Guilt flashes through you, even though you’re sure he didn’t see anything—that is, didn’t see you sniffing his clothes like an absolute crazy person.
But your guilt is short-lived, evaporating instantly as it is replaced by something else entirely. Something far more overwhelming.
Steam billows out into the room like a gentle fog, and Michael stands there, wearing nothing but a white towel slung low around his hips. Droplets of water make slow paths down his skin, glistening under the warm lamplight. His curls are darker when wet—a few strands falling across his forehead, the damp ends trailing along his shoulders and collarbones.
He looks like a scene from a movie—effortless, magnetic, and entirely unaware of how devastating the sight is.
Your face heats instantly—the rush of warmth so sudden it makes your cheeks sting. You nearly choke as you try not to stare, but your eyes betray you, drinking in the unexpected sight before you.
The two of you freeze in a startled standoff, like deer caught in each other’s headlights. Michael clears his throat softly, one hand adjusting his grip on the towel as his gaze flicks away, suddenly shy.
The tips of his ears are tinged pink, and he looks endearingly human—caught off guard and a little flustered at your gawking.
“Uh… my bag. I left it—“ he gestures vaguely behind you, where the duffel sits at your feet.
“Oh!” You squeak, voice embarrassingly high. You feel like an awkward teenager, nearly tripping over the bag in your scramble to move out of his way, giving him a wide berth so you don’t accidentally brush against one another.
He blushes, avoiding eye contact. He nods toward the bathroom. “I’m done, if you wanna go ahead. I can change out here.”
You manage a jerky nod, eyes fixed on the carpet as you grab your bag with stiff, robotic movements. You shuffle past him into the still-steamy bathroom.
The moment the door closes behind you, you slump against the wood, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. You press your hands against your burning cheeks, heart still racing.
He’s. Your. Boss. You repeat it again and again, desperately hoping it will erase the image of him standing in front of you wearing nothing but a towel.
(It doesn’t.)
You pull open your overnight bag and pull out your pajamas—an oversized Bad Tour Crew shirt, and a pair of old sleep shorts. You groan internally, suddenly wishing you had packed something cuter, something less… practical.
You shake the thought away. It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. He’s your boss. You’re only sharing a bed for practical reasons. That’s it. And that's alright.
You shower quickly, letting the hot water melt away the lingering tension from your shoulders. You towel off as quickly as possible and get dressed in the oversized shirt and shorts. You take one last steadying breath, repeating your mantra once again before stepping back into the hotel room.
Michael is already settled onto the bed, now fully clothed—thank god—sitting cross-legged with the phone pressed up against his ear. He twirls the cord absent-mindedly around his fingers as he speaks, his tone soft and affectionate.
You’re pleased to find him at least picking at the food you ordered him, the orange juice sitting half-finished on the nightstand.
He looks up as you enter the room with a startled expression, his cheeks turning slightly pink as if hoping you hadn’t overheard his conversation. He wraps up the call almost immediately. “Okay, yeah. Goodnight, Mother. Love you too.”
He hangs up and offers you a sheepish smile. “That was Mother. She heard about the storm and was worried. I let her know that we’re okay. She says hello… and to thank you for everything. She adores you, you know.”
Your cheeks warm again. You had only met Katherine a handful of times, but her grace and kindness had left a deep impression. Michael had certainly inherited so much of that from her.
“Well, that's my job.” You murmur, trying to sound casual, hoping he doesn't notice your blushing. You sit on the edge of the bed and chuckle softly at the sight—he really did set up a pillow wall.
A neat line of pillows divide the bed into two clear halves like a fluffy barrier of professionalism.
”Eat,” he says, gesturing toward your food tray, and you don’t hesitate. Michael turns on the TV, flipping the channels before settling on an old Hollywood movie you don’t recognize as you dig into your food.
Neither of you speak for a while, both lost in your own thoughts, contemplating everything that had happened that evening—the concert, the storm, the canceled flights, the unexpected closeness of sharing a hotel room.
Despite that, however, the silence isn’t awkward—it’s warm and familiar. An easy quiet that can only exist between two people that had spent months learning each other’s rhythms.
You finish the last few bites of your dinner, replacing the lid and wiping your hands on a napkin. The movie continues to play quietly in the background, but neither of you are really watching it.
You’re too aware of his presence beside you, and you can sense him mulling over something—one of his legs hangs off the edge of the bed, bouncing nervously as he begins to anxiously run his palms up and down his thighs, a nervous tic you’d come to recognize.
“Michael? Everything okay over there?”
He bites his lip—deep in thought as he gathers his words. Finally he clears his throat, eyes fixed on his hands. “I just… wanted to say thank you.”
“You already thanked me,” you remind him gently. “And I was happy to do it.”
You’re about to add that it’s your job—that you’re his assistant, and that taking care of him is quite literally what you’re paid to do—when he interrupts you. Not rudely, but urgently.
”No,” he says, voice soft. “I mean… For staying with me.”
You blink, letting the words hang in the air between you. His cheeks color slightly, and he looks away, rubbing his palms together nervously. His leg bounces faster, nervous energy radiating off him in waves.
Before you can respond, he rushes to explain—words spilling out quickly like he’s afraid to lose his courage. “It’s nice. You know… to have someone here. With me.”
You soften immediately, heartstrings being tugged.
“I don’t sleep well after shows,” he murmurs. “You know that.”
You nod. You do know—his chronic insomnia was explained to you when you were hired—as if it were some small detail to be aware of when scheduling travel and appointments. But you had never talked about it with him personally, much less heard him say it out loud.
“…It’s not just the adrenaline. Or jet lag.” He hesitates. “I just… I don't like being alone after a show.”
Your chest tightens, and you try not to interrupt as he continues.
He avoids your gaze, looking down at his fidgeting hands. “I usually call my Mother. Or talk to Bill. But most nights, when they’re busy or asleep, I just… stare at the wall. For hours. Or I practice choreography. Or write. Or read. Or watch movies. Or—“ He swallows, shaking his head. “Anything to take my mind off how alone I am.”
His voice cracks a little at the end, and he winces, like he hadn’t meant to let that much vulnerability—that much honesty—slip out.
Instinctively, you shift closer, reaching across the pillows to place a hand on his arm. “Why didn’t you tell me? I’m almost always just a hotel room away.”
“You work all day.” He shrugs. “I’m not gonna bother you with something as stupid as…”
He trails off.
He really believes that, you realize. He really thinks he’s a burden.
Your heart aches, eyes stinging with sudden tears.
“It’s just nice to have you here.” He says. “Even just for the night. I know I’m your boss. I do know that. I would never expect more than… I know we’re not… I just wanted to thank you, that's all.“
You bite your lip, watching him closely as you consider his words. Suddenly, he’s not your boss, and he’s not Michael Jackson.
Right then, he’s a very lonely man pouring his heart out to you, desperate to be heard. To be seen.
“Alright,” you exhale, making a decision. “Right now, for the rest of the night; I’m not your employee, and you’re not my boss. I’m off the clock.”
He looks up, surprised at the declaration. Then, something in him melts—his shoulders relax, and the smile that spreads across his face is so genuine that it makes your heart skip a beat.
”Okay?” You grin, nudging his shoulder playfully.
”Okay.” He nods, the word coming out as a relieved chuckle. “I’m glad. Because… Well, th’truth is, I haven’t viewed you as just an employee for a while now.”
Your heart stutters. And you try—desperately—to push the feeling away, to remind yourself that he doesn’t mean anything by it, that he views you as a friend. That’s all. He needs a friend.
But right then… you swear he’s looking at you like you’re something more. Much more.
And you’re looking back at him like you wish you could be.
Outside, the storm churned on—relentless and wild. Inside, though, the room felt suspended in time. Minutes melted into an hour. Then two.
As the time slips by, your conversation drifts effortlessly from one topic to another. He tells stories about his brothers and sisters—the mischief of their early touring days, about the places he’s visited, the people he’s met.
You share quirks from your own childhood—your family, the places you lived growing up. You discuss your favorite Disney movies, and debate playfully about whether Disneyland or Disney World was better—his eyes lighting up as he insists the original park “has that special energy, you know?”
You tease him mercilessly when he gets worked up over it, and the sound of his laughter—bright and boyish—makes something warm bloom deep in your heart.
He talks about his music—lighting up as he does so. You could listen to him talk about his work for hours, his passion transforming him—getting excited, hands moving fast as he talks and voice raising an octave as he tells you about everything he’s working on, and his plans for future projects.
He makes you laugh—really laugh. The kind of laughter that shakes your shoulders and leaves you breathless. You can’t remember the last time someone made you laugh that hard.
At some point, without either of you noticing, the pillow barrier began to gradually fall apart. One pillow ended up tucked beneath your head, another propped beneath his knees. A third is kicked aside entirely, forgotten on the floor.
Without realizing, you’ve inched closer and closer, drawn together by the warmth of conversation, by the storm outside that makes the hotel room feel like its own little world.
Suddenly, your legs brush. The contact sends a quiet spark up your spine and you freeze—just for a heartbeat—but neither of you pull away.
You begin thinking. Too much—about him, about him opening up to you. About the way your heart fluttered when he said he wanted to take care of you—and how badly you wanted to let him.
You’re mid-sentence when he reaches over, lithe fingers brushing against your cheek to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
You forget what you were saying, words evaporating on your tongue as everything narrows in on the warmth of his fingertips and the softness in his eyes.
He realizes what he’s done a second too late—eyes widening and breath catching—but he doesn’t move his hand. His gaze drops to your mouth for a beat before flicking back to your eyes.
Your pulse thunders so hard you’re sure he can hear it. You stare at one another for a long, suspended moment, and in your head the familiar mantra begins again—
He’s your boss. He’s your boss. He’s your—
But the words crumble—fluttering uselessly in your mind before disappearing entirely, lost somewhere in the snowstorm outside.
And him? He looks at you as if you had personally hung the moon and stars.
He leans in—slowly, instinctively—his forehead resting against yours, your noses brush. He’s close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath fan across your lips, shaky with restraint.
“Tell me to stop.” He whispers, voice low and pained. It’s not a demand—it’s an offering.
He’s giving you out, and you should take it. You know you should. You should tell him to stop, roll over, go to sleep, and never speak of this again.
But you don’t. Instead, you lean in—choosing to throw caution to the wind. Choosing to accept the feelings you’d been trying so hard to bury. Choosing him.
You close the gap, pressing your lips against his—impossibly soft and tasting like orange juice. His hand slides to your jaw, thumb stroking gently, as if afraid you might pull away.
He pulls back for the briefest second—just long enough to take a shaky breath—before kissing you again like he physically cannot stop himself, as if months of careful restraint have finally snapped and he would rather drown in you than come up for air.
He kisses you deeply—a soft, needy sound escaping from his throat as his lips move against yours, hungry and insistent—tongue sliding in to taste you fully.
His hand moves to cradle the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair as he pulls you in. The other trails down your side, mapping the curve of your waist. You melt into the sensation, hands sliding up his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath your palm.
“I meant what I said earlier…” He grunts out between heated kisses, voice rough and low against you. “I haven’t seen you as just an employee for a long time now.”
His lips trail down, pressing warm, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw before moving to the sensitive skin of your neck. “I want more with you… so much more.”
A helpless moan escapes from your lips as he bites a sensitive spot behind your ear, soothing it instantly with his tongue.
He’s half on top of you now—your hands sliding under his shirt, palms gliding along the smooth, warm expanse of his broad back, feeling every flex of lean muscle as he moves over you.
He groans when you touch him, the sound vibrating against your throat and sending shockwaves straight to your core.
“Tell me you feel the same,” he begs, voice strained from months of longing, of holding himself back. “God, please… I need to hear it, baby.”
You nod furiously, heart hammering in your chest. “I’ve been trying to ignore it for months,” you respond breathlessly. “How much I wanted—want you. I couldn’t stop it.”
You can feel his smile curve against your skin before he kisses you again. He moves so he’s fully on top of you, his weight a warm, delicious pressure that sinks you deeper into the soft mattress.
His large, warm hands caress your sides, your waist, your hips—any inch of skin he can reach, while he rolls his hips against you, grinding his unmistakable hardness right against your core.
The friction drags an involuntary moan from your throat as heat pools low in your belly. He knows it, too—rocking against you again in a slow and deliberate circle.
”Michael,” you whimper, the single word trembling with need.
He doesn’t hesitate, his fingers finding the hem of your shirt and pulling upward. You lift your arms to help him and he pulls it the rest of the way off—flinging it carelessly across the hotel room.
The cool air hits your bare skin for barely a second before his mouth is on you, hot and eager as he captures one nipple between his lips. He sucks gently, tongue swirling around the sensitive peak before trading it for the opposite side.
He kisses and licks his way down your torso, worshipping and memorizing every inch, before reaching your sleep shorts.
His palms possessively squeeze the soft curves of your hips before hooking his fingers into the waistband and dragging your shorts and panties down your legs in one smooth motion, leaving you completely bare beneath him.
He settles himself between your thighs, pressing slow, worshipful kisses on your sensitive skin, working his way closer and closer to your dripping center. Your glistening cunt is fully bared to his gaze, and the intense, raw hunger in his expression makes your breath hitch.
Shyness washes over you suddenly. You try to close your legs instinctively, but his large hands wrap firmly around your thighs, holding them open. “You don’t have to—“ you start, voice small.
He cuts you off, voice low and rough with want. “Please, baby…. Please let me taste you. I need it, honey.”
The sweet endearment sends a sharp, involuntary spasm straight through you, fresh heat flooding between your legs. He looks up at you then, eyes desperate and pleading, silently asking for permission. You nod, unable to deny him—or yourself—any longer.
That’s all he needs before diving in—a hungry, animalistic groan escaping as he tastes you for the first time. His tongue drags slowly up and down your slick folds, savoring every last drop of your arousal before circling your clit with devastating precision.
The wet heat of his mouth is overwhelming—soft lips sucking gently, tongue exploring every sensitive inch as if he’d been starving for your exact taste. He moans against you, unable to help it, the deep vibration traveling through your body and pulling a broken cry from your lips.
Your hand flies to the top of his head and threads into his hair, gripping the damp curls as your hips rock helplessly against his face.
He keeps you spread wide with a bruising grip while he devours you with slow, relentless devotion. Every lick, every suck, every gentle graze of his teeth builds your pleasure higher, coiling tight until the world narrows to nothing except for the feeling of his mouth on you and the sounds he’s making—like he could stay there forever.
And you would let him.
You can hear how embarrassingly wet you are as he slides one hand down, teasing your entrance before slipping a single finger deep inside you. The wet, obscene sound of it fills the room, and it doesn’t take much effort for him to add a second one, curling them against that perfect spot inside of you.
You clench around them instantly, arching off of the mattress with a loud cry.
You couldn’t hold back the sounds spilling from your lips if you tried—his name nothing more than a broken echo that grows louder and louder with every stroke of his fingers.
Your mind is blissfully empty except for one repetitive thought: Michael, Michael, Michael.
It had never felt like this with anyone else—the way he touched you, the way he tasted you as if trying to memorize you—you’re absolutely sure he had ruined you for anyone else.
He pulls his mouth away just long enough to look up at you, the bottom half of his face glistening with your slick, fingers continuing to thrust in and out at a steady pace.
“Come for me, baby,” he practically begs, voice hoarse and desperate. “I want—I need you to fall apart for me.”
You’re so close, teetering right on the edge, but not quite there yet.
”Look at me.” He commands. You obey instantly, watching as he leans back down, wrapping his lips around your clit, sucking firmly while his fingers keep that perfect, effortless rhythm. He looks up, meeting your gaze with dark, wide eyes. At that, the coil inside you snaps.
You cry out his name, thighs trembling uncontrollably as your walls clamp tightly around his fingers. He doesn’t stop for a single second—doesn’t even consider slowing down as he works you through every pulsing aftershock, drawing your orgasm out of you until you’re shaking and gasping for breath.
It’s not long before it becomes too much, inching into overstimulation. You push against his shoulder and he pulls away finally—pupils blown and eyes glassy. He looks completely drunk—instantly addicted to you.
”You taste so good,” he slurs, voice completely wrecked. He withdraws his fingers from your fluttering heat and lifts them toward you, like an offering of sweet wine.
Without hesitation, you grab his wrist and wrap your lips around the wet digits, tasting yourself on his skin.
Michael lets out a deep, guttural moan at the sight, his hips twitching pathetically against the bed. You can only imagine how hard he has become—his cock straining painfully inside his clothes as he watches you suck his fingers clean.
You shoot up, grabbing the collar of his sleep-shirt and yanking him upward toward you, crashing your lips against his. The taste of yourself lingers on his tongue, tangy and intimate—intoxicating. It sends another rush of heat through your body.
You want more. You want everything—every touch, every sound, every piece of himself he’s willing to give you.
Your fingers fist tighter into the fabric before you tug it over his head, throwing it somewhere into the abyss. You’re on him instantly—pressing your mouth against his bare skin, trailing hot, wet kisses down the column of his neck and across his sharp collarbones. You can feel his pulse racing under your lips, his whole body trembling with barely-held restraint.
