Adaryll !! (jermajesty’s wife)

thinking about how jermajesty reacted when he made you squirt for the first time.

tw: smut (18+), jermajesty being a munch, oral (f! receiving), fingering, squirting, overstimulation.

Author’s Note: my man posted, enjoy. excuse any mistakes!

This content does NOT contain AI and may not be used to train AI.

Hotboxing in Jermajesty’s car was nothing new, it was a regular occurrence—just like how it’s a regular occurrence of Jermajesty having you in the backseat being borderline cock-drunk. But on this particular night, you were drunk off his fingers.

Your leggings and panties were discarded somewhere in the front, you were in the backseat, back laid on the cool leather seats—your legs pushed to your shoulders as Jermajesty lapped at your sopping wet pussy like he was a madman. The car was filled with wet squelches, your unrecognizable babbles, and Jermajesty’s muffled groans.

By now, your chest is heaving like you ran a marathon—your body coated in a film of sweat, your legs shaking uncontrollably, and your eyes constantly rolling back.

“Maj—fuckk, slow down. Please.” Your words jumbled together, right hand trying to push his head away. Jermajesty finally lifted his head from between your legs—lips and the tip of his nose drenched from your slick. “Come on mama, you can take it.” He licked his lips as he dove back in to eat your pussy. He lapped his tongue around your clit. The sensation sent tingles up your spine, feeling your slick drip down, creating a small puddle on the seats.

A loud squeal sounded off in the car as his two fingers slid deeply inside you, curling them at the perfect angle. “Maj, oh my goshhhh.” You babbled out as a euphoric sensation trickled through your body. Jermajesty moves his fingers at a steady pace as he picks up the pace with his tongue, lapping and licking at your pussy as if this is his last time living.

You could feel Jermajesty moving—you forced your eyes to look down, just for you to see his hips absentmindedly rutted into the seats—the thought of him cumming just off of giving you head made a slight whimper slip through your lips.

Jermajesty hollowed his cheeks as he sucked at your clit harshly and angled his fingers deeper into you—his unexpected movement sent a rush of heat through you as your orgasm rushed through you, causing your legs to fall on his shoulders, leaving your toes curled tight. Your mouth slacked open as a silent moan fell.

You expected him to ease up for you to recover—but you were so wrong; Jermajesty didn’t even slow down his speed, in fact, it felt like he increased his speed just a tad, sending your body into a frenzy.

A loud yelp ripped through your throat as the pleasure became too much to bear. “Baby, please—slow down, it’s too much.” Your words slurred together, as your legs trembled harshly. Jermajesty dug his face deeper in your pussy, he was completely pussy drunk—small whimpers fell out of his mouth like a waterfall, his eyes rolling back at your taste, and the lower half of his face, along with his arm, was drenched in your juices.

The pressure within you kept growling stronger—heavier, becoming harder to control. Your walls clench around his fingers, slick pouring out constantly. You can barely breathe, as you can only let out short, staccato gasps. “Baby—fuckkk, I think—“ Your words got cut short as Jermajesty’s fingers pounded at that spot inside you.

That pressure within your stomach finally snapped, you let out a scream that filled the car, and the area around you—your body locked up, eyes harshly rolling back as a harsh gush flooded out of you, drenching Jermajesty. His eyes rolled completely back at you drenching him—he kept lapping at you as you came down from your high, never missing a single drop.

When you came to, your body shivering violently, your bottom half soaked with your slick—you could hardly catch your breath. But you were able to reach your hand into Jermajesty’s damp curls, pulling him up—his cheeks flushed with slight embarrassment. “Are you alright baby?” You breathlessly asked. He paused for a moment; “I came in my pants, baby.” He said shyly. “Aww, it’s okay, maj.” You cooed at him.

Silence filled the car for all of ten seconds before Jermajesty’s voice cut through.

“You squirting on me like that was sexy—when we get to the house, you gone do that shit on my dick.”

well🌚

thinking about the first time you asked Jermajesty to feed off of you in the middle of sex.