“Don’t stop,” He pleads, voice husky and ragged, tilting his head back to give you more access. He moans softly when you begin to nip at the sensitive skin. “God—I’ve waited so long for this, girl… dreamt about it. I’ve been so damn patient. You have no idea what you do to me.”
”Show me,” you respond, placing a kiss at the center of his chest, right above his heart. “I need more, Michael. Please—“
He pulls back enough to cradle your face in his hands, eyes burning with sincerity.
“I’ll give you everything,” he promises. “Anything—everything you want, mama.”
In one fluid motion he pushes his pajama bottoms down his hips. His cock springs free, slapping heavily against his toned abdomen. He’s thicker than you would have imagined, given his lean frame—flushed dark, the tip glistening with precum. The sight makes your mouth water and your core clench with fresh need.
You reach for him eagerly, fingers wrapping around the warm, velvety base. He hisses sharply through his teeth at the contact, and he gently pulls your hand away, lacing his fingers with yours.
”Not yet,” he rasps, squeezing your hand. “I swear to god, I’ll bust if you touch me like that right now… and I’m not done with you yet.”
”But… I want to taste you,” you admit softly, feeling shy and girlish. “I want to make you feel good too.”
He shakes his head, a smile curling his lips. “I want that too, more than anything. And I’ll let you… next time.”
Next time.
The promise settles warmly in your chest and makes your heart skip a beat. You know what that means—there will be conversations tomorrow, heavy ones. Things between you and him will never go back to the way they were. You should care. A smart, professional person who values her career should care deeply.
But you don’t.
You’re so utterly consumed by him—by the pleasure humming through your veins, by the way he’s looking at you like you’re everything he’s ever wanted.
Consequences be damned. You’ve been good. You’ve been patient. You’ve done everything right for so long. And he—Michael Jackson himself—wants you just as badly as you want him.
You nod, surrendering to him completely.
A wolfish grin spreads across his face as he reaches down and slides his fingers through your soaked folds and pushes them back inside of you. A third finger joins soon after, stretching you open with slow, careful thrusts. Pleasure sparks through your body as he once again curls them perfectly against your g-spot.
His mouth stays close to your ear, whispering praises between the soft kisses along your neck. “That’s it, pretty girl. Let me hear those sounds. You’re so beautiful like this.”
His thumb brushes against your clit in steady rhythm with his fingers. “So wet for me… only for me. Just like that, yeah? Right there?”
His dark, expressive eyes lock onto yours as he pumps three fingers deep inside of you, hitting that perfect spot over and over again. Your second climax of the night builds fast, your breath coming out in short, needy gasps.
You’re right on the edge when he abruptly pulls his fingers out—popping them into his own mouth this time, sucking on them greedily.
You let out a needy, petulant whine at the devastating loss, your hips chasing the orgasm that he ripped away from you. He coos in your ear, pressing a wet kiss against it. “Shh, baby… I’ve got you. Gonna make you feel so good.”
Michael finally shifts above you, bracing his weight on his forearms, and you feel the head of his cock nudging insistently against your slick entrance. His eyes lock onto yours, silently searching—begging—for permission.
In answer, you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him closer, guiding him home.
”Baby…!” He moans out, the sound half ecstasy, half relief as he pushes forward. He enters you slowly, inch by thick inch, stretching you open.
There’s a slight sting despite his earlier care—a sweet, delicious burn that makes your breath hitch. It had been too long since anyone had touched you like this—since anyone had made you feel this full, this wanted.
You’re ruined, you accept with startling clarity. No one else would ever come close. He knows it too—you can see it in the way his eyes flutter shut, in the slight tremble of his body as he holds himself back from thrusting too fast. Nothing and no one would ever compare.
A loud, broken moan spills from both of you as he finally bottoms out, buried to the hilt so deeply you can feel him in every part of you. He stays there for a long moment, perfectly still, savoring the feeling. He presses his forehead against yours, ragged breath mingling with your own.
He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes again, then he begins to move—long, deep thrusts drag against every sensitive spot inside you. His hips roll with that signature, graceful rhythm he brings to the stage every night, now edged with raw desperation.
His fingers dig into your hips, grip tight and bruising, making certain you will feel him for days.
You cling to him—nails scoring down the smooth skin of his back, heels digging into the small of his spine as you meet his every thrust. The lewd, wet slap of skin on skin and your shared moans fill the hotel room.
He angles his hips higher, hitting your spot again and again until you’re gasping and shaking beneath him. “M-Michael—oh, oh god I think I’m—“
”Come for me,” he begs—voice straining, his breath hitching as you begin to clench around him. His thrusts grow faster, more frantic. “I want—I need to feel you.”
At his words, your orgasm crashes over you like a blinding tidal wave.
A sharp cry tears from your throat as your walls clamp hard around his member. Your vision goes white around the edges, every muscle trembling as you release. His name pours from your lips like a mantra.
He’s close too—you can feel it in the way his hips begin to stutter—but he’s holding himself back, just barely. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, a broken moan escaping him.
“W-where?” He grits out, sounding almost pathetic with need. “Please—tell me where. I’m so close—I can’t—“
”Inside,” you answer immediately, wrapping your legs tighter around him, locking your ankles behind his back. “I’m on the pill. I’m safe, I promise. Please, Michael—fill me up. Please, please, I need—“
That’s all it takes.
He buries himself inside of you with a loud cry, hips snapping forward as he comes hard. He doesn’t stop thrusting, not even for a second, grinding deep as he spills inside you, filling you with pulse after pulse of hot seed. The head of his cock presses insistently against your cervix as he paints your walls, whining your name over and over again like it’s the only word left in his vocabulary.
Even after he finishes, his hips continue moving in shallow, desperate thrusts, as if he can’t bear to stop. Soft, pathetic whimpers escape him as overstimulation takes hold—body shaking as his pleasure clouds everything else. He’s lost in you, completely and utterly gone. You hold him close through every second of it, arms wrapped tight around his trembling frame.
You stay locked together for a long moment afterward, trembling and slick with a messy blend of sweat and release. The air around you is thick, smelling like sex and the faint trace of his cologne and the shampoo you used in the shower.
Your heartbeats thunder against each other in the quiet hotel room, gradually slowing as the intensity of the moment fades into something softer.
Eventually, he shifts with a shaky, reluctant sigh, as if it physically pained him to have to separate from you. He slips out of you slowly, the wet drag sending a shared shiver through both of you. You can feel the warm trickle of your combined fluids leak obscenely out of you, soaking into the sheets.
Michael barely moves away—immediately settling back down against your body, skin to skin.
Soft, worshipful kisses begin to trail across your flushed, sweaty skin. He brushes his lips to your temple, to your cheeks, your jaw, and then finally your lips.
He kisses you as if he can’t quite believe you’re real—willing and here with him. Each one lingers, gentle and reverent, as though he’s afraid that if he pulls away completely you might vanish, like the whole night could still be a dream.
He finally settles his head against your chest, and your hand drifts up to rest at the back of his neck, fingers slowly threading through the damp curls at his nape. You play with them absentmindedly, still trying to catch your breath.
That’s when you hear it—his voice, shaky and barely above a whisper, tumbling out in a frenzied, unconscious litany:
“Thank you… thank you, thank you, thank you—“
The words spill from him like a prayer he doesn’t even realize he’s saying, raw and desperate. Your chest tightens with a fierce tenderness. You don’t speak or shush him. Instead, you pull him closer, holding him gently against you.
You press slow, reassuring kisses to the top of his head: silent promises that reveal everything you can’t yet put into words:
I’m not going anywhere. I’ll still be here in the morning, and every morning after that.
You love him, you realize. The thought settles over you undeniably, blooming deep and real in your chest. You don’t say it out loud, not yet—but the words echo in every gentle stroke of your fingers through his hair, in the steady rhythm of your heartbeat against his.
The world outside has ceased to exist.
The snowstorm, the complicated travel plans, the endless chaos of the tour—none of it can touch you here. There is only this bed, only his warmth against yours, only the quiet certainty that everything has changed. For the better.
His whispers gradually fade into slow, even breaths, and his body grows heavier as exhaustion finally wins over, slumping fully against you. His entire weight presses you deeper into the mattress in the most comforting way imaginable. His face is tucked into the curve between your neck and breasts, warm breath fanning steadily across your skin.
He succumbs to sleep completely—probably for the first time in days—safe, spent, and wrapped in your arms.
You hold him there, one hand still cradling the back of his head, and listen to the quiet rhythm of his breathing until your own eyes grow heavy. You surrender to sleep yourself, choosing to not worry about the next day and its complications.
For tonight, nothing else mattered.
a/n: if you’ve read this far, thank you from the bottom of my heart! any and all feedback is greatly appreciated. please enjoy and be kind ❤️
synopsis: jaafar learns you've never had an orgasm (like whatttttt) :o so he decides to show u
cw: smut, childhood bsf!jaafar, hints of possessive undertones (?), tension, dry humping, praise kink, dirty talk, fingering (f!receiving), p in v, size kink, multiple orgasms, creampie, soft!dom jaafar :DD, straight up filth im sorry
can u guys tell i missed jaafar
half-edited
dating is hell. plain and simple.
the whole concept of putting on a nice outfit, spending your precious time getting ready, and driving across town just to sit across from a guy who couldn't care less about anything you have to say is exhausting. you weren’t even big on casual dating to begin with, but your friends had spent three weeks nagging you about this guy you’d met at a party — insisting he was sweet, handsome, and totally your type.
he wasn’t.
the date was a complete disaster from start to finish. you would’ve at least given him a point for driving across town to pick you up at your place, but that didn't even scratch the bare minimum considering what he put you through the rest of the night. he showed up twenty minutes late without so much as a quick text or apology, spent the first half of dinner monologuing about his workout routine, and spent the second half checking his phone under the table. by the time the bill came, he acted like he’d bought you a house instead of two watered down drinks, leaning in at the end of the night with a sleazy, expectant grin like he fully counted on an invitation to your apartment.
you didn't even let him drive you home. the second you excused yourself to the restroom, you pulled out your phone.
can u come get me?
his reply came back almost immediately.
send me the address. i’m on my way.
that was just how it was with him.
it had always been that way. ever since you two were kids running around his house, scraping your knees on the driveway and playing around. jaafar was your safe haven. he knew every single thing about you — every secret, every insecurity, every terrible decision — and you knew him just as deeply. you knew the insane work ethic he hid behind his easygoing nature, and the grounding presence he brought into your life whenever the rest of the world felt overwhelming. when nobody else listened, jaafar did.
a few minutes later, his car pulled up to the curb.
jaafar’s eyes swept over you as you walked to his passenger door. you were wearing a short white sundress. it was tight at the waist, flowy at the bottom, with a low scoop at the neck. maybe even a bit too low, not that he should be noticing that anyway.
by the time he put the car in park and rolled the windows down you were right there, resting your arms on the edge of the driver’s side window as you leaned through it. you brought the summer heat in with you, coming so close he could smell your perfume. a new scent, but the same old proximity. you never had much of a sense of personal space with him.
plus, he didn’t mind when you leaned so far over into the body of his car that the neckline of your pretty dress fell open. but he kept his eyes on yours.
you were all done up. you'd made an effort tonight, and he could see it. you looked down at him through heavy lashes, your glossy lips tugging into a smile.
he wondered how someone could’ve fucked up that badly on a date with you.
“are you the uber i ordered?” you grinned.
“oh you think you’re funny, don’t you?”
“one of us has to be the funny one.”
he smiled at you as he scanned your expression.
you were smiling too, bright and easy. anyone else would've believed it. but he knew better.
“how’s my comedian doing?” he asked. “you okay?”
you let out a dramatic sigh. “i’m fine. it’s not a big deal.”
“but you made me come pick you up. that sounds like a big deal.”
there was a moment of heavy silence, and then you let your smile relax.
“if i’m being honest, i’m better now that you’re here. so thank you.” you said.
“you never have to thank me,” he said, shifting his car into park.
he pushed the door open, and you stepped back to give him room. he stepped into the space, now being the one to look down at you. he was always so much taller than you, even when u were kids.
he opened his arms wide, giving you an unsaid invitation.
a small smile broke across your face as you stepped right into him, melting against his frame. you pressed your cheek firmly into the center of his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, and wrapped your arms tight around his torso.
he closed his arms around you instantly, pulling you flush against him. one of his large, warm hands settled flat against the small of your back, holding you close, while the other rested gently against the back of your head, his fingers threading into your hair. he rested his chin right on top of your head.
it was a short hug but it instantly made you feel better.
when you pulled back, he leaned and rested his side against the car “so... what do you want to do?” he asked. “go somewhere? i can take you home."
you chewed on your lip. “sure, you can take me home, if that’s easier.”
if he was anyone else, he would've taken your answer at face value. but then his eyes drifted over you, your dress, your hair. you'd spent all this time getting ready, it shouldn't all be for nothing
"actually,” he corrected. “why don't we go somewhere?"
"yeah?" you smiled.
"yeah." he signaled toward the passenger side with a tilt of his head, guiding you over. you expression was brighter as he opened the passenger door for you.
you were already settled intot he passenger seat by the time he realized it was as far back as it is.
jermajesty had been riding shotgun earlier with his legs stretched all the way out, and jaafar had completely forgotten to adjust the seat back to its usual position — or more like your preferred position.
he rested one hand on the roof of the car and ducked his head in, leaning right over your lap to reach down. his knuckles brushed against the side of your thigh as he pressed the little switch on the side of the seat, sending it humming smoothly forward along its track.
“sorry,” he murmured. “forgot to move it back for you.”
the seat hummed softly as it adjusted, and jaafar did mean to look up at you. but as he raised his gaze — from the button on the side of the seat, to where you were sitting, with your leg resting just a few inches from his hand — his eyes caught on your thigh.
but before he could stop himself, his gaze lingered. the hem of your dress had ridden up just enough to leave the smooth curve of your upper thigh bare.
god, that dress.
you put this dress on for him? for some random guy who didn't even care to look at you? the thought made his jaw lock so tight his back teeth ached. some idiot who wouldn't spend a dime on you, who wouldn't even think to buy you all the pretty dresses you wanted, got to sit across from you looking like this. got to look at you done up so sweet, when he didn't deserve to even be in the same room as you.
“i could’ve moved the seat myself, jaafar.” you laughed, completely oblivious to his glance, and thankfully, to all the nasty thoughts running wild in his head. “i know how to press a button.”
he was still trying to recover from that glance, barely even noticing that he’d adjusted the seat more than enough. in fact, you were now face to face, and he was looking you dead in the eyes. his mind was still on that dress. that dress on you, and that smile on your face, and that perfume filling his head, dizzying him.
you cocked your head to the side. “but it is kinda nice, though. getting taken care of.”
taken care of.
you really shouldn’t have said that, because something was now flashing through his head that he absolutely shouldn’t be thinking about; laying you down, shoving your pretty little sundress up, kneeling between your legs, your thighs shaking on his shoulders as his fingers grazed over your skin.
taking care of you and treating you right, the way you should be.
your fingers tangled and tugging at his hair, his tongue on your—
“jaafar?” your eyes were locked on his. “hello? did you just zone out?”
he pulled back when he broke out of his daze.
“sorry,” he said quickly, “i was just thinking—” about things he shouldn’t have, looking at places he shouldn’t have. “—some things i have to do this week.”
horrible excuse, but it was the best he could do.
he shut the door.
“i think it’s nice that you always open doors for me. there are like… no gentlemen left nowadays.”
gentlemen? fuck.
if he were actually a gentleman, he wouldn’t have been looking at you like that.
“opening doors is the bare minimum.”
“mm, well at least one guy gets it.”
but what about all the other guys, though? the guys who did next to nothing and called it enough, the ones who didn't even think about doing the bare minimum for you — why were you wasting your time on men who didn’t even care enough to see what they had right in front of them?
but that wasn't any of his business, though. just like it wasn't any of his business what you looked like beneath your dress. he'd crossed a line looking at you the way he did. he shouldn't have been imagining any of that.
and he definitely had no business calling your name right then.
you glanced up at him like through the rolled-down window.
“you look really good,” he murmured. “i hope you know that.”
a soft smile touched your lips. “you think so?”
“yeah.” of course he did. he’d always thought you were. but he wasn’t going say it out loud — he knew better.
what he needed to do was shake off whatever the hell those fantasies were — where’d they even come from? that was never the nature of your relationship, and it never would be.
you dont see him that way anyway.
the worst part about all of it was that he knew exactly how you viewed him. a friend. and even knowing that, he still had that filth run through his mind.
pervert.
“thank you, j.”
“‘course.”
he walked over to the driver's side of the car, fighting the dull ache twisting in his gut before sliding behind the wheel.
“so where are we going?” you asked, fiddling with the ac to how you want it.
"where do you want to go?” he asked softly.