TW: black fem reader (duh), smut (18+), dirty talk, blood sucking.

Author’s Note: we (YES WE) love vampire jermajesty. playing round with the layout of my works, just work with me here! excuse any mistakes!

this content does NOT contain any AI and may not be used to train AI.

“Pa—why are you fucking me like this?” you babbled out. Your hand on his stomach, eyes rolling to the back of your head. Jermajesty had your legs on his shoulders, giving you slow, deep strokes—deep enough for his tip to brush at your cervix. “Can’t I love on you, mhm, mama?” He smirked, showing his fangs.

As you were fighting to keep your eyes open, you spotted his fangs—you clenched around him, with more of your slick dripping into his dick, making a loud moan fall from Jermajesty’s mouth.

“You like seeing my fangs, baby?” He groaned. You gave a small verbal yes, but Jermajesty could tell there was more you wanted to say. He slowed his pace even more, going deeper as he pushed your legs up to your shoulders. “What’s on your mind, mama? Speak to me.”

Your eyes rolled back at the slight change in position. “I want you—fuckkkk, I want you to bite me.” Jermajesty’s thrusts faltered as you sputtered out your fantasy. He immediately started stuttering, “a-are you sure, baby? I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“I promise, pa, I want you to bite me.” You glanced up at him with those doe eyes, knowing he couldn’t resist.

A flicker of contemplation crossed his face before he started pounding into you, his tip now kissing at your cervix—skin slapping against each other. You let out a loud moan as Jermajesty’s newfound pace catches you off guard.

Jermajesty bent down, chest flesh against yours, putting his head in your neck. Your legs are now wrapped around his waist, and your arms are around his neck. “I promise you can bite me, give it to me pa.” You stuttered out to Jermajesty.

With no further hesitation, his fangs sank into the crook of your neck—you held back a scream as the pain was unbearable—Jermajesty let out a muffled whimper, eyes rolled back at the taste of your blood as if it was the best on earth. Still, as he sank deeper, a hot, euphoric feeling trickled down your body. You let out a series of whines as tears fell, the new feeling overwhelming. You could feel the pressure in your stomach growing harder to contain.

“Majjj, it feels so—“ you couldn’t finish your sentence as your orgasm came rushing through you, juices splattering across Jermajesty’s lower half.

The taste of your blood and the feeling of you clenching around him as you came sent him into a frenzy, triggering his own orgasm. He retracted his fangs from your neck as he let out a loud, guttural whine—his white, milky cum filling your pussy to the brim.

Jermajesty’s heavy breathing and your occasional whimpers filled the room. “You alright, mama, I didn’t hurt you or anything?.” His words came out muffled as his head was laid in the crook of your neck. “I’m okay, pa, I loved it.” You spoke breathlessly.

The room grew quiet before Jermajesty’s voice cut through.

“Round two in thirty minutes?”

randy jr is otw guysss, i promise🌚.

count ：4.6k

pairing：jermajesty jackson╱black!female reader

synopsis: you and jermajesty have been on and off for the past six months. He pissed you off once again, so you go to the club with your homegirls on that “fuck that nigga” energy, and he did not like that.

content warning：18+, situationshipish, strong language, smut oral (f!receiving), kinda toxic, p in v sex, pet names used, choking

a/n: this my first time writing smut lmfaooo chill on me this is probably ass. i was inspired by this video but with a slight change. i had dangerously in love by beyonce and throw it away by summer walker on loop while writing this, idk why. mdni banner from @cafekitsune . no faceclaims, photos are just for aesthetics!

You were in your bathroom getting ready to go hang out at the club with your friends. The bathroom carried a sweet scent of your vanilla perfume. You were finishing up your makeup, leaning in close to your reflection and steadying your hands while tracing the brown lip liner on your lips, blending it flawlessly before topping it off with a thick layer of lip gloss. Your phone vibrated against the marble sink. You didn't have to look to know who it was, but you rolled your eyes the second you looked at your screen and saw his contact.