"... can we go to the lake?"
it felt like forever since he was here with you last.
back before work and filming and life got too hectic for the two of you to make the long drive out.
yet here you were again, staring through the glass at the moonlit ripple of the lake. the place hadn't shifted a bit; completely untouched by time. standing so still, it felt like stepping back into an old memory.
there was a time when this turn-off belonged only to the two of you. it started years back, on a night you’d broken down in tears crying — something you almost never did. you’d told him you just wished you could get out for a bit, get some fresh air, and within minutes, his car was parked down the street from your house.
he watched you sneak out the back door, carefully avoiding the creaky steps so you wouldn't wake your parents. any trace of your tears had vanished the second you made it into his passenger seat, giddy from the excitement of sneaking out in the middle of the night. you’d told him to hurry up and drive before anyone noticed, telling him to take you somewhere far away.
and this was where he took you.
after that night, it became your go-to spot. whenever life got too overwhelming, or you just needed to disappear for a while, he’d pull up without a word and take you on the drive out to the water, sitting there with you for as many hours as you needed.
jaafar missed it.
a cool night breeze swayed the dark trees along the bank, rustling the leaves as the moonlight poured over the dashboard. the rolled down windows let the soft summer breeze in.
"we used to come here a lot," you murmured softly.
jaafar turned his head to look at you. the glow of the moon lit up your profile, softening your features and turning your eyes into dark pools that caught the faint light.
"yeah," he said, his voice quiet. "all the time."
you laughed. "i was always going through it back then. and you were always bringing me out here whenever i needed it."
"things were hard back then," he replied, watching you closely. "but they're better now, aren't they?"
you went quiet for a beat, staring out at the water as your smile slowly faded into something softer, a look on your face he couldn't quite read.
"yeah," you whispered. "but it's because of you. you always took care of me."
"i'll always take care of you," he said firmly, not missing a beat.
you looked away for a second, your fingers tangling together in your lap as you took a slow breath. "jaafar—"
before you could finish, a heavy crack of summer thunder rattled the car, followed by the pounding of rain against the windshield.
jaafar rolled the windows back up, the sound of the rain muffling behind it. he turned the ac on high and watched the fog on the windshield spread.
he was about to ask you what you were saying but your phone chimed.
his eyes flickered down to your phone, a sudden urge to ask if it was him.
but it wasn’t any of his business. so he lay his head back on the headrest, fiddling with the material of his sweatpants as you checked your phone.
turns out, he didn’t need to ask.
“what an asshole,” you muttered. “no way he expects a second date after that.”
jaafar let out an exhale. “he texted you?”
“yeah,” you sighed, holding the screen toward him. “he’s asking if i'm down for ‘round two.’ can you believe this guy?”
jaafar didn’t touch the phone, his eyes sweeping over the notification, shaking his head.
your phone chimed again.
you both look down at your phone screen at the same time.
maybe you can come over to my place this time
wyd now? are you in bed already?
jaafar clenched his jaw, prying his eyes away from your phone.
“he’s asking if im in bed?” you mused. “how much do you wanna bet he’s gonna ask for nudes after all that.”
you were laughing, and he had his jaw clenched.
“don’t text him back.” it came out a bit rougher than he would’ve liked.
“you’re giving me orders now?” you snorted. “what are you, my dad?”
jaafar sighed, his eyes closing. “sorry.”
he knew he was being too intense, but he didn’t know what had gotten into him tonight.
“is something bothering you, j?”
he inhales deeply. “i don’t know.” he said. “‘s just…”
he rolled his head on the headrest to meet your eyes. you looked at him, expectantly — almost needy and he felt his throat tighten. he would give you anything in the world, give you whatever you need. care for you, protect you, and keep you—
but you were not his.
so jaafar chose his next words carefully.
“if you’re not getting what you deserve,” he said. “then drop him.”
he didn’t want to sound too harsh. “it’s up to you, but i just don’t like seeing you hurt. that’s all.”
your eyes softened. “i’m not texting him back.” you said. “wasn’t going to. he’s an asshole.”
he couldn’t help but feel relieved.
you watched as his fingers moved over his sweatpants. he had a habit of doing that.
he was gentle in everything he did — always had been, at least with you. he’d only ever treated you gently. but tonight felt different. he felt different.
you don’t know why you couldn’t stop looking at them. you couldn’t stop the feeling building in the pit of your stomach that intensified when you imagined him touching you with the same purpose.
you knew he’d be so good at it. jaafar was eager to please, eager to give — he always knew what to do.
he looked out through the rain-streaked windshield, a sliver of his tongue slipping out to trace his bottom lip before he bit down on it.
you imagined it on you, him running his tongue up your body.
the bite of his words from earlier still echoed in your head — don't text him back. drop him — he’d always been protective of you — that wasn't anything new. but again, it felt different.
“what is it?” he asked, meeting your eyes.
you were leaning closer now, resting your arm over the center console, oblivious to the way the thin strap of your dress slipped slightly down your shoulder.
his eyes flickered down for a second, his gaze wandering over your falling neckline, taking in the soft dip of your cleavage and the faint, lacy outline of your bra. before his thoughts could go any further, he dragged his eyes back up to yours, his throat working as he swallowed.
“can i admit something to you, jaafar?”
“anything,” he said smoothly.
“when i was younger, i used to think all guys would be a little like you. caring and… selfless.” you paused, huffing out a laugh. “but i found out most of them are the opposite.”
“what do you mean?”
“some guys are just selfish. and some only want you for one thing.”
he was quiet for a second.
“i shouldn’t have let you set the standard,” you murmured, a faint smile on your face. “you gave them way too much to live up to.”
set the standard?
jaafar glanced at you as thunder rolled above, but you were looking out through the windshield again, your face unreadable.
“there have to be some good guys out there,” he murmured softly. “they can’t all be bad.”
that made you laugh.
“oh, it’s all bad.” you turned back to face him, propping your chin on your hand. “i mean, i’ve told you pretty much everything. but i never told you what a mess these guys are in bed, did i? they take selfish to a whole new level.”
in bed?
jaafar felt his mouth go dry, another image surfacing in his head, but one that put a pit in his stomach — someone else’s hands on you.
his jaw clenched so hard his back teeth ached. “oh. really?”
god, he wasn’t any better than them. here he was, secretly fantasizing about you while you sat right beside him, trusting him with your heart.
“really,” you studied him with a curious look on your face. "you wanna know all the dirty details?”
he was torn — stuck between not wanting to picture another soul touching you and needing to know every single thing that fell short. he needed to know where they failed, everything that wasn't enough, just so he could fix it for you. so he could make it up to you.
but above all else, he pushed those feelings down. when he told you that you could tell him anything, he meant it.
“we can talk it out.” he finally said.
“okay.”
and just like that, you were slouching forward over the console, leaning into his space just like old times — back when you’d bring him all the hot gossip from your friends. you trusted him implicitly, confiding in him the way you always had.
“jaafar…”
you pursed your lips, a subtle, conspiratorial smile playing on your mouth. for a second, the closeness of you was dizzying.
“... none of the guys i’ve been with have ever made me cum before.”
fuck.
“not a single one.”
there was a pressure in his chest, and he didn’t know what it was from. he didn’t even know what was suffocating him more — the sickening thought of another guy trying, the fact that every single one of them had failed and left you unsatisfied, or the realization that he knew he could do better. he’d been dying to see what you looked like when you were undone, dying to be the one to give it to you.
“really?” he breathed out, his voice barely a murmur.
“really,” you said, a faint smile touching your lips. “i always have to take care of myself.”
he had to swallow hard to keep from sputtering out. god.
“maybe it’s because… you don’t really know them?” he muttered, looking away toward the window. a dry, awkward laugh escaped him. he didn’t even know what the fuck he was saying anymore. “like… you just met them?”
“what are you saying, j?” you asked, your tone dipping a bit critical. “i should go for someone i know instead?”
his heart dropped. he didn’t mean it like that. now he’d made it sound like he was putting his own name in the running, and he’d never do that.
“‘m not saying that.” his words were careful. “just… you deserve someone who treats you well. better than that.”
you pushed. “better? what does that look like to you?”
jaafar let out a frustrated laugh, shaking his head. “what does it matter what it looks like to me?”
“because,” you scoffed. “i trust your judgement on guys. why are you being so shy with your opinion all of a sudden?"
he was taken aback by the tone of your words. he didn’t get why you were digging so hard, why you wanted to know so badly.
what was better anyway? there was better, there was good enough, and in his mind, none of those were the same thing. none of it came close to what you deserved
“at the bare minimum,” jaafar finally said. “someone who’d appreciate you. someone who appreciates your time, and doesn't pull bullshit like your date did tonight.”
“and what if i haven’t found that?” you murmured.
“you will,” he said softly. “there are a lot of guys who’d jump at the chance to treat you right. you’re—”
he cut himself off.
you were watching him so intently, clinging on to every word.
“i’m what?”
there were so many things he wanted to say to you, but he couldn’t.
he laughed humourlessly. “because you’re you,” —because you’re everything a person could want— “and you deserve someone who…”
he trailed off, trying to place the look on your face.
“go ahead, tell me.” you pushed. “you’re the expert right? you get to size up every guy who even looks at me. no one’s ever been good enough for you. aren’t you dying for the chance to tell me exactly who i need?”
he laughed, frustration rolling over him. he didn't even know what this was anymore. a conversation? an argument?
“i'm listening.”
his eyes scanned over your face. “you need a guy who’s good for you.” the words were in his voice, but they felt completely unfamiliar. “he should treat you right. be there when you need him. he should be attentive, show up for you, appreciate you. always tell you how pretty you are. he should be taking care of you... meeting all your needs with no questions—or excuses—you know how tired i am of hearing excuses? you need someone who'd give you everything—”
"so someone like you?" you were staring at him, head titled. and he knew he fucked it all up. he said way too much.
“i’m sorry,” he murmured, running a hand over his mouth. “really, i don’t know what i’m...”
your expression melted. the rain beat on the roof of the car as you shook your head slowly.
"since when is caring something you have to apologize for?"
“it's not my place,” he said, voice low.
you sighed softly, your eyes flickering all over his face. you leaned in closer.
"jaafar... what if i did want someone like you?"
he froze in place, his breathing quickening.
"…you keep saying i deserve someone who treats me right," you said quietly. "someone who shows up. someone who actually cares."
you don't even remember how the distance between you guys shrunk, but he was so close now — too close. close enough that you could count the lashes framing his eyes.
his face was just a few inches from yours. your chest was leaning right over the center console, close enough that he could feel the heat radiating off you.
your voice was so quiet, your nose brushing over his.
“‘m sorry i didn’t see it before, jaafar. i was looking for that person for so long. spent so much time trying to find what felt right.” you held his gaze. “the only time it ever did… was with you.”
his head was spinning, skin tingling. was he dreaming?
“did i misread things?” you breathed, your lips almost touching. “do you not feel the same way?”
“please tell me you’re serious.” he sounded borderline desperate. but he didn’t care.
“i’m dead serious,” you whispered.
“i want you,” he started. “so much. in all the ways i shouldn’t, and it’s killing me.”
“you can have me in any way you want.”
he said your name, and it came out helpless.
instead of saying anything else, he pulled you forward, closing the gap.
he finally tasted you, felt you, his skin buzzing at every point where it was touching you. he parted your lips with his, and you opened for him like a flower.
you let him in, let him have you.
you let him devour you and taste all his feelings reciprocated on your tongue.
you let out a gasp into his mouth, and it made him dizzy.
“i want you. so badly.” your arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him closer. your voice was barely above a whisper, but it echoed through him all the same.
he wasn’t expecting you to touch him. he was so hard already. he’d been hard for you, so sensitive to every movement of your hands on him.
“i need you” you breathed.
he pulled back, breathing hard. “are you sure?"
“’m so sure. i need you right now.”
he’d give you anything you need.
you deserved everything. so many things that for a second he didn’t know where to start. but then you were moaning softly in his mouth, so responsive to his touch.
your confession echoed in his mind.
none of the guys i’ve been with have ever made me cum before.
and so he ran his fingers up your thigh, fingers trailing up your skin.
his hands seemed to grasp everywhere at once, his mouth hungry on yours as your tongues moved together. every kiss carried need. he gave your thigh a soft squeeze, a light touch claiming every inch of skin.
his fingers moved higher and higher until he was playing with the lower hem of your dress.
you knotted your fingers into his hair — it was soft to the touch. your skin grew more sensitive with every moment, his hand stalling on your upper thigh as his thumb rubbed near its apex. he broke the kiss, trailing his mouth down your jaw and down your neck.
oh—
your gasp devolved into a shudder as he licked up your throat, his tongue hot on your skin at the exact same time his hand slipped slowly under your dress.
it left goosebumps all over your neck and thighs, your back arching off the leather seat as your legs spread slightly.
"jaafar—" you gasped.
"yeah, baby?" he slurred against your pulse.
"want to be closer," you breathed, hips twitching instinctively against his touch. "'need you."
"c'mere."
his large hand spanned around your waist, using his strength to pull you straight toward him over the center console.
you straddled his lap, your hands resting on his shoulders for balance as his fingers gripped your hips tight. you were so close now — you could feel him pressing firm through the fabric of his sweatpants. the warmth of his lap under your bare thighs sent butterflies wild in your stomach.
he was big. with his height, you probably should’ve guessed.
jaafar’s eyes roamed over you, greedy and heavy-lidded as he took in the sight of you.
"look at you," he said softly.
the look on his face was pure awe and reverence, and it made you bashful under his gaze.
"you can look," you laughed shakily, heat rushing to your cheeks as you tried to cover your face. "but not for long."
"why not?" he murmured, a faint, lopsided smile touching his lips as he gently caught your wrists, pulling your hands away so he could see you again.
"’cause... it's embarrassing," you whispered, biting your lip.
“i’d look at you all day if you let me. never seen anything better.”
"stop." you tried to look away, but his hand came up, warm fingers gently cupping your jaw, bringing your face back to his.
"you're too sweet to me," you murmured softly.
"you deserve it," he smiled softly, his eyes brimming with so much sincerity it almost made your chest ache. "i hope you know you deserve the world."
"you mean it?" your breath caught when his large hand squeezed your hip softly over the thin fabric of your dress.
"i do," he said. his fingers idled at the middle of your back, slowly tracing up your spine until they wrapped around the nape of your neck, his touch sending a shiver straight down your length. he pulled your face gently down to his, your lips almost touching, his hot breath fanning across your mouth. "y'know what else you deserve?"
"what?" you breathed, your pulse racing in your ears.
"let me show you."
he kissed you deeper, instantly turning hungry. you cradled his face, feeling him squeeze your waist with both hands. he pulled you down against him, once, just so your weight pressed right down on the hard shape of his dick. it made him shudder.
you resisted the urge to grind over him, but you were so wet already, making a mess over the front of his sweatpants.
"you deserve someone who knows just how to touch you, baby," he murmured against your mouth, his lips brushing yours with every word.
"and how's that?" you asked, your heart hammering against your ribs.
"slowly."
his hands ran lazily down your hips, the heat of his palms bleeding through your dress. long, smooth fingers lazed over the skin of your thighs, unhurried and attentive.
"gentle, at first..." his voice was so low and quiet.
you were focused on his hands as they grazed further up your thighs, slipping easily under the hem of your dress to lift the fabric. you grasped at the front of his shirt, gasping at the size of his hands as they gripped your bare skin, his thumb resting at the front of your hip while his palm spanned around to rest just above your ass.
"'til you're ready for more."
he was so hard under your thigh, the thick length of him pulsing with heat — so much pre-cum at the tip that it was already starting to seep through his pants.
"want more," you begged.
"i know, baby," he whispered, trailing a kiss from the corner of your mouth down to the sensitive skin under your jaw. "you know 'm gonna give it to you."
his gaze dropped, eyes fixed on your chest as he lifted your dress up and off. "you deserve someone who'll give you everything you want."
your legs spread around him, straddling his lap in just your bra and panties — a little lacy set you’d put on for someone else. but you wouldn't have anyone else take it off you now.
you didn't have to ask if he liked it; you felt the response in his dick, twitching underneath you. his tongue darted out to wet his lips. "you're so perfect."
your breath caught when his hands cupped your tits lightly. you squirmed on his lap.
"that feel good?" he whispered.
all you could do was nod.
"good," he murmured, brushing his thumb over your nipples through the lace of your bra. "you deserve someone who can make you feel good."
it was better than good. his touch on your skin, his big hands gripping your tits, long fingers tweaking your nipples through the lace.
he had you pleading his name, so needy for him that you couldn't help but lean forward and pull him into a sloppy kiss.
but that wasn't enough either.
even with your tongues tangled together and his dick straining harder up against you, you were dying for more, desperate to be closer.
you ground down on his lap, pressing your weight into the bulge in his pants. he was so hard under your pussy, so big it made you whimper.
"i know," he said between kisses. "i know."
jaafar pressed his fingers lightly into your skin and gripped your hips, guiding you back and forth over his dick so you could get the friction you needed. slow and easy, he rocked you on his lap until your panties were soaked through.
"i know how bad you want it... an' you deserve it..." he said softly.
his mouth left yours, adjusting as he sank back into the leather to elevate you on his lap. he brought you up as he trailed kisses down your jaw and down your throat. you were higher up, and he was lower down, kissing over your collarbones before pausing.
"you deserve someone who’ll give it to you... at the right time, baby..." he murmured into your skin, his voice low and muffled as he reached the level of your chest, scattering kisses just above the lace of your bra
he licked and sucked your skin, making it tingle. you carded your fingers through his soft hair, chills shooting down your spine. his fingers slid up your thighs slowly.
"...and for exactly how long..."
his fingers moved inward, languid as they reached the apex of your inner thighs and brushed over the hem of your panties.
"...because it would be so mean to make you wait too long, wouldn’t it?"
he wrapped one arm around your waist to steady you, resting his hand on your side — his fingers splaying wide over your skin, greedy — while he touched you with the other.
your mind lifted, as if floating into a fog, intoxicated by his touch. they made your eyes heavy, clouding your head so you heard his sweet words as if in a daze.
"you deserve someone who..." his voice dropped, his touch a little heavier as he ran his hand slowly over the lace of your panties.
"...knows how to tease, how to make you wait..."
his fingers brushed over your clit, and you gasped, shuddering.
"...but not for too long..." you heard the strain in his voice as he rubbed over the soaked fabric under your entrance. you felt his dick growing under your ass, getting harder.
"...just long enough to get you nice and wet, baby."
while he rubbed circles over your clit, the hand on your side moved down until you felt his big grip on your ass. moaning softly, you watched through foggy eyes as he craned his neck to kiss your tits through the lace of your bra — light kisses through the fabric, just one tease after another. but as soon as you started to whine, he gave you his tongue, running it over the fabric, swirling it over your hardening nipples, and flicking it. even through the barrier, it made you shudder as much as the wetness and heat of his mouth.
the heat intensified when he started to suck on your tits through the lace; it got hotter when he grazed his teeth over your nipples, hottest when he bit down gently. he was careful with his teeth, but you were so sensitive that each bite made you squirm. coupled with the desire growing inside you, you were dying to be skin to skin, hating the barrier between you.
"so wet for me," he slurred between soft sucks and bites to your tits. "so good for me, such a good girl. you know what a good girl like you deserves?"
"tell me," you breathed.
"someone who knows how to get you ready."
he pressed his fingers to your swollen clit and gave you enough pressure to build that heavy feeling in the pit of your stomach. it sent another rush of arousal between your thighs, making everything puffier and wetter.
you were more than ready; you were desperate.
"you need someone who preps you right—" his fingers skimmed right to the hem of your panties.
"—'cause then..." he slipped his fingers under the hem of your panties, letting them linger there for a beat as he looked up at you. his mouth was swollen from sucking at your chest, his cheeks flushed as he licked his lips.
your heart hammered in your chest.
"... when they really touch you..." he hooked his fingers over the damp fabric covering your pussy and pulled your panties to the side.
"...it’s gonna feel so much better for you, baby." his fingers brushed over your slit.
and you shuddered. he was right. it did feel much better.
you should’ve known he’d do it better. jaafar had always shown you how things were supposed to be done. after all these years, after everything, you should’ve known he’d be the only one to do it right.
he’d worked your body so thoroughly, had you dripping wet, and he’d barely even touched you. you’d never been this wet. you were worked up, so sensitive that just the feeling of his fingertips brushing over your pussy made you drip.
"jaafar, please—" you couldn’t remember a time you’d ever needed it enough to beg.
he licked his fingers, cleaning your wetness off them, just to get them wetter with a glob of spit. softly, he brought his hand back between your thighs.
"c’mon, baby. you don’t ever have to beg me. jus’ tell me what you want, and i’ll give it to you."
"keep going," you gasped.
"what you need..." he hummed, his voice soft. his eyes, half-lidded as they settled on your face, watching you as he smeared his the slickness over your pussy. "what you need is someone who knows when you’re ready to take it."
and you were. the second he pressed against your entrance, your pussy opened for him, stretching around him for the very first time.
"someone who knows when you’re dying for it..." his voice was warm against your skin your head went foggy, dropping forward as he pushed into you. your noses brushed together, eyes still watching you so intently. he pushed deeper, the air muffled with your pleasured gasps. "...so they can give you that relief you need."
"and when they finally slip into this pretty pussy..."
with his mouth against your jaw, he sank one finger all the way into you, slow and easy. you shuddered when he buried it to the base, your walls clenching around him.
"...you’re already gonna be so worked up..."
you trembled, fingers entangling in his hair as he pumped his finger in and out of you, aching for more of him, wanting him deeper.
"...and you’ll already be so wet, so needy..."
you whimpered his name as he pulled back, craving the stretch of him like nothing else mattered.
"...that when they give you more..."
he slipped another finger in, stretching you out around two. he gave them to you all the way, letting you take them to the knuckle, letting you feel the warm skin of his hand pressed up against your entrance for a second before he fucked them into you. he curled them forward so your soft moans and all the sticky, wet sounds joined the rain beating outside.
"...you’ll already be so close. won’t you, baby?"
he was right. you were so close, gasping “yes, yes,” dripping down his knuckles while that knot in your lower stomach tightened.
"but the most important thing," he slurred, your thick arousal dripping down his fingers, each movement filling the car with wet noises, "is that they’re willing to learn what spots make you feel best. right here, sweetheart?"
his fingers pressed deeper, curling into a spot that felt good.
you gasped, "y-yeah—"
then he adjusted, saying, "or there?"
he angled his hand, pressing into a spot that felt even better. it felt so good that it drew out a burst of wetness, making your pussy clamp down on him suddenly, and his cock pulsed underneath you in response. he moved his fingers again, curled them a little harder, and fucked more wetness out of you.
"right there makes you squirt? that feel good, baby?" he groaned.
he stuck to that spot, fucking another short burst out of you that made your thighs shake. he coaxed you the whole time, cooing as you told him how close you were to cumming for him, how good he gave it to you.
“yeah? you want more?" he asked sweetly — but he was already giving it to you, working over that little sweet spot deep in your pussy, again and again, watching you try not to fall apart. you were so close, and he pressed his thumb to your aching clit, rubbing it as he fingerfucked you.
"do you get it yet?"
you couldn’t manage an answer, just a few jumbled words cut off by heightening moans.
"you need somebody who knows how to make this pussy cum."
your thighs trembled around his, your toes curling — you grabbed at his hair, pulled him into a kiss, and into your mouth
"you’re gonna cum for me, aren’t you?" he asked lazily.
"yeah, yes, yes," you gasped.
"i know you need to cum badly, i can feel it. let it go, baby."
one simple instruction. just like that, you spilled over, doing exactly as he said. this was how he rewarded you — encouraging you as the tension snapped, letting you cum for the first time on fingers that weren’t your own. they were longer, better, drenched and fucking you through your orgasm as pleasure rolled through you in waves.
you slumped forward with the last wave, catching your breath against his chest, feeling its slow and steady rise and fall. in the hollow of his chest, you heard the low hum of his voice, reassurances murmured to ease you down as you closed your eyes. you felt his arms wrapped tight around you, his large hands on your skin — squeezing your neck gently, rubbing your back, keeping you safe.
“was that okay?” he asked softly.
"that was perfect." you shifted on his lap, grinding your hips forward right into the hard length of his dick.
jaafar let out a low groan, his head rolling back against the leather headrest. "fuck..." he murmured your name, his voice desperate.
you knew how badly he wanted it. it was obvious, especially when you dropped your eyes down to his crotch, watching the outline of his dick tenting the fabric of his sweatpants.
but when he brought his head back down to look at you, there was a hesitance in his eyes, bordering on guilt.
“i don’t have a condom on me,” he said softly, his thumbs stroking your hips carefully. “i’m sorry, baby, i didn’t expect—”
you shook your head before he could finish. “’s okay. i would’ve told you not to wear one anyway.”
he murmured your name again, his brow furrowing like he was trying to talk you out of it, trying to be the responsible one. but you already knew he was going to fuck you. he’d do anything for you, give you whatever you asked for.
“when you put it in,” you whispered, holding his gaze, “i want to feel all of you.”
jaafar cursed under his breath.
“are you sure?” he asked, searching your face, but you could already feel his dick twitching and swelling beneath you at the thought of taking you raw. his body was giving him away.
“i’m sure.” you said as you tugged his shirt up.
jaafar reached up to help you, lifting his arms so you could pull the fabric over his head and toss it onto the back seat.
as your eyes adjusted to him, your breath caught in your throat. he’d been working out consistently for his role — putting in endless hours to get into shape and build stamina — and it was showing in every line of his body. his shoulders were broad, his torso cut and defined, with lean, smooth muscle stretching tight over his ribs and chest.
you reached out, pressing your hands to the center of his stomach and slowly rubbing up his torso, feeling the heat of his skin.
you traced up over his chest, feeling his heart pounding against your palms, before letting your fingers drag back down.
"you got so strong," you murmured, staring at him in awe.
jaafar stayed still under your touch, eyes heavy and fixed on your face as you admired him.
"you know," you added with a soft laugh, "there was probably a point in our lives where i could've taken you in a fight."
a low chuckle rumbled in his chest. "you really think you could take me?"
it didn't sound like he was talking about a fight anymore.
the heat of his quiet voice on your skin, combined with the slight jerk of his dick in his pants — still so hard, pressed tight between his body and yours — sent a wrenching heat straight through your stomach.
"could i take you...?" you breathed.
you reached down between your bodies, grazing your fingers over the bulge against his thigh, tracing all the way down the long, thick length of it through his sweatpants.
probably not.
"i don't know, j." a firm squeeze to his dick through the fabric had his breath catching hard in his throat, his jaw clenching as a needy look filled his eyes. "but i'm dying to find out."
you felt his dick respond as he leveled himself in front of you.
"are you sure?" he rasped.
“never been more sure. i want this so bad, you don’t even know.”
“okay, sweetface,” he said softly, before placing a light kiss on the tip of your nose.
you pouted, crinkling your nose up at the nickname. “don’t call me that.”
“why not?” he teased, his face breaking into a lazy smile as he moved his body slowly over yours, rubbing his hard dick right against you. “you don’t like it when i call you names?”
“n-not like that,” you laughed shakily, spreading your thighs wider so he could get closer. “not that.”
with the same teasing tone, his thrusts getting a little harder, his dick more persistent against you, he murmured, “what kind of names do you like, then?”
he dropped his head down, breath fanning over your throat with each word, his hair tickling your skin. “baby?”
“y-yeah...”
“yeah?” he slurred, trailing kisses up the column of your neck, over your hammering pulse. he paused right under your ear, his lips lingering on your hot skin. “you like angel?”
your stomach went instantly into knots. “yes, j.”
he placed a soft kiss right below your ear.
“princess?”
“yeah, yes.”
he nipped your earlobe, thrusting his hips again, pressing the thick length of him hard against your body.
“and what about good girl?” he asked softly against your ear.
you gasped and pulled on his hair, overwhelmed by it all — the feeling of his weight on you, the way he was grinding his cock against you, his low, breathy voice, and those words dripping from his lips.
“that’s what you like,” he said, and it wasn't a question. “you wanna be a good girl for me, i know you do.”
he trailed light kisses over your skin — up from your jaw, to your cheek, to your lips.
then he looked down at you, his eyes low when he said, “that’s why you keep cumming so easily for me, isn’t it?”
you bit your lip, unable to find your voice, but still gave him one small nod.
“now if you want to be even better for me, baby,” he whispered, his hands gripping your hips tight as he lined himself up, “you’re gonna cum all over my dick.”
you could barely get an affirmation out before you couldn’t take the waiting anymore. you knotted your hands up in his hair and pulled him into a sloppy, desperate kiss.
this time you could feel the firmness of his body on yours, the heat of his skin, his burning hot fingers on your bra clasp. a quick movement that made your bra pop free.
you pulled it off as soon as it was undone, dropping it off the seat while his tongue was still in your mouth.
you wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him flush against you. a groan slipped out of his mouth, caught up in yours as his weight pressed you down into the leather — his chest on your tits, his dick hard against your pussy, separated from you by just the soaked fabric of his sweatpants and your thong.
“fuck, baby,” he sighed, rocking his hips, dragging his clothed bulge back and forth over your clit so slowly while you murmured his name, telling him how good he made you feel, how wet he got you. you let him tease you until you couldn’t take it anymore, whining for more.
“tell me what you want,” he coaxed sweetly between thrusts. “want me to stretch this pretty pussy out?”
"fuck me… i wanna feel you so deep in me—" it all spilled out of your mouth in a stupor.
“y’know i’m gonna give you anything you want, don’t you?”
“you’re gonna take care of me?” you shuddered.
his reply was a low murmur against your neck. “don’t i always?”
his big hands travelled over your skin, his long fingers hooking over the sides of your panties, easing them slowly downward. he slipped them off you and looked down cloudily, his eyes grazing over every inch of bare skin.
“you don’t know how long i’ve wanted this,” he said softly.
you breathed his name, tracing your hands down his abdomen, over the light sheen of sweat on his skin. you reached down to palm the hard outline of his dick through his pants, hearing him breathe shakily as you pulled his zipper down.
you pulled his sweatpants and boxers down together, and he let you. he watched, inhaling through bared teeth, as you pulled his dick out and wrapped your fingers around it.
“you’re so big,” you murmured, met with a soft groan.
he was so hot, so hard, throbbing in your hand. he was already slick with precum, the slit of his dick oozing, smearing more onto your palm. but you were a bigger mess — your pussy dripping onto the seat beneath you as you spread your thighs wider around his hips, dying to take him.
“baby, baby,” he moaned softly, shuddering as you tightened your grip on his dick. gliding your palm back and forth, dragging his precum all the way down to the base and back up, you could feel the blood pulsing in his veins, getting him even stiffer.
eyelashes fluttering against his feverish face, his eyes tracked your hand as you stroked him. “look what you’re doing to me. feel how bad i want you?”
“are you gonna give it to me, jaafar?” you whined.
“so eager,” he hummed, fixing his eyes between your thighs as he lowered his body over yours. “i wanna take my time with you.”
he shifted beneath you, reaching past your hips to release the lever on the side of the seat. with a click, he leaned the seat back, moving you so that you were on the seat. he was hovering over you now, his heavy frame pressed between your thighs as he lowered his body over yours.
you hung onto his biceps, digging your nails into his skin as he wrapped a hand around his dick, supporting the heavy weight of it in his palm as he positioned himself above you. with the tip over your pussy, he gave the shaft one slow stroke up from the base and watched his precum dribble onto your clit.
“i need you inside,” you gasped.
“can you even take the whole thing?” he asked so sweetly.
you didn’t know if you could, not with the size of him, but you wanted it so bad that you nodded anyway.
you saw him smile a little in the low light before he craned his neck down. “we’ll see.”
he pressed his dick to your pussy and slid all that wetness — his precum, your arousal — over it. he stimulated you over and over, until his breaths were coming fast and heavy, and you were whimpering about how good it felt.
“jaafar, please,” you begged. “i want more.”
“you’re so sweet for me; ‘course i’m gonna give you as much as you can take.” he tapped the head of his dick against your clit. not hard, but enough of a pleasurable jolt that you bucked your hips up, chasing the touch. “but first i want you to see how deep i can get.”
he laid the hot length of his dick on your pussy, letting the wetness on his shaft meet your skin. you were soaked with slick, glistening all over your thighs
jaafar got it messier, sliding his dick over your cunt — back, then forward — stimulating your clit with the head each time he moved through your folds.
he stopped with his dick laid out on your stomach, heavy and throbbing.
“you’re gonna feel me in your stomach, baby.” he slurred.
“i want it,” you shuddered, pulling him into another kiss as he rubbed himself over you.
“i know you do, i know.”
he pulled back then, dropping his body down a little to position the tip of his dick against your fluttering entrance. you craved the stretch, gasping at the tail end of a kiss.
he lingered there — breath shaky and catching in his throat.
“okay, baby, okay,” he whispered as he pushed inside, just barely stretching your entrance around the tip.
you both moaned at the same time.
a little further in, the heat of him filled you, his dick stretching your walls open.
“oh, you’re so wet,” he groaned.
he was shuddering, and you were gasping, “you feel so good.”
he was so hard for you, so snug against your walls that you could feel his dick pulse as he pushed in deeper, his lazy voice dripping with euphoria, “so good for me, baby... feel good when i fuck you raw? are you getting what you wanted?”
“yes, yes... more.”
“so tight,” he murmured, and you clamped down around him, hearing him suck in a breath through his teeth. “y’have be careful squeezing me like that… might cum inside you. you know i shouldn’t do that.”
“but i want it.”
“yeah? you want me to fill you up. make me yours?” his breath caught as he pushed the throbbing length of his dick further in, filling you up deeper and deeper with what you’d been wanting so desperately. “you want me to fill you up, baby? wanna be my girl?”
“yes, j,” you gasped, fingers knotting tight in his soft hair, pulling his mouth inches from yours. “i wanna be yours.”
each word was breathy, said with so much pleasure that it made your insides expand to accommodate more of him. one glance between your spread thighs — where he was lowering his lean weight as he sank his dick into your puffy, wet pussy — was enough to make your toes curl on the leather seats. watching him sink deeper was too much; you were unable to hold your soft moans in.
“you like watching me stretch it out, don’t you?”
you nodded with your lip caught between your teeth, unable to manage an answer, just a whine.
“jaafar,” you gasped, fingers knotting in his soft hair as you looked up into his dark eyes. “i want all of you.”
jaafar’s gaze softened, a heavy, tender warmth breaking through the haze of pleasure on his face. he leaned down, hovering just an inch over your lips, his hot breath fanning across your mouth as his hips kept a slow, agonizing grind against yours.