You overly deserve better: what’s up with you posting that shit on your instagram?

You put your phone down and ignore his text, continuing to check yourself out in the mirror while actively choosing peace. You adjust your strapless corset top, hugging your curves and pushing your breasts up into a tight molded silhouette. You adjusted your low rise-shorts, hugging your thighs tightly and making your ass pop out.

You put your makeup products, grabbed your phone and walked out your bathroom and walk into your room to put your shoes on. You’re only able to put your shoe box on the bed when your phone buzzes again. A loud groan escaped your lips as you see Jermajesty’s contact pop up on your phone again.

You overly deserve better: so you just going to ignore my text messages?

You: Boy fuck off my phone.

You overly deserve better: 1 image

You overly deserve better: You love subbing when you mad huh. What's up with you yo?

You: Why you steady checking my instagram, Maj? Stop talking to me deadass.

You slammed your phone onto the mattress. Sitting on the edge of your bed, you take your silver strappy heels out of the box and put them on your manicured feet. Just as you strapped the second shoe, a text from your homegirl Iris flashed:

Iris: Outside.

Grabbing your black leather purse, phone, wallet, and keys, you step outside your apartment and headed outside.

“Hey bitch!” Your homegirl Iris said as you got in the passenger seat, the car smelling like heavy coconut and fresh air freshener. 

“Hey, girl,” you replied as you put your seatbelt across your body. You guys started the drive to the club, singing along to music and catching up on some tea. The bass from the speakers vibrated through the floorboards as Iris drove. You instantly flipped the sun visor down, opening the front camera to double-check your liner while Iris caught you up on the weekly tea.

“Is Sarani and Naiari meeting us at the club?” You ask, tilting your head to check your angles.

“Yeah, and it made it easier since they live a little farther than us. Saves me some gas money, hell.”

You laughed at your friend as you looked out the window. Your phone buzzed in your lap, and you roll your eyes with a deep sigh seeing Jermajesty sending you yet another text.

You overly deserve better: 1 image

You overly deserve better: Why you keep posting shit on instagram like we done?

You: Because we’re fucking done. You did that.

You overly deserve better: Who you talking to?

You: I’m texting you, am I not?

“It’s that nigga huh?” Your friend asks looking over at you as she came to a stop at the red light. Your face leaves the screen and looks at your friend.

“Huh?” You asked, now out of your train of thought.

“Look at you. Girl I ain't stupid, I know you texting that nigga.”

You heavily sighed, letting your head fall back against the head rest. There was no point in lying to Iris. “He keep texting on bullshit. He’s over here sending me screenshots of my instagram story like he’s not the reason why we stopped talking, fuck that nigga.”

“You sure about that?” Your friend asks as she turned left. “Last time you said fuck that nigga, you literally fucked that nigga.”

You looked over at your friend, your eyes wide as you smacked your friend's arm, “Okay, first of all, no need to clock my tea like that!”

“I’m just saying! It was so bad that you couldn’t walk. We had brunch the next day and I practically carry you in and out of the restaurant.”

You let out a reluctant laugh as the memory hit. “Yeah, well, I mean it now. I’m tired of him always playing, shits fucking annoying.”

“We’ll see about that,” your friend responded, pulling into the valet lane of the club.

The second you stepped out of the car, the heavy, bass-thumping atmosphere of the night wrapped around you. You met your other two friends, Naiari and Sarani. Within minutes, you were in the thick of it. The club was packed, the air thick with the scent of high-end perfume and exotic weed. Drinks were flowing, and bodies were grinding together under the heavy strobe lights. 

"Shake that ass friend!" Your friend Sarani yelled as she recorded you shaking your ass to "Gimmie my Gots" blaring through the megawatt speakers. You threw your head back, laughing, completely losing yourself in the music.

Needing a break, you walked over to the bar, tapping your long nails against the counter as you waited for a cocktail to quench your thirst. You flipped your phone over to check the time, and the lock screen was completely flooded.