“you have me, baby,” he whispered, his voice thick and rough with emotion. “all of me. i’m all yours.”
“yeah?” you breathed, your heart hammering against your ribs.
“yeah,” he murmured, placing a lingering, desperate kiss on the corner of your mouth before sinking his dick just a fraction deeper. “always been yours.”
you forced your eyes open, watching him sink in a little more. he stopped short, not pushing all the way in yet; you were already so full, and the bottom of his thick shaft was still visible. he fucked you like this — giving you as much as you could take, making sure you adjusted to him.
“feels so good in you, baby.”
you were so tight, so sensitive that you could feel him throbbing in you. when he pulled his dick almost all the way out, you could see it twitch before he stroked your wetness down the shaft, telling you to look how wet you were getting him. he was all lubed up from your pussy, practically dripping, and when he pushed back inside to fuck you, he was even harder.
you could barely keep your eyes open to watch, your eyelashes fluttering as you whined for his dick. “so fucking good... i’m so close—”
“you wanna cum again?” he asked, fucking you a little faster, a little deeper. “be good and watch yourself make a mess on my dick.”
your body treated his words like a command. the craving for him was physical. your body was so desperate for his guidance that as soon as he gave it, the knot in your stomach released with a rush of pleasure.
your mouth dropped open and you were cumming, digging your fingernails into his biceps and whimpering, trying to keep your heavy eyelids open so you could watch him fuck you, seeing your pussy drenching his length.
“thaat’s it baby, baby, there y'go... see how good this pussy is for me, how wet it gets for me?” his strokes slowed down as your orgasm died down, but he was still fucking you through every contraction; filthy words on his tongue said so sweetly, “see how fast it cums for me? how many orgasms are you gonna let me fuck out of you, princess?”
“more,” you gasped. “more—”
“you’re gonna let me fuck more out of you, huh? you’re gonna let me give you everything you need?”
“yes, jaafar, yes.”
your pussy was so sensitive from cumming that the stimulation felt insane. you’d barely come down from your last orgasm, and somehow you were building up again.
“cumming so much for me... i know you needed this so bad, baby.”
“i need it so much, j,” you whined. “please... keep going. i think... i think i’m gonna—”
“already?” he groaned, fucking you harder, faster, slurring, “oh, fuck, i can feel it... give me another, lemme feel you cum again.”
it was so good, each stroke getting you closer, but you were craving more, something deeper. “jaafar, give the whole thing, please. 'want all of it.”
he swore under his breath, shaking his head, so much pleasure on his face. “i don't wanna overwhelm you.”
“please, j.”
and he wasn't going to say no to you.
so you watched him sink his dick in, your wetness coating the shaft further down. as he pushed all the way in, the head of his dick kissed right against your cervix — a deep, intense stretch that made you gasp, your toes curling around his waist.
he groaned, raw satisfaction making his voice hoarse, and pulled back slightly, breathing hard. “you doing okay, baby?”
“yes, yes, yes— it feels so good.”
“tell me if it’s too much,” he said, his voice thick as he pushed inside, going deep. “tell me if you want me to stop, okay?”
you nodded, so much tension stored up in your quivering walls as he coaxed them open. you whined for more, wanting him deeper.
“you want me to give you the whole thing? yeah? you wanna take my dick deep?” he put a big hand on your stomach, pressing down on it as he pushed forward, coaxing, “oh, fuck, baby, you’re taking so much... doing such a good job for me— such a good girl, takin' it all.”
you took it all the way — right up against that sweet pressure, taking every single inch of him. you locked your legs around his waist, tears beading in your lashes, “you’re so big, jaafar, ’m so close.”
he was getting so much gratification at the end of each stroke. he felt it in his catching breath, in his long fingers as they pressed into your lower stomach, feeling himself fucking you, feeling himself buried deep inside.
he pulled back for another stroke, thrusting back in, and you watched his face change as he got all the way in — his eyes flitting down to your pussy, his mouth dropping open slightly when he saw you taking him balls deep. his eyebrows knit as he watched himself move in and out, his entire length coated in you.
“takin’ it so deep,” he murmured, his voice thick with pleasure. “no one’s ever made...” he was overwhelmed, unable to finish his sentence, gritting his teeth as he pushed back in.
you were begging for it harder, getting fucked with his big hand on your stomach and that full feeling making your walls clench around his dick with every thrust.
his mouth met your skin, kissing your jaw and cheek as he fucked you, his mouth kissing at your neck before he murmured, “feels so good, doesn’t it?”
“yeah— f-feels so good.”
“you want me to mark you up, baby? you want me to fuck you so deep, you feel it in the morning?”
you whined for it. “yes, yes, please.”
it was all building up, getting sloppier, more needy — his thrusts, his words slurred against your throat, his breaths catching as you tangled your fingers into his hair and tightened your legs around his waist. his voice was so breathy with pleasure, so desperate for release, making your pussy clench up around him each time he murmured to you.
“i’ve been so close for so long, baby... you don’t even know how close i was earlier when i felt you cumming on me. almost had to pull out, wanted to fill you up so bad.”
“i want you to fill me up,” you gasped.
“i can’t do that, baby,” he panted against your throat, fucking you hard enough to make the car rock with each thrust. “god, i want to... but you know i shouldn’t.”
“please...” there was a tremor in your voice, another wave threatening to wash over. “you said you’d give me anything i wanted.”
“fuck,” he murmured. “how am i supposed to say no to you?”
there was tension in the hot air, the windows fogged up with the warmth of your rocking bodies and desperate breaths. you were both so close.
“you really want my cum?” he asked, his voice raw.
“i need it,” you whined.
then he was groaning softly, your moans getting louder as he panted, “cum on me, baby... cum and i’ll fill this you up, i’ll get you nice and full just like you want.”
that was all it took — the promise of being full of his load, and you crashed over, gasping, “i’m— oh f-fuck—” the curve of his dick hit just right, splitting your convulsing walls open as he hit that sensitive spot deep inside.
“such a good fucking girl,” he slurred as your walls gushed all over his dick, digging his fingers into your ass. “you deserve so much cum, baby—”
his lashes fluttered, his face dropping forward, and then he was half-panting, half-moaning against your jaw, his thrusts sloppy, his hips catching as his dick twitched inside you. you could feel every inch of him, every pulse as your sensitive walls clenched around him.
he came in spurts, a growing fullness as he shot his warm load deep into you. it was pulled further inside with each contraction of your walls, but there was so much of it that as his strokes went lazy, it gushed out around his dick and dribbled down your skin.
he stayed deep until you were both done, and when he pulled out — looking down, breathing hard — his dick was glistening, a mess of your cum and his, a little white surge leaking from the tip and dripping onto your stomach.
he swore under his breath, his face flushed.
“look at you,” he murmured. “you’re so pretty, baby.”
then his lips were on yours again. he placed a light kiss on the left corner of your mouth.
you looked over at him in the soft glow of the dashboard — the sharp line of his jaw, the soft curve of his mouth.
“i meant what i said, you know,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “about being yours. it’s not just because of tonight. i’ve cared about you for way too long to ever let this be just a one-time thing.”
"yeah?" you squeezed his hand in yours, your thumb tracing the familiar lines of his knuckles.
"yeah."
you leaned up, pressing a slow, sweet kiss to his lips, feeling him immediately melt into it. when you pulled back, a teasing smile broke across your face as you looked at him.
“you know... i really didn't expect you to be such a dirty talker.”
a sheepish grin broke across his face. his chest rose and fell in a breathy laugh as a flush crept up his neck. "i don't know... you brought it out of me."
for years, you’d convinced yourself that love was supposed to be something you had to chase, something complicated that always left you feeling like you were settling for less than you deserved. you’d let other men touch you without ever really seeing you, leaving you wondering why it never felt the way it was supposed to.
but the truth was undeniable. it had always been him. the boy who knew every version of you, the friend who’d spent years quietly holding your world together, was the only one who could ever really have all of you.
jaafar brought your joined hands up to his lips, placing a tender kiss over your knuckles.
───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───
once again, i got carried away </3
also ik i had more things listed in the cw in the ss i posted the other day but it was getting a bit too long.. don't be mad at me
18+ had a midnight thought about vampire!michael fucking you in front of the mirror; having knowledge that he has no reflection, he just wants you to see how your hole looks around his invisible dick.
michael slows down his thrusts as an idea popped into his head. an idea he’s never thought of, but found it hot while looking at the mirror that’s facing the both of you.
“dolly, wanna try somethin’?” you whined and bucked your hips, impatiently. “oh, mikey. why did you stopped? was feeling really good.”
the vampire above you chuckled, “i know my sweet girl, see that mirror right there? ‘m gonna make you face it and i want you to look at how pretty your little hole is whenever its full of me, ‘kay?” you nodded as michael turned your body to face the mirror. no reflection, okay.
“wait, michael if this is one of your tricks-” your words turned into a flow of whimpers as you feel the stretching, burning sensation of his dick easing its way inside of your sopping pussy. you threw your head back, not even paying attention to the mirror anymore. michael grabbed the back of your neck, your eyes set upon your pussy that’s being opened by an invisible force.
“feels good? this is how your pussy looks when you take dick that’s being given by me. no one else can open you up like this, can they?” your body starts convulsing. your legs and arms shake each time his tip kisses your cervix.
“answer me.” his voice full of demand, with a hint of desperation.
“n-no, michael! t-they could never stretch me— aah! like this.”
satisfied with your answer, his thrusts grows faster and more animalistic, almost reaching at an inhuman pace.
“good. not that i need an answer from you, since we both know who you’ll only crawl back to.”
summary : being lulled to sleep by bellamy’s fingers toying with your hair while you lie on his lap turns out to be a great way to wrap up an exhausting day.
warnings : just fluff, friends to lovers vibe.
word count : 0.8k.
The frosty air hitting your cheeks and turning them rosy wasn’t enough to stop your eyelids from continuously falling shut. The day seemed like it was stretching out endlessly, making it harder not to notice the side effects of the little amount of sleep you’ve recently been getting. You were sitting by Arkadia’s front entrance, not even halfway through your watch. Bellamy’s chatter managed to help you hold up just fine for the first hour, but now? You resorted to pinching yourself to not doze off every few moments. It was getting embarrassing. You couldn’t disrespect your guard duties like that.
Bellamy could sense that something was up, especially since you were usually the chatterbox during your joint watches, sparking up the long hours with your loud laughter. Now, looking over his shoulder, he barely heard the faint responses his jokes earned from you.
“Just tell me if I’m boring you, y’know.” He smirked your way teasingly.
“No, keep going, I swear you’re the only thing keeping me awake. Please.” You perked up at his direct comment and sat up straight again. Moving closer to him seemed like a good idea too. To hear him better, of course, and not fall asleep. And maybe to absorb a bit of the warmth his large frame was radiating with. Just maybe.
It wasn’t long until the moon began to light up the sky and the conversation started to fade down. Lost in his thoughts, Bellamy realized he might have been quiet for too long now. And as he took a deep breath and turned his head towards you, it looked like the silence really was a second too long - you were asleep and your head was moments away from resting upon his shoulder.
A certain warmth spread across his chest. A feeling he realized was familiar when it came to you. It always seemed to leave his throat dry for a few seconds and his heart beating faster.
Crooking his lips in a fond smile, his fingers slowly made their way to your chin.
“Hey…gosh, I thought you were joking with the ‘falling asleep’ thing.” He whispered, just enough to softly make you return to reality. Not moving away even by an inch though.
“Shit, I’m sorry.” You chuckled nervously, running your hand over your face. “I’m good, I got it, I got it.” You tried to redeem yourself and sit back up straight when you saw him shaking his head.
“You’re no good to anyone like this…c’mon you can’t even sit properly.” His tone turned to that one of a kind one - warm, but laced with so much authority it left no room for any negotiation. You still dared to differ, repeating that you were fine - which in your case, was damn useless.
“Do you ever shut up?” He groaned as his palm moved your messy hair out of your face and stroked your scalp in the process. Making your stomach drop at the sensation. “C’mon. Lay down.” He motioned to his lap, looking at you fondly. Like you were something to be unconditionally cared for. Something that was his to take care of.
Maybe if the hour wasn’t that late, maybe if the moon wasn’t full, maybe if he wasn’t so warm, you would scoff and refuse. But the hour was really late. Moon was full and he smelled like something familiar and safe. So you laid your head down.
He adjusted his hips, making sure you got comfortable. As soon as your cheek touched his lap, your insides jumped at the proximity, at the plain intimacy.
“This okay?” He whispered.
“Mhm.”
“Okay.” You couldn’t see his face, but something about the word hinted he was smiling. Hell, for some dumb reason, you were too.
You closed your eyes but instead of the sleepy feeling you were met with your body covering in goosebumps. All because he reached for your hair. His fingers began to move up the strands with a sense of ease and reverence at the same time. He was spinning your locks around his fingers. Dragging them through the softness.
The soothing motion made you freeze. You never realized how sensitive your head was up until this very moment.
You felt his breath being slow, steady and deep too. It was hypnotizing.
“Relax. What’s your heart beating so fast for, hm?” His low chuckle quickly turned your whole face red, making you realize he really could hear the sound. “Just sleep. You deserve a damn break.” His hands kept their steady rythm of caressing your hair. A silent promise of keeping you close and safe in his embrace. “I’ll take watch for two.”
You adjusted your position and allowed yourself to nuzzle into the warmth offered to you. Shutting your eyes again, your mind was getting fuzzy at the comfort of his never ending touches.
All Bellamy could do now, was admire the way your lashes casted a shadow on your skin and the way your smaller body rose up and down with every breath. Silently hoping, that his role as your personal pillow appealed to you as much as it did to him.
a short drabble, in which (drunk!michael) somehow ends up between your legs after a dinner party.
thriller! husband michael and wife!reader. not proofread, 18+
𝒯he driver pulls into the driveway long after the neighborhood has gone quiet. Michael was leaning against the passenger window, jacket loosened, cheeks warm from a little too much champagne. He just got back from the party with you, he was tired...but mostly hungry in a way. It wasn't for the food either, but for his gorjussss wife.
The second the car stops, he looks over at you with the biggest, sleepiest smile. "You know…" he mumbles, his words just a touch slower than usual. "You're… you're really pretty." He smiles to himself before adding, "Prettiest damn thing I've ever seen."
Your brows lift the second the word leaves his mouth. There it is, you thought.
Michael hardly ever swore. In fact, you could probably count on one hand the number of times you'd heard him do it. But give him a little champagne, and every once in a while a 'damn' or a 'hell' would slip out before he even realized it.
"Thank you baby, you're pretty handsome yourself," you chuckled.
"Hm, am I?" he asks, eyeing you like he genuinely wants your answer. You smile, nodding your head. "Yes, you are."
His grin grows a little wider, satisfied with himself. "Good," he murmurs. "Just checkin'."
"Mhm, I love my baby," you tell him while pressing a gentle kiss against his lips and stache, he looked so good with it....
"I'll get you some water when we get inside," you assure him while walking with him to the house.
He hums, letting you guide him up the walkway. "Don't want water…" he mumbles, dragging his feet just enough to make you laugh. "Want somethin' else..."
You knew what he meant by that. Before you can unlock the door, he's already wrapping both arms around your waist, burying his face against your shoulder with a satisfied little hum. "Honey..." you then felt his soft lips placing warm kisses along your neck. You couldn't help but smile as you fish your keys from your purse.
"Let's get you inside before you start letting the alcohol talk.."
"No alcohol it's all me..." he chuckles. He then reaches for your hand before you can unlock the door, "And don't blame the alcohol."
You glance over at him, amused. "Then who should I blame?"
Michael looks down at your hands, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. There's a little grin tugging at his lips.
"The boogie."
You stare at him and immediately bust out laughing, shaking your head. "Oh gosh…"
"I'm serious," he insists, though the smile on his face gives him away. He had a nice sparkle in his eyes, clearly in a pleasant mood. You just shake your head, still laughing as you tug him inside. Michael doesn't put up much of a fight, letting you guide him over to the couch before dramatically dropping down into the cushions.
He sighs happily, stretching out, "There. You happy?"
You stand over him, crossing your arms with an amused smile. "Mhm, go head and lay your tipsy ass down."
Michael looks up at you, his brows raising in fake offense. "My tipsy ass?"
"Yes, that's what I said. Your tipsy ass." He lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he gets comfortable. You slipped off your heels, finally letting your feet breathe after being in them all evening.
You walk into the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. Michael eyes follow as you do. You turned back making your way towards him,
"Drink some, don't want your headache being too bad tomorrow" you say holding it out.
Michael looks up at you, taking it with a small smile. "Thank you baby."
His fingers wrapped around the cap, twisting it open with a small crack. You watched him take a few sips, making sure he actually drank some of it this time. As the night went on, Michael stayed just as playful and tipsy, finding any excuse to make you laugh.
After you both finished washing up he slowly walks up behind you. "Baby please," he says behind you. You could hear the tipsiness still lingering in his voice.
"Michael baby, youre drunk," you reply turning around. "You need to sleep, both of us."
"M'not drunk, just a lil tipsy...." he gives you that smile, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.
You shake your head, amused. "Whatever you say, baby."
He steps a little closer, still smiling. "I'm serious."
"Mhm I believe you," you say nodding towards him.
He lets out a quiet chuckle, clearly knowing you don't actually believe a word of it. Then suddenly, something changes in his expression. You watch as a little spark crosses his face, like a thought has just clicked into place. The kind of thought that usually meant he was about to do something ridiculous.
"Let me show you then," he says nodding to you. You tilt your head at him, "You want to show me what?"
"That m'not drunk."
"How?" you asked him a lil suspicious of this bright idea he had. "It'll be good m'promise, just lay on your stomach..."
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀.ೃ࿔*:･
And so you did. You laid on your stomach, your sparkly dress peeled off, lace panties pulled to the side, soft whimpers pouring out your lips as you cried out.
"M-michael?"
"Mhm?" He asked you, his face pushed in your plump ass. His tongue traced through your slickeness, he licked it all up....occasionally spitting it back on your clit.
You let out a quiet cry as you pushed your face in the pillow, "Michael please" you praise him as you arched more. It's all you could say, all you could say was his name in high praise. His big hands spread you, thumbs digging into the soft flesh of your ass as he held you open.
"Still think I'm drunk, baby? Well...maybe just a little...⋆˚࿔" (he muttered the last part to himself)
He sucked slow on your clit between his lips, pulling gently before releasing it free with a pop. His tongue gave long licks from your entrance up to that warm spot, tasting every drop that leaked from your pussy. "M'just happy...you know?"
His adams apple bopped as a quiet moan was revealed through his lips, he drank you down and then spat another warm glob right onto your clit before diving back in.
"Taste so good" he hums to you before letting out a chuckle. "I love comin' home to you, m'sweet little angel." His tongue worked in steady, unhurried circles, occasionally pausing to kiss your inner thighs or nuzzle against your slick skin.
"You be tasting so sweet when you're about to cum I've noticed..."
"Mmghmm- Michael honey," you tried to keep still, but all the pressure on your clit made you too sensitive. Your hips grinded against his face so smoothly.
"Yeah exactly," he says kissing and slurping. "Tastes just like honey..."
He was feeling bold now, the liquor controllin' his movements. He let one thumb slid higher and trace lazy little loops around the ring of your hole, without pushing in, just circling, pressing soft and teasing.
You only pressed your face further into the pillow as another whimper slipped out.
His hands squeezed your ass again, pulling you just a little wider as he pushed his tongue inside your entrance for a few slow thrusts. His thumb never let up its gentle circling, a nice pressure. His tongue worked in unhurried circles pausing to kiss your inner thighs or nuzzle against your slick skin.
"—Michael please—" Your voice cracked as your hips started rocking back against his mouth. "It's too much m'sensitive-"
He heard you and let you off his tongue for a moment, smiling. He then slid his middle finger right in your aching pussy. His finger so long and thick, feeling so good against your aching walls. You were so slick from your pussy juice and his spit... he pumps his finger slow and deep, curling on every pull, wet sounds just filling up the room
"I know you're tired from the party too baby," he says softly.
"You'd smile whenever somebody talked to you… then you'd drift off when they weren't lookin'. I hated that you had to stay so long."
He worked his finger, the heel of his hand brushing your clit with every thrust. "Couldn't wait to get you home, the liquor just made it possible," he chuckles.
You let out a quiet chuckle of your own, even while his face was practically between your legs, he still remained so sweet and empathetic to you. Your back still arched up for him, "Yeah, was so long," you chuckled to him. "But you looked so-ah! handsome," you say breathy, you felt yourself about to cum real soon.
His finger curled harder against that spot inside you, a soft chuckle left him, "There you go, I feel it some more, come f'me angel"
GOOD MORNINNNN another short drabble go meeee, and another thing...I imagine him looking just like the photo I picked when he's a lil tipsy, just happy n smillin n sht 🥴
where perv!bsf michael knows just what to say and do to keep you on your toes. 18+ mdni. part two.
long asf and straight up dumbification😭 i hope yall enjoy tho i owe it to you guys!
michael has been your best friend for 2 years and he just seems to not get enough of seeing you or the expressions you make to his naughty comments or doings.
you can be studying with him after school at his house in his room and he'll have you sit in between his legs on the floor with your back on his chest.
"i can't really see what your reading and can you sit up some?" he'll ask innocently and you being you, not thinking too much of it because it's something you guys do all the time, you sit up but he grabs your waist and scoot you back enough to where you can feel how hard he is in his pants.
you slightly jump at the feeling trying to ignore the such lewd act but he makes it worse by saying "i must really love studying with you huh?" he giggled at such statement.
you giggle nervously and tried to continue your studies.
michael loves when you fall asleep on his lap with you turned facing him and your head in the crook of his neck.
he loves the feeling of your breasts pressing against his chest and his hands sliding down your back to the inside of your pajama shorts to play with your lace thong.
even though you what he's doing but once again you don't mind it because michael has conditioned to you think that that's is just what friends do.
well, just your friendship of course.
there are times he would drop things on purpose to see you bend over to peek under your skirt.
he would do it more often when you sat on his lap without your underwear on under your skirt (which he requested all the time for you to do during you guys sleepovers) and bends you all the way down to where he can see the soaked sweet arousal dripping out of you.
he licks his lip at the sight and takes his thumb to start rubbing up and down your clit like it was the best thing he's ever seen next to the mona lisa being painted.
you moaned so softly. "mikeyyy." trying to protest against his sudden touch against you.
he shudders under his breathe and whispers in your ear which sends chills down your back continuing the up and down motion against your wet folds aching for him to enter you.
"shhh, it's okay mama. it feels good don't it?" he asked so smoothly that you couldn't help but bite your lips to it but then suddenly he stops.
you sit up immediately hot and frustrated by the action turning your head around to see him sucking the juices off his thumb and smirking devilishly while grabbing whatever he dropped on the floor from your hand and turning you back around to whatever had you guys attention.
michael always made conversation with you just to stare at your lips.
don't get it wrong, he loved hearing you talk but it was the way your lips shined with the sparkly pink lip gloss that he loved so much that made him think the most perverted things.
such as how they would look around him while you were on your knees taking him in your mouth especially with the lip gloss.
sometimes when you were talking to him, he would just caress your cheek then all of a sudden he would direct his thumb to your lips then just enter it inside your mouth without warning.
"do you know how pretty you are?" he would say very innocently but in the back of your mind, you couldn't fathom how something so dirty was so pretty in his eyes.
you would shake your head while you began moving your tongue around his thumb getting so hot by this perverted behavior of his that he has trained you to enjoy.
"you are the prettiest thing ever. the prettiest friend i've ever had. especially like this." he says while grabbing your hand to rub him in his pants.
he moaned softly at your touch.
he took his thumb out your mouth and then rubbed your lips feeling the sticky lip gloss residue on your lips. "i can't wait to show you this lip gloss i seen i think it would be so pretty on you." he said with the thought of his cum dripping from your lips.
"really?" you asked excitedly honestly curious about this lip gloss you were so willing to try.
he nodded his head and smirked "yes and it's shiny just like yours." he said doing a lil boop on your nose amazed by your dumbfounded mind.
"oh mikey, i can't wait to see it!" you squealed jumping into his arms while he caught you and sat you in between his legs.
"of course, but i only i can give you this lipgloss. it's special nobody else can give you the lip gloss but me okay?" he said as he mumbled inside the crook of your neck while kissing it.
"okayy" you giggled out and started to grab his hand to compare hand sizes.
he loved how your small hands could barely wrap over his large hands.
the size difference between you and him was something he thought about on a daily.
hell, he would be in his room alone, touching himself, imagining him above you thrusting inside of you with your legs on top of his shoulders just pounding you over and over begging his name chanting it like it was a prayer.
or him picking you up while he sat on kitchen counter probably watching you cook or baking cookies for him just for him to be pounding you from under while he held you with one hand behind your neck and his other arm holding your waist tightly while licking your neck then sucking your breasts.
just rough handling you the way he always imagined.
you guys would play tag (which of course something michael also made perverted) that consisted of him basically chasing you around in the living room and when he caught you he would bend over the couch which gave him an excuse to dry hump you basically.
sometimes he would pull your hair in the process just to test how rough you would like backshots.
he would smirk at the surprised whine that would come from you when he had you in this position.
"mikeyy stopp, your not it anymoreeee" you whined trying to get out his grasp but he would just grab you back on his clothed achingly hard bulge and slowly rub himself against your clothed ass.
his hand would travel to the front of your skirt, under it, to play with your clothed clit and rub circles around it that makes you push your ass into him.
"mikey please." you moaned needing more than his fingers and he knew that but he enjoyed giving you so much little because he knows it would keep you around. curious about wanting more.
he smirked and stopped, letting go of you giving you a chance to stand up.
you turned around with a frown and he laughed softly.
"such my needy pretty girl." he said while lifting your chin and giving you a sloppy kiss which was a regular kiss to you guys but probably freaked out to others then he turned and walked away leaving you hot and bothered per usual.
jack abbot doing that thing where he’s shushing you even he’s the reason you’re making all that noise. like he’s got you pinned to the bed on your side, curling his body over you to keep reaching that spot. asking “what’s all the fuss about, hm?” and holding your face with fake concern while railing you to literal pleased tears.
you’re grabbing onto whatever part of him you can, tugging the freckled skin as the thick of him splits you open with rough strokes. unraveling you thrust by thrust.
“j…jack,” is all your voice can bunch out of your damp-with-sweat, bouncing figure. the rest of what you say just spills into loud, melty, fucked-out noises.
“that’s my name, don’t wear it out,” he mumbles, lips against your ear. they peck a quick kiss along the shell before he grins at your loud pants—which is exactly how he wants them… wants you. loud and crying (good tears, of course) and stuffed full of him. you cry out his name again, and he just bucks into you harder. feeling a little light headed himself. “shh, baby, i know. we’ll getcha there.”
michael’s newest piece of furniture in neverland was a throne, and what better way to break it in than riding him while he sits on it?
cw/tw: 18+ mdni, smut, p in v, he fucks you thru ripped tights, size kink? creampie, use of “mama”, soft!dom michael
wc: 1.5k
୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧
By the time you got up, Michael was already gone. Away at the studio with a note scribbled and placed on the night stand.
See you later, baby.
MJ
You smiled at it, still half asleep and desperately needing a cup of coffee. Your feet padding silently through Neverland as you made your way towards the kitchen but stopped short when you passed by the living room, something large and bright red catching in your peripheral.
You took a few steps back and turned, brow raised as you looked what was placed smack down in the middle of the polished hardwood floors.
He said he was getting something delivered to the house. Decor. Painfully vague.
You weren’t expecting a fucking throne.
But it had gotten your mind going all day. Though ridiculously extravagant, you thought about him sitting on it. Tired and sweaty after a full day of rehearsals and you found your teeth sinking into your bottom lip multiple times. Thinking about how his thighs would spread, his smile lazy as he’d beckon you forward with his large fingers.
The fantasy was spinning in your head as you decided to change. Surprise him with a little gift when he got home.
You knew he loved your legs. The softness of your thighs as they curved up into your hips. His hands always greedy anytime he was near you. So you pulled on a pair of tights, already knowing what would happen to them and smiling to yourself as you did so. Slipping into a pair of heels he always complimented when you wore them. Your camisole sheer and leaving nothing to the imagination. Doing your hair and your make up before spraying some perfume. Your ring glinting in the light as you did so.
And just like you had hoped, when Michael got home that evening he called your name from the living room. His tone barely hiding how giddy he was at his new piece of furniture.
Your heels clicked as you made your way to the living room, biting back a smile as your hips swayed and rounded the corner.
He was sitting on his throne, legs spread wide just like you’d been expecting. His eyes focused on one of the arm rests as he looked at the gold detailing. Bottom lip drawn between his teeth and heat pooled low in your stomach.
“Hi, honey.”
He smiled, looking up— you watched as his face shifted as he took in the sight of you. The change in his expression sharp, his pupils blowing wide and his easy going smile falling into something more sensual.
“What’s this?” He asked, eyes doting as they raked over you.
“Thought we could break in your new furniture.” You did a spin for him, a low sound coming up from the back of his throat as he took in your ass and how the heels you wore made it perk up.
“C’mere.” Just like you’d hoped, he crooked his fingers at you. His eyes heavy and voice dropping into a lower register you got to hear on evenings like these. Your skin thrumming in anticipation as you walked over to him. Michael’s eyes unabashedly raking over you.
You came to stand just in front of him, and before you could even think to do anything else, his hands were digging into your hips and pulling you into his lap, making you straddle him. His erection evident as it pressed against you. The only thing covering your pussy was your tights, already damp with your arousal.
“My pretty lady,” he hummed, one hand dancing up under your camisole to cup your breast, kneading the soft flesh as his other grabbed the back of your neck, pulling your mouth to his.
He was hardly patient with you. Rarely ever was. Always needy, desperate to touch you. His tongue sliding past your lips and into your mouth, deepening the kiss as his hand slid down to wrap around your waist, dragging you against him.
You whimpered at the feeling as his cock slid against your clit, a wet spot already forming on his slacks.
“You gonna be good for me?” He hummed, pulling back slightly as he started to undo his zipper. “I know you get a little overwhelmed when you’re on top.” Even as the words left him, Michael didn’t seem apologetic at all.
He loved watching you try to ride him. His cock too big to start off in such a position, it always taking longer for you to get him fully inside your cunt. Your thighs always trembling as you tried your best.
“I can take it,” you were a little breathless, hands resting against his chest as you watched him take his cock out, his large hand wrapping around his shaft as he started to pump himself. The tip glistening with pre-cum and it made you feel light headed.
“Lift up for me,” the command was soft and low spoken and you did as told. Your pussy clenching around nothing as his fingers dug into the thin fabric that covered you, his wrists then yanking in different directions, the sharp sound of fabric ripping filling the room.
He groaned as he finally saw you, practically dripping on top of him as one hand guided your hips and the other positioned his cock as your entrance.
Slowly you lowered, his head falling back but eyes on the sight of himself disappearing inside of your body. Inch by inch, your pussy squeezing him and his moan matched your own. Your fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt.
You whimpered as he went in as far as he could, for now, about two inches of his cock left.
Michael leaned back, his smile lazy. “Work for it, mama.”
And you did, slowly rising, the drag of him inside of your body maddening before you sank back down. Loving the way the tendons in his neck moved as he swallowed thickly, his jaw working as groan left him. His fingers digging into your thighs but you did all the work. More turned on just at the fact he was watching you, getting wetter and wetter and the slick sound of your arousal was evident in the room.
“You’re dripping all over me,” he teased. Because you were, the clear liquid practically drooling out of your pussy and sliding down his cock.
His hips twitched, desperate to move. A whimper catching in the back of his throat when you slightly shifted your angle and his cock was able to go in a little further.
“Almost there, baby.”
Your legs were starting to shake, an orgasm building low in your belly but you didn’t want to tip over yet. Not until he was all the way in and on the edge of his own oblivion.
“P-please, mike.” Your head fell into the crook of his neck, hips rolling. “A little help.”
He hummed, knowing exactly what you meant and one of his hands slid down between your bodies, his fingers beginning to rub slow circles into your clit and you shuddered against him. And as if his touch was magic, your pussy opened up around him and you slid all the way down. The sound of your hips hitting his sharp and you bit back a cry.
“Fuck— good girl.” His lips kissed your neck, the feeling of you completely clamped around him and pulsing driving him mad.
He was a man of his word though, not a moment later he took hold of your hips, lifting you up and hissing through his teeth as he made you hover, fucking up into you. His hips rolling in a relentless pace now that his restraint had snapped and you cried out his name, your teeth sinking into the side of his neck as he fucked you.
It hurt, the head of his cock hitting your cervix in a bruising rhythm but it made your head spin. Watching him lose a grip on his control, always a perfectionist and careful how he held himself. Now thrusting up into you like a man starved, mouth catching yours. Open and messy, teeth hitting against each other as your arms wrapped around his neck, your chest flush with his and your clit ground against his pelvis. The knot in your stomach finally snapping when he moaned your name into your mouth.
“That’s it, come for me.” His grip was bruising, digging into the soft flesh of your hips as he thrusted, his hips growing erratic. His eyes locking onto where he was dragging in and out of your weeping pussy through your tights.
His moans breaking off into whimpers, head then slamming back against the throne as he came. His mouth falling open and eyes screwed shut, a string of please please please tumbling out of his mouth as his cum was pushed in and out of you, the wet sound of it lewd and nearly making you have another orgasm as you melted against him, liquid in his hands as his hips slowly stilled, his cock still buried deep inside of you.