You overly deserve better: So now you posting videos twerking and hugged up on other niggas and shit?

You overly deserve better: That's what it is?

You overly deserve better: You just going to ignore me?

You overly deserve better: Bet.

You stared at the typing bubbles appearing and disappearing at the bottom of the screen. Looking at your phone with a smirk, you turned the phone completely off, slid it into your purse, and took a long sip of your drink.

An hour and a half passed, and you were having a ball. Six cocktails in, and you were completely loose. You were caught in a blur of the club lights, the music, and the sounds of your homegirls and other people hyping you up in the club as you were throwing ass.

You started to get tired, and you tapped Iris telling her that you were ready to go. As you went to unstrap your shoe, your friend pulled you back up gently with a look of concern in your face.

"You told that nigga you was at the club?" Your friend asked.

No, why?" You responded with a confused look.

"Then why the fuck he over there lookin' like that?"

You followed your friend's eyes and instantly made eye contact with him. Jermajesty stood on the other side of the club, the light illuminating the fire in his eyes. He was high off of a blunt, his eyes red. He wore a black tee with grey sweatpants, sporting a cold necklace looking effortlessly smooth but completely pissed off. He walked over to you, maintaining eye contact while pushing past bodies.

"Oh, you're deadass about to get clocked," Iris murmured, stepping slightly in front of you, but you were too frozen by the sudden rush of adrenaline to even move. The six cocktails were swirling in your head, blurring the line between panic and thrill.

"So this what we doing now?" he said, his voice dropping into a rough growl that vibrated through the loud music. He stepped an inch closer, your chest now touching his. You craned your neck to look at him, the heat radiating off of his chest onto your shoulders. "You ignoring my messages, and now you out here with your homegirls shaking your ass for other niggas to see you?" You keep playin' with me acting single and shit, so we 'bout to go. Now"

"Nigga, I ain't going anywhere with you. Fuck out my face." you stated as you started walking away, your friend Iris following. You felt the breath was knocked out of you as you were swept off your feet. Jermajesty picked you up and put you over his shoulder. "Don't worry about it Iris, I'll take her home."

"Maj, put me the fuck down!" You protested, smacking him on his back. He slapped your ass hard, walking outside. The cool air hit your shoulders as you made it outside. Jermajesty didn't say a word as he led you through the parking lot. He walked to his car, unlocked it, and set you in the passenger side.

The alcohol was swirling in your head, rendering your anger completely useless as you sank onto the leather seat. Within seconds, Jermajesty climbed into the driver's side, slamming his door shut and cutting off the ambient noise of the night. He didn't put the car in drive immediately. Instead, he looked straight ahead, his jaw clenched as he stared straight through the windshield.

"You steady out here playin in my face," he muttered. "Ignoring my texts, posting "fuck that nigga" bullshit, and now you wearing small ass clothes shaking ass. The fuck are you doing?"

You leaned your head back against the headrest, a sudden wave of exhausted defiance washing over you. "The fuck am I doing? I told you, Maj. I’m tired of the games. You do whatever you want, whenever you want, and I'm supposed to just sit around and wait for you? Fuck that. And fuck you."

"I told you that situation wasn't even what you thought it was," he fired back, finally turning his head to look at you. The dark shadows in the car hid most of his expression, but the intensity in his eyes was unmistakable. "But instead of talking to me like we got some sense, you run to the club. Shaking ass on your story so every nigga in the city can see."

"Why do you care? You said we were done," you challenged, shifting in your seat to face him, the leather of your shorts squeaking against the passenger seat. "You ended that shit not me, stop walking 'round this motherfucker like you my nigga."

Maj let out a laugh, shifting his weight. "Yeah, okay. Look at me and say that again."

He leaned across the console, his hand coming up to gently but firmly cup the back of your neck, his thumb resting right along your jawline. The familiar, intoxicating scent of his cologne filled your senses, completely wiping out whatever logic you had left from the six cocktails.