His chest was heaving, heartbeat pounding and rattling against your ribs. The world still a little out of focus and you barely registered him pressing a kiss to the side of your head.
your recent work got me thinking about masturbating together w otw mike and him slipping just the tip in
( ˶°ㅁ°) !! 0.8k, nsfw ) otw!michael jackson x fem afab reader <3
cws: nsfw, mutual masturbation -> tip-sex (?), they're both loser virgin idiots, sort of dom!michael but it's real slight
his eyes are half-lidded, his lower lip bitten red as he watches your fingers slide in and out of your soaked entrance. the room feels hotter than ever, the product of both the movements of masturbation and the fact that you're both still mostly clothed. chastity is a funny thing between you and michael. he's never seen you fully nude, but he's had phone sex with you; never sucked along your tits (as much as he wants to), but he's sure enough watched you and even asked you to pinch and palm them. chastity and sex are two words whose definitions you and michael keep changing. and to think just a few months ago, you felt too shy to even let him hug you from behind...
his legs are spread a little less than yours, but your poses mirror each other as you sit on his bed, quietly panting and moaning. both of you have a hand between your thighs, his pumping himself fervently while yours fingers your pussy and toys with your already-puffy clit. eye contact is a rarity because your eyes keep rolling back and closing, something michael can only view as endearing as he continues observing you. in the few moments where you do manage to meet his eyes, his cheeks grow all hot, somehow more embarrassed about the eye contact than the fact that you're actively watching him jerk off. "don't look at me like that," he manages softly, shaking his head, a hesitant grin spreading along his face.
your brows furrow, fingers slowing temporarily as you try to focus. "like what?"
"you know how," he mumbles, squeezing his length just to make himself grunt. through half-lidded eyes he looks at you, admiring. then, through red, barely parted lips, he adds, "like you want me to do more."
"more?" you ask, genuinely curious through the haze of your arousal.
your boyfriend pauses opposite you, gliding his thumb over his cock's tip. pre-cum smears as he does it once, twice, thrice; you swallow, fixated on the sight of michael's glistening head. "it doesn't count if it's not all the way in, right?" he blurts, giving voice to what both of you are secretly thinking. after blinking, he goes on, "just a little bit in, baby. i won't go too far. i won't touch you, it'll just be this much." with his index and thumb, he measures, highlighting the size of his tip. "it doesn't count... right?"
"i..." your brows furrow, your eyes closing again momentarily. there's a part of you that definitely knows the answer is yes, it absolutely does count. there's a larger, louder part of you that really could care less if it does or doesn't, all too eager to finally feel him near you, in you. "just the tip, mikey?... it doesn't count, no."
"good," he whispers, crawling closer with zero hesitation. michael grips your wrist, gently moving your hand from between your thighs as he lines himself up. "tell me if it hurts."
the insertion is slow, almost unbearably so, all hesitant and careful because michael can't stand the thought of accidentally hurting you. your breath hitches as you feel his head slide past your folds, stretching you more than your fingers ever could, making room for itself in your heat. just like before, you struggle to maintain eye contact, and, just like before, you're all michael can look at, his eyes ravaging the outline of your figure through your clothes since he's closer, now.
"how does it feel? good?"
you sigh out a breath, nodding your head, "different. but good. don't move, baby, just stay like this..."
the curve of his lips turns dangerous as his smile becomes a smirk. quietly, he teases, "i'm bigger than you thought, huh?— oh— oh my—" his face contorts, eyes clenching shut as he stifles a moan at the feeling of your walls squeezing around his tip. "oh, baby..."
neither of you last long with his tip in, honestly. all it takes is a shift of his hips, a few fumbling, horny movements between the two of you, and michael's scrambling to pull himself out while you're whining about how you miss him inside. his cum lands along your bare left thigh, dribbling down onto his bed as your own orgasm causes your pelvis to jerk, your eyes rolling, your lips parting for a rather passionate (rather incriminating) moan.
"goodness, baby," michael manages, moving to hover above you as he clasps one hand over your mouth, "you gotta be quiet." he pants softly, dick limpening somewhat pathetically as the two of you try your best to silently collect yourselves.
"sorry, mikey," you apologize into his hand after calming down, batting your lashes unintentionally as you peer up at him.
you're glowing post-orgasm, all sweaty and somewhat dazed... michael swallows, brown eyes soaking in the lazy, content expression on your face. keep looking at him like that and you'll definitely be getting more than the tip next time!
looking for more?
we not fucking but he put the tip in or whatever. gif in the top by /kvtnisseverdeen (as far as i know)! i think this dynamic is cute, really, like it can be kind of embarrassing b/w him and reader bc theyre loser virgins but they're loser virgins together... i think that's just so cute.
It all began with an unusual incident – and a foolish joke born from it.
Some two guys broke out into a fist fight. Having cussed each other out before the eyes of half the Arkadia, they both ended up with blood splattered all over their raging faces.
Naturally, the Guard had to interfere.
Being one of the many gawkers, you observed how the heated scene unfolded right before your eyes. No one could manage to tear the seething dudes apart from one another and just as bridling them seemed impossible, a barking voice pierced through the chaos of the scene – your boyfriend’s voice.
“Hey, hey!” Bellamy’s fierce tone resounded as he and another guard barged right in, immediately putting the show to an end. “Calm down, don’t move!”
He yanked one dude away from the latter in a singular violent move, his large arms twisting his so forcefully that the wriggling and fuming of the brawler was humiliatingly futile.
“Hands. Now!” Swiftly, he reached for the handcuffs from his guard uniform before finally incapacitating the guy.
You don’t know what it was that took over you that evening that caused your body to have a physical reaction to what you saw, but for some reason it got you exceptionally excited. Maybe the way he was throwing commands so naturally, his deep voice rough with unshakable authority. Or it could be how effortlessly he showed off his strength, how his big frame could visibly intimidate anyone he was faced against. The sight of his fingers yanking and locking the cuffs went straight to your head – and God, did it do something to you.
After the whole affair, you followed Bellamy to the security room, where he would finish last reports after having dealt with the disturbance. You watched him bustle around the place for a while before eventually making your way to the counter which he stood by. Pushed by curiosity about what could possibly still be keeping him so occupied, you leaned against the countertop and looked down to his hands, rumbling around some drawers and boxes.
“You said it would take five minutes,” you complained, raising your eyebrows in an impatient manner.
“Yeah, but I also said you don’t gotta come here with me,” he reminded you, rightfully so.
You managed to scoff in annoyance, yet just when you were about to spit out some smart-ass response, your thoughts drifted somewhere else. All because he just grabbed a pair of handcuffs from a box, obviously needing new ones to keep in his guard jacket after the previous ones were wrapped around the bloody wrists of the rowdy from earlier.
Something in your gut felt odd. Really good kind of odd. And you just couldn’t keep your thoughts from lingering on the sighting that had such a toll on you a while back.
“You handled that crazy guy so fast… I literally blinked, and boom, he was on the ground,” you scoffed.
He smiled under his nose, visibly pleased with your appreciation. “Gotta be quick with the crazy ones,” he played with the metal object in his hands as he sent a knowing, affectionate smirk your way. “I know a thing or two about those.”
You rolled your eyes as he took a teasing jab at you. “Oh, shut up.”
A smack you graced his chest with in retaliation didn’t go without consequences though.
“Easy, easy,” he laughed richly, the kind of laughter that made his face light up with mischief. “You wanna be next?” he pointed to the handcuffs in his hold. “Think about it.”
His patronising tone made heat pool in your belly right away and you fucking prayed that the blush spreading across your face wasn’t as bold as you felt it was.
“You wouldn’t dare,” your tone danced on the thin line between a warning and a clear invitation.
So Bellamy kept playing along with a grin plastered over his face and a short chuckle filling up the air between you as he leaned closer. Your breath hitched in your throat once his large palms grabbed your forearms and then clasped the cold steel around them.
“See? Not so fun now.” When your eyes met his again, he playfully tugged at the metal. Not too harsh, but enough to make you stumble into his chest. “Uncomfy, hm?”
“A bit.”
You found yourself in some kind of a sick stupor. It would be natural for you to just laugh, tell him to go to hell. Instead, your pupils were blown wide out of proportion and the hammering of your heart was anything but normal.
And Bellamy? Oh, he took full advantage of that. His dark eyes shone in a specific way, one which usually preceded either moments of passion or simply him getting his way. Or, as it would turn out in this case, both.
“Careful, or that’s what I’ll have to resort to next time you’re being a pain in the ass.”
The teasing was followed by him freeing your wrists from the hold of the object and then hiding it away in his uniform, where its destined place was.
Yet your thoughts remained captive to the filthy idea which had taken root in your mind.
For that reason exactly, that night, to bed you put on your tiniest, lacy pyjama top, which did a terrible job at covering the expanse of your ass. Bearing only that and the thought of him having his way with you, you waited for his homecoming.
You could tell it worked like a charm the moment he took a step inside your quarters.
Of course it did.
You were certain he had been hungry for a good while by the way his eyes shamelessly feasted on the sight of your curves. As if that wasn’t enough, your sweet scent filled his nose as soon as he stepped inside, causing his face to get softened by a smirk. Having taken off his jacket and boots, he crossed the apartment in a few strides, approaching you from behind as you stood by the kitchen counter.
“You forgot to put on the rest?” he hummed against your spine as his palm smacked your ass.
“And what if I did?” you dared, still not giving him a glance, intending to push his buttons.
“What’s with the attitude? Forgot how to be polite too?”
“Oops. Maybe I did,” you responded cockily, biting your lip. His voice turned your thoughts to mush. You wouldn’t be yourself if you didn’t wriggle your backside as he pressed against you, not hesitating to make your needs known.
That was all it took.
His large arms scooped you up so rapidly you let out a yelp. Your lips merged. Suddenly you ended up yanked on the bed.
He dragged out each kiss, making it deep, forcing his tongue into your mouth. Caressing your legs and fondling your tits underneath your nightgown, he kept kissing you like he waited to exchange saliva with you all day.
“Where’s your snarky mouth now, huh?” he chuckled into your neck, his breath planting goosebumps all over your skin as he turned your body around, just so he could smack your ass again. “Maybe I should cuff you like earlier, huh? Make you behave?” he proposed, squeezing your backside.
“Mghm...” you mumbled incoherently, chasing a breath.
“S’up bunny?” he encouraged you to speak up.
“You can, please, you can cuff me-” You squirmed underneath his weight and sighed as your thighs were already trembling with arousal.
At first he thought he misheard it, or that you simply wanted to joke around. But your face was anything but playful – it looked more like an embodiment of desperation.
“Oh yeah?” his head tilted, his eyes were squinted, watching you with curiosity as he couldn’t help but chuckle at how worked up you had gotten.
“Yes.” You kept nodding. No second thoughts. No jokes.
He felt his pants feel tighter at the mere thought of the proposed action. That’s why he slowly got up and reached for the object of your recent fascination, hidden away in his uniform.
Mindlessly toying with the handcuffs in his hands, he looked down at them only to then make eye contact with you again as he began walking back to bed. His steps were anything but rushed – reminding you that you were the only pathetically desperate one in the room. His each move exuded such dominance that you felt yourself getting more and more soaked as he approached you with his erection visibly pushing outward the material of his black cargo pants.
“Walkin’ around with no panties just so I could get home and fuck you dumb right away? This what you wanted?” You couldn’t not notice how his voice resounded with some kind of sweet mockery. You could tell he enjoyed making you come to terms with how frantically needy you were acting. And for some reason, you felt yourself enjoying it just as much. If not more.
You nodded alongside a deep breath.
Now, how could he make his sweet girl wait any longer, when you were looking up to him with pretty eyes open wide and your legs even wider?
“C’mere.” His knees were now against each of your sides as his breath trailed over your hyper sensitive neck. The warmth and scent of his body hovered over you while his hands looped the small chain over the bed’s spindles. “You going to be good f’me?”
“Mhm.” You nodded again, feeling the cold hoops enslave your wrists.
Their click announced one thing – he had bent you to his will for the rest of the night.
“Alright,” he grinned, causing you to squirm seconds later when he began mouthing the skin below your ear.
The kisses went on upwards, from the rim of your jaw to your lips. Drawing out soft sighs from you, he forced his tongue into your mouth while his hands swayed away the hair falling into your heated face. The kiss ended too soon for your liking, yet when you tried to ask for more by leaning forward, he did not let that happen.
“Hey, don’t get ahead of yourself,” he muttered, flicking your chin. “Don’t do that. You’re just gonna lay still and let me do what I need to. Yeah, bunny?”
“Yeah. ‘kay.” You listened yet your lower lip was actually quivering in anticipation.
Your back arched as you watched the black mane of his curls lower down on your body. With his head cramped between the softness of your thighs, his arms kneaded on them, toying with you as he lifted the lacy rim of your nightgown, letting his breath fan over your glistening core.
“Poor thing…must be throbbing so badly,” he murmured, dragging his digits over your folds with the meanest feather-light touch.
“Bellamy, please– fuck!” You cut yourself off with an obscure moan at the sudden feeling of him licking over your center.
He had to get a taste. Had to feel how wet you were. He wouldn’t be himself if he didn’t.
“Fuck…so good…” he backed up slowly. “Always so wet and I barely put my hands on you. Sometimes I wonder if you could fucking come untouched.”
“Maybe… could try...”
“I know you could, bunny. Know you could. Gonna have to try that sometime. But not today.”
With that being said, his hands shoot straight down to his belt. He was selfish tonight, he needed to get inside you right away. His long fingers fumbled with the zipper of his pants, revealing his boxers, stretched out by his cock already leaking with pre cum.
Your walls clenched around nothing at the delightful sight.
When he heard the whimper that slipped past your lips, he glared up at you amidst tugging his underwear down his large legs and scoffed in amusement.
“Shh, it’s all for you, sweetheart. Gonna put it all inside you. No need to get desperate,” he cooed, freeing his reddened cock.
He did not lie. Did not hesitate before grabbing your hips in a firm grasp, settling you into place and pushing his glossy tip straight into your entrance, letting out a hoarse, raw, dragged-out groan.
You cried out, trying to bear the sudden stretch, take his size like he excepted you to. He was so warm, and so big and it always hurt so good when he pushed himself into you.
“Take me, come on, all of me. Like a tough girl,” he cooed, his hands stroking your cheeks.
He buried himself as deep as his hips would allow with the accompaniment of your uncontrolled gasps. Your pulsing walls sucked him in whole. The feeling of absolute fullness was overwhelming.
Your hands ached to dive into his curls like they always did when he was inside you. With no way to ground yourself and only the feeling of powerlessness overtaking your mind, the maddening rhythm he set was too intense.
Your skin rubbed roughly against the harshness of the cuffs with every wriggle. But for some reason that slight ache wasn’t unpleasant. If anything, it collided with pleasure that was gracing you so perfectly that your head was spinning in something closest to ecstasy.
Maybe it spurred you on even further. Maybe it did make you moan louder.
You watched as he pushed his cock into you, to then pull it back out, and shove it in again. The wet squelches got louder with each passing second, when he not only fucked you faster, but harder, the strokes getting rougher, to the point when your eyes welled up with tears.
“Come on, you got this, sweetheart. You wanted this so bad, yeah? Now be good.”
It was all too much. You already felt the heat coiling inside your lower belly.
“Bellamy, please, I need to come-“ you mewled out.
“No, not yet, baby. You’ll come when I say you can,” he growled back. You were met with punishment right away when he slowed his moves despite your best efforts to keep up the pace by pushing your hips forward. At the sight of that, he pushed them back deep into the mattress before continuing the bullying of your g-spot.
Soon, his own control was slowly growing tight as his hips stuttered and jerked with each pulse. Seeing you struggle and squirm more and more too, he leaned his forehead against yours, whispering.
“Fuck, look at me, baby. Keep looking at me and cum all over my cock. C’mon. Come f’me,” he breathed.
Finally, you tumbled over the edge blindly, your legs shaking as you spilled yourself with convulsion of your whole body.
One more pump of his hips, another one, and then he dragged his pulsing length out of your heat.
In awe, you watched his hot cum paint your stomach. Actually, it was splashed over your poorly lifted up nightgown too.
After you both took a moment to come back to your senses, you heard Bellamy chuckle breathlessly at the sight underneath him, his fingers tugging lightly at the material.
“Sorry, ‘bout that.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek in apology. “You looked so sweet in it,” he admitted while his fingers began kneading on your tummy.
At the sudden reminder of the restraint you were under when you attempted to reach your arm out, your eyes could only greedily follow his digits that gathered his slick from your skin.
“Have a taste, baby,” his soothing voice made your heart swell as he loomed over you again. You swirled your tongue around his thumb before swallowing his sweetly savory cum.
“Thank you Bellamy,” you murmured softly.