"You know damn well we ain't done," he whispered, his eyes dropping to your lips before locking back onto yours, biting his bottom lip.

The irritation was still there, buzzing right beneath your skin, but as his fingers tangled into the hair at the nape of your neck, your defense mechanisms completely crumbled. You let out a soft, frustrated sigh, tilting your head up. You knew you were being completely hypocritical. You knew your friends were going to clock you for the rest of the month. But right here in the dark of his front seat, the rest of the world felt completely irrelevant.

You took your heels off, massaging your manicured foot. "You're an asshole," you murmured. "I'm tired of you."

Jermajesty looked down at your face, a slow, knowing smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. He leaned back against the driver's side panel, his expression shifting from pissed off to purely satisfied.

"Yeah, I know," he murmured, his gaze tracing up your leg to where you sat in the passenger seat, completely caught up. "But you still ain't going nowhere."

The thick silence in the car was heavy with the leftover static of your argument. Jermajesty leaned back against the driver’s side panel, his arm resting over the steering wheel as his eyes tracked your every movement, watching the heavy rise and fall of your chest against the tight, molded contour of your corset.

The alcohol was warm in your veins, blurring your anger into a reckless, defiant confidence. You looked at his face, and decided you were done playing by the rules.

Slowly, you shifted your weight on the leather passenger seat. You lifted your leg, extending it right across the center console. The the white nail polish caught the dim glow of the dashboard lights as you brought your foot directly to his chest, right over the crisp black fabric of his T-shirt.

Jermajesty didn't move away, his eyes narrowing into a dark, intense stare as he watched you.

You didn't stop there. With a slow, teasing friction, you dragged your manicured toes upward, rubbing your foot up the center of his chest, passing the gold necklace resting against his collarbone, until your heel hooked completely over his shoulder. You let your calf rest heavily against his frame, your bare foot dangling just over the back of the driver's seat.

The tension in his jaw melted into a slow, knowing smirk as he looked at your leg resting on him. He didn't push you off. Instead, he reached up with one large, warm hand, his fingers wrapping securely around the back of your ankle. His thumb stroked the side of your foot, his grip firm and possessive, completely locking you in place.

"You got a lot of nerve," Jermajesty murmured, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly register that vibrated right through your leg. He leaned his head back against the seat, his gaze sliding slowly up your calf to where you sat in the passenger seat, completely caught up in his orbit. "Out here acting brand new all night, driving me crazy, then getting mad when I pull up."

"Shut up," you muttered. You flexed your toes slightly, deliberately pressing your heel a little deeper into his shoulder blade just to see his jaw tighten again.

He let out a low, breathy chuckle, his eyes darkening. He shifted his weight, leaning closer to the center console without letting go of your leg. "Make me."

Jermajesty slowly slid his hand up from your ankle, his palm tracing the curve of your calf, his touch burning hot against your skin. His gaze followed his hand, taking in the way the white nail polish on your toes caught the faint dash light before his eyes traveled back up to the low-rise leather shorts hugging your thighs.

"You did it to yourself," you replied, your voice dropping just as low as you leaned in toward him, completely abandoning the passenger side. "You're the one who always plays games."

"No more games tonight," Jermajesty murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated straight through your skin.

He didn't wait for your answer. He finally let go of your leg, but only to shift the car into drive, his other hand instantly coming back to rest heavily on your thigh, his fingers digging into the smooth black leather of your shorts as he pulled away from the curb. Your breath hitches as Jermajesty moves his hands farther up your thigh and closer to your center.

The drive back to your apartment complex was a tense, silent blur of city lights and the heavy hum of the engine, his grip on your leg never loosening for a single second. He was driving with urgency, and the heat radiating from his palm was already making you unravel.

You barely made it into your apartment when Jermajesty closed and locked your door and instantly wrapped his arms around your waist, putting his lips on your into a deep kiss. You kissed him back, your hands roaming up his back. He picks you up in one swift motion, wrapping your legs around your waist as he takes you to your bedroom. Jermajesty laid you flat on your mattress, leaning down to lay sloppy kisses on your neck.