With those words of gratitude, you earned yourself a wet kiss. After all, he always taught you that one good turn deserves another!
if anyone were to walk into bellamy blake’s tent, the image before them would appear innocent - a messy haired boy curled up with his girlfriend, his arm drawn across your waist. what they wouldn’t see is his cock stuffed deep into your cunt beneath the covers, still as a statue. the hand so ‘eloquently’ around your waist is instead dipping to rub tight circles against your clit whilst he tells you that he’ll only move when you’ve already come once.
bellamy blake, who tries his damn hardest to keep to his word, to prevent himself from driving into the girl before him with a pace so bruising you’d fear he might pierce through your tummy. every soft mewl you let out fuels the fire burning in his core to take you, to claim you, to fuck you until all you know is his name and the shape of his cock inside of you.
his patience is thin, and bellamy blake has never been one to hold back. he moves his fingers hastily until your jaw is dropping in a near silent screech, the digits of his free hand stuffing deep into the warm crevice of your mouth to silence you. he doesn’t want anyone else hearing how you writhe for him, and only him.
all bellamy blake knows by now is how to please you, to make it known that if you ever leave, nobody will bring you to the heights he does. nobody would position themselves behind you and imprint their cock quite so deep within you, deeming a thrust incomplete if his tip hasn’t smacked against the wall of your womb, if he hasn’t felt your cunt attempt to milk him dry before he’s even sheathed by an inch.
now if someone were to walk into bellamy blake’s tent, they would get a show.
request by @sweetbabymj : “i need a thriller era michael who likes to fuck in the presence of other people, i’m thinking in the hayvenhurst pool maybe.”
cw: smut mdni, exhibitionism, p in v, mentions of getting caught, nasty & dirty because they’re literally fucking in a pool, jackson siblings present (except janet because she was around 16 at this time) || so sorry for not writing for awhile but i wanna make sure i give y’all my best work so bare with me please ❤︎
“michael, you’ve got to be kidding me,” you whispered to your boyfriend who gripped your waist and pulled your body flush against his. you immediately felt his hard cock push against your backside. “not right here!” you said, panicked. the two of you were in the cool water of his swimming pool, a contrast from the heat of the warm sun on your skin. michael’s brothers and sisters were enjoying the weather outside too. rebbie and latoya were talking and sitting comfortably on pool chairs, saving a spot for you. the rest of his brothers were scattered, marlon, randy & jermaine splashing each other with water on the opposite side of the pool while tito and jackie laughed loudly among the group. if you weren’t being pressed against michael’s throbbing bulge, this scene would’ve seemed sweet.
“you just look too good right now, baby. y’know i love how you look in this,” michael hooked a finger under the strap of your polka-dotted swimsuit before snapping it on your shoulder. he watched as you gasped and took that as an opportunity to press his lips to yours, kissing you heavily. you broke the kiss as quickly as you could, eyes darting to his siblings, who didn’t seem to bat an eye. “‘s okay, no one’s looking,” he assured, already grinding himself over you, “trust me?” michael slid a large hand up to squeeze your hip. you took one last look at his family, all caught up in themselves. they really did look like they wouldn’t notice… which is why you answered, “yeah, ‘course i do.”
michael easily fixed you into a position that seemed casual enough. your body was facing him, but he left enough space between your upper bodies so it looked like you could’ve been just talking to him. “hey, pretty girl.” he grinned when his dark eyes locked onto yours. you brushed some of his wet curls from his face. “hi,” you whispered back with a small smile. michael shifted the bottom of your swimsuit aside before pushing into your cunt with a quieted groan. you whined at the stretch of him, hands coming up to grip his shoulders. “oh michael—” you moaned before he shushed you, “i know, i know, shit. squeezin’ me so tight already.” the water swished around your bodies as he fucked in and out of you slowly as to not make any louder sounds.
michael bit his bottom lip as his grip tightened around your waist, still fucking you torturously slow. he watched the way your body squirmed with each thrust. he watched your brows knit together as you struggled to keep quiet, heart racing at the thought of being caught like this. “hah.. stop starin’ at me, will you?” you whined jokingly, but could barely even speak without moaning out loud. michael chuckled softly. “sorry baby. you’re just so pretty,” he whispered into your neck and you clenched around him. “always look so pretty. love watchin’ you take this dick inside you,” he said under his breath. hearing dirty words in his sweet, soft voice always drove you crazy. “yeah—yes, gonna cum soon mikey,” you told him, voice light and airy.
“fuck, baby i know,” he panted, hips speeding up as much as the water would let him, “me too. cum with me, lemme feel you gushing on me.” with that, your orgasm crashed over you, and you would’ve screamed if michael didn’t kiss you in time. he groaned low as his tongue ran over yours while he fucked his cum deeper and deeper inside of you, until you were clutching onto him.
he pulled away from your lips, leaving both of you breathless. “i can’t believe we just did that,” you told him, looking around to ensure his siblings were still occupied. just then you heard randy’s voice yell, “aye, mike! the hell y’all doing over there?” marlon continued, “yeah! why don’t y’stop acting like strangers and come hang out with us?” by now, rebbie sat up to see why her brothers were shouting across the pool. you saw latoya shaking her head at you with a sarcastic look that made you stifle a laugh. you and michael giggled to yourselves, thanking god that hopefully no one knew what you both just did.
!!!: 18+, webcam sex, cybersex, pervert!michael, mature!michael, age gap (reader 27, michael 48) #youngho, sweet, blackfem!reader, michael being a simp, late 2000s, michael being bad at technology lol. (inspired by the lovely @/glossiercheek’s sugar daddy michael!!) 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖
You honestly don’t know how it happened.
You were on every website and social network known to man at that time. It was 2007, and technology was changing with the times.
You’d post on Facebook and MySpace, often documenting your outfits, taking cute selfies, or, if you were bored, you’d scroll through fashion blogs and forums, saving pictures of expensive items like Chanel bags and Louie V heels—the pink ones, of course.
It was definitely an escape from your reality.
Online, you could customize your page to what you loved and scroll through pages of people you never met. While in person, you were a waitress. Dealing with sticky tables from maple syrup, pouring hot coffee, and counting out the small amount of tips you made at the end of your shift.
But out of everything that kept you staring at that blue screen for hours, there was one thing you couldn’t seem to stop going on.
Michael Jackson forums.
You loved to read up on the King of Pop, thread after thread, and you found communities much like you. So one day, late at night, you’d set up that pink laptop—wiping the webcam as you clicked on a live chatroom with people who were fans of Michael.
It was innocent. People were kind, often showing off their merch and talking about their favorite moments, songs, and performances.
Until one night, you clicked on a different forum, mistaking it for a typical fashion blog.
Inside the chat room were talks of paying a large amount of money if a woman were to show off her feet. Trying to persuade the act by insinuating it’d be enough to buy a Dior bag.
It was a large amount that you had never seen at your own job.
You weren’t sure what had come over you, but you remembered wanting a channel bag but having to focus on paying an important bill due that week, putting luxuries aside.
So you set up the webcam quickly and responded. Showing off your manicured feet in return. And thankfully—thankfully, you didn’t embarrass yourself on the internet for nothing and were given your money up front.
You vowed to never do something like that again.
And in the later months since then, you never did it again.
Until you got an itch…
However, you never expected the person on the other side of the screen to be Michael Jackson himself.
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You dolled yourself up in the mirror, adjusting the strapless dress that pushed your boobs up perfectly.
You wanted an 18k gold Cartier bracelet.
You told yourself you just had to have it, and if your job wasn't supplying you extra money for it…then well, you'd find a way.
It just so happened that, unfortunately, your way was the ‘get rich quick’ method.
“…I won't do this again…for real this time.” You spoke to yourself in the mirror as you applied lip gloss.
You turned on your laptop, wiped the webcam, and returned to your forums. Trying to find a similar page you happened to wander on the first time.
“C'mon... someone's gotta be horny..”
You tutted your tongue, trying to find pages but failing.
A few minutes in, you had already started losing patience and went on the Michael Jackson forum—the one you usually loved. You started smiling while reading stories and seeing photos of him.
Then you got an annoying pop-up.
But before you could exit it, your eyes went to flashing words displayed.
Live Girls Online! Chat Now!!!
You then thought back to the Cartier bracelet you so desperately wanted.
You hesitated before you clicked.
A sea of naked women flooded your screen, causing you to go wide-eyed. Quickly shutting your laptop.
But the gold Cartier bracelet kept calling your name.
You sighed. Slowly opening your laptop back up, the naked women awaited your new user sign-in.
You clicked on the box which mentioned being a cam-girl.
You set up your profile, using only a picture of you from the mouth down to your chest, giving yourself the user:
mjsbunny1958
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You lay down on your bed with your laptop, as you put the finishing touches to your profile. Stating, “$90 to see me live, $50 to chat,” purposely not mentioning up front that the price would go up the longer they had you on this site.
You waited, rethinking whether you had made the price so high that no one wanted to click on you. Or that you may have come off too mysterious, since you didn't use your full face for your profile.
You messed with your almond French nails as you thought.
Suddenly, a ‘chime’.
You quickly turned your attention to the chat bubble moving up top.
Dr. Black is typing…
The avatar was blank; it was the usual default profile picture sites first gave you. You were skeptical; this could very likely be a scam.
Dr. Black: Hello beautiful
You hesitated before responding, maybe—just maybe, it wasn't a scam. You'd entertain it for now.
mjsbunny1958: hi, have you read my rules?
Dr. Black: Yes beautiful, I comply fully
This user has sent you $50
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You grinned at the notification, giggling and hoping you'd be getting that notification often.
mjsbunny1958: what would you like to talk about? it can be anything, i’m here to please :)
Dr. Black: I love your username
Dr. Black: Do you like that Jackson guy?
You were glad the conversation steered toward something you loved; you couldn't lie; you were expecting the person to start with something erotic.
mjsbunny1958 is typing…
mjsbunny1958: oh of course! he has such a lovely voice and heart, i listen to invincible a lot…i also heard he may be coming out with a thriller deluxe soon
Dr. Black: Really? So many leaks out there
mjsbunny1958: i keep up online
Dr. Black: I can tell. I’d buy you all the albums beautiful
Oddly, this experience made you feel giddy. You kinda hoped they'd chat a little longer, then you wouldn't have to worry about being on the site for so long for other people, trying to make bank.
Dr. Black: May I see your face?
mjsbunny1958: hmm, i’m not sure about that…
This user has sent you $70
Dr. Black: Please? May I see this beautiful bunny?
Your eyes widened at the sudden double amount of money he gave you; you almost felt bad if you didn't give him what he paid for. He was begging too.
But you thought, if you were gonna show your face you had to get your money's worth if they tried to ruin your life with this.
mjsbunny1958: you have to request a private live chat :) then you may see
Dr. Black is typing…
He was typing for a long time. You thought you might've ruined your chances of getting more money by asking him to go live with you.
You stared at your laptop, hoping there was still a chance he might send more money over. You sighed as you waited, about to close your laptop before notifications chimed.
This user has sent you $90
This user has requested a private live chat!
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You cleaned your webcam. Admiring your dolled-up appearance in the camera.
Still lying on your bed, you accepted their request.
Their camera was dark. It was silent.
You furrowed your eyebrows for a second in confusion. Either their camera was broken or they did not want to be seen.
“Hello?” you spoke, giving a hesitant wave.
Silent.
You weren't sure if you should just leave, the silence was deafening.
Then, a choppy, garbled hello was uttered.
“Is your connection okay?” you laughed, unable to keep it together at the thought that they spent so much on you to not have good wifi.
“…M’sorry… I'm not too good at technology..”
Their voice was deep, yet soft. Maybe they were an older man, you thought.
“It's okay…times are changing, y'know.” You giggled.
“…I’m already horrible with this new iPhone crap.” He let out in annoyance, though you found it funny.
“Your laugh is as beautiful as you.”
“Thank you, sweetheart.” He never failed to keep calling you beautiful, you noticed.
“Your lips are lovely, that's what drew me into you.”
“Oh, really? I only chose that photo for privacy reasons.”
“I understand. I have to be private too.”
He wasn't kidding; you answered his live private chat request to absolutely no one but darkness.
He looked at your bedroom layout, noticing pink bedsheets, purses, and the striking Thriller-era poster of Michael Jackson.
“Have you ever seen him in concert?”
“Who? Michael?” You asked.
He loved the way you said his name, and this new angle you were in—you were on your stomach, lying prone as you kicked your feet in the air.
“Yes.” He gulped.
“Unfortunately, I haven't...maybe he’ll tour again soon and I'll be able to go.”
“..Maybe he will, you never know.”
“Do you love michael? You seem to bring him up a lot, and I know because of my username but still,” you grinned.
“I don't mind him.” He uttered, wanting to brush past your statement.
“Okay, Dr. Black. If that's your real name, doctor.” You teased.
He chuckled lowly. Feeling a bit shy that he chose that user.
He started staring at you again, undressing you with his eyes.
“…Can I see your dress please? Fully? I-I’ll pay another ninety…”
“I guess I can't argue with that…” you chuckled. He didn't waste any time stating he’ll pay you so you wouldn't turn him down.
This user has sent you $90
You adjusted your pink laptop on your bed before you stood up, adjusting the strapless dress on you.
“..mmm, look so beautiful mama..”
Before you could return to lying back down, he stopped you.
“Wait. Stay there, wanna keep looking at you more.”
You paused your steps, looking back into the screen's black, mysterious void that spoke to you.
“Can you touch yourself..”
You weren't sure if he was demanding it or asking you, but it was certainly turning you on.
You let a manicured hand roam up top your dress, kneading your left breast. The dress was struggling to stay in place with your movements.
“Shit… just like that mama, touch both of them.”
You let both your hands roam, circling your nipples, biting your lips.
You could hear heavy breathing from the other side of your screen.
“Turn around for me, beautiful… wanna see all of you..” He spoke shakily, almost as if he was holding himself back.
You turned around, setting your arms by your sides now.
“Lift your dress up.”
You grabbed the dress by the ends, lifting it slowly, revealing a lacey pink string thong.
You bent down in front of the camera, the webcam catching your slick, glistening in the dim lights of your room.
You could hear wet noises and heavy sighing.
He got a perfect view of your ass. Heart-shaped and all. You weren't helping him at all when you started moving it seductively.
Repeated ‘schlick’ noises followed.
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At this point, you took the dress off fully. Then your thong.
You wet your fingers with your mouth, before sliding them in your cunt.
“Wish it was your fingers, hm?” you moaned out, bucking your hips on your bed as you attacked your wet pussy.
“Fuck—yes, I'd go straight to fucking y—ah—you!”
He groaned out; his precum was drooling out.
Feeling brave, he pushed his webcam toward his dick, giving you a clear picture of just how much he was loving this.
You gasped at the sight, he was so big… so we're his hands. You even caught the beautiful splotches of white on his dick.
“Tell me, bunny,” he let go of his grip on himself, his hand cramping up, forcing him to edge.
You stopped now, too, not because you wanted to. But because you wanted to cum with him.
“Do you like it rough or soft?” He breathed out, catching his breath.
Your legs were shaking as you swallowed before you spoke.
“I-it depends…”
“Well, just so you know… I’d be gentle if you'd like. But if you weren't feeling it, I wouldn't mind pounding you day or night…maybe spank your ass a little…not too hard though.”
You giggled at his remarks, “You're quite the gentleman.”
“I'd give you some money too, if you'd like that.”
You smirked at your camera, “I think I'd be more than satisfied…though I wouldn't mind some gifts.”
He chuckled, “Yeah?”
“Wanna be my bunny? I'd take care of you so well, make sure you're fucked good and treated like a queen. Would you like that, beautiful?”
You smiled, hardly believing you were really falling in love with a faceless man you barely knew who said all the right words.
Before you could speak, he adjusted his webcam.
Black hair and eyeglasses showed faintly.
“Dr. Black?”
“Yes, beautiful?” He responded with concern.
“You mentioned being private earlier…But I don't think it's fair that only I get to show my face and don't get to see the handsome man behind the screen?”
He gulped, nervous now. You could feel it.
“…If I tell you who I am, you wouldn't believe me. If I show you who I am, you'd probably never speak to me again. Let alone be with me.”
“Then let me see you.” You whispered. His hesitancy made you unhappy. You were sure whatever it was he was hiding about himself couldn't possibly change what you experienced tonight with him.
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He adjusted his camera slowly, the light cascading on his face.
Your jaw went slack in shock.
Michael Jackson.
A sudden realization that you spoke, touched yourself to, and turned him on came to you.
He bowed his head down a few times, ashamed, like he had done everything wrong.
You were glad he gave you a few moments of silence to take it all in. You processed it. Then breathed, calmly speaking now.
“…if I asked you to tell me. I wouldn't have believed you.”
“But, am I so glad you showed me you. You trusted me.” You smiled now. “I'll take this to my grave…even if you didn't mean what you told me earlier.”
He looked back up into the camera, shocked at your calm reaction. But also at your words. He meant what he said, but the fact that you wouldn't try to ruin him even if he didn't mean it—should've given him relief, but instead it made him disheartened. Because if you didn't try to make a story out of him, then what else was there left to hide?
“T-that's it?” he managed to speak.
You nodded, making peace with the situation. Realizing he was just a man at the end of the day, having needs too.
“Knowing what I know now doesn't just magically erase what happened before I knew.”
It felt odd, for him at least. Not expecting you to behave like this at all.
“…I don't remember the last time someone made me feel so…ordinary.”
If he wasn't already head over heels for you, your words simply made him fall even harder.
“I think…” he chuckled, fixing his glasses,
“I'm in much deeper than I planned.”
And from that point on, he meant what he said to you.
From getting your contact to treating you like a queen, wrapped up in his arms.
He fucked you deliciously, and you couldn't seem to wrap your mind around how a guy his age had so much stamina.
He gave you expensive gifts, ‘the best of the best for my bunny’ he'd always say.
You never had to worry about the Cartier bracelet when you now owned 20, courtesy of Michael, of course.
And when he was away, surprisingly, it was the best rather than sad, because the long distance meant you got to experience the first time you both fell in love with each other again, setting up your laptop as you teased and fucked yourself on camera for him, getting to enjoy front row seats of your fiancé‘s sloppy fisting to his dick!
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