"Maj," you breathed out, feeling his lips over a sensitive part over your neck. You tried pushing him away, but the attempt turned up weak. You hated how his lips have such an impact on you.

Jermajesty ignored your attempts of pushing him away, moving his lips down to your collarbone. "Take this shit off."

You sat up slightly, undoing the strings in your corset and slip off completely. Your breasts spilled out, your top discarded somewhere on the floor. Jermajesty massaged your breats with his hands, playing with your nipples, getting a soft moan out from you.

"You feel soft ma," he started, leaning up to smell your neck, "and you smell good."

"I always smell good," you panted out, your voice breathless against his skin. Your fingers instantly gripping the back of his black tee, your manicured nails tugging at the fabric. "Now get out of this shirt."

Jermajesty let out a low, rough chuckle that vibrated deep in his chest against your bare breasts. He pulled back just enough to yank the shirt over his head in one swift motion, tossing it onto the floor to join your discarded corset top and he leaned back down towards you. The solid, warm weight of his bare chest pressing flat against yours made your breath hitch, his expensive cologne completely enveloping your senses.

He didn't give you time to think. His mouth slammed back onto yours, deeper this time, his tongue sliding past your glossy brown lips with a possessive, heavy rhythm that completely melted whatever sobriety you had left. You arched your back off the mattress, your manicured hands roaming up his broad back, digging your nails into his shoulders.

"Yeah, arch that back for me," Jermajesty growled into the kiss, his hands tracing down your sides until his fingers found the waistband of your low-rise leather shorts.

He didn't bother playing with the laces gently. His large hands gripped the loosened leather panels, tugging them down past your hips and pulling them completely off your legs, leaving you bare beneath him. His eyes darkened as he tracked the shift in your posture, taking in the sight of you completely undone on the mattress.

He slid his palm up your inner thigh, his skin burning hot against yours, his fingers tracing higher until they brushed against the center of your heat. You gasped, your head falling back onto the pillow as he found you completely slick, drenched and ready for him. He moved down farther, coming face to face with your center. He puts his hands on your waist and drags you closer to the edge of the bed.

He takes his thumb and starts rubbing your clit, making you moan as you craned your neck back. Your hips twitch and twist beneath him in a desperate search for relief. "Maj, baby, stop teasing."

Jermajesty looks up with a smirk. "What you want, ma? You have to use your words."

You looked away defiantly, starting to get annoyed. "You know what I want, stop fucking playing."

Jermajesty leans back up and puts his hands around your neck, his eyes burning holes in you. "You better watch your mouth. You not getting shit until you use your words, baby."

You look up at him, a pout forming on your face. You didn't want to fully give in, but you ached for him to put his head in between your legs. Your mind told you one thing, but your body told you a whole lot more.

"I want you to eat me out, please," you asked, looking up at Jermajesty flustered.

He smirks, going back down in between your legs. "See, it wasn't that hard, was it?"

He starts putting light kisses on your thighs, you whine as he kissed everywhere but your center. He went up to your foot, kissing your toes and ankles. He kisses back in your center, licking a long, slow, stripe up your slit.

"Oh my god," you breathed out, your back arching off the bed. Jermajesty continues licking stripes all over your center. He takes his fingers, and opens your folds and sucks on your clit all the while maintaining eye contact. You close your eyes, trying to grind your pussy on his face. He takes one of your hands that was holding your thighs and holds your hips. "Stop fuckin' moving." He said, lifting his head.

Jermajesty puts two fingers in his mouth before inserting them in your hole. You yell out, feeling dizzy with the amount of pleasure shooting through your body. Look at me," Maj commanded. His tounge went back to your clit, spelling his name along with yours, applying enough pressure to make you twist. "Tell me who you're shaking that ass for in the club. Tell me who this belongs to."

"You, Maj," you breathed out, your eyes fluttering open, completely blown out with desire as you stared down into the fire in his eyes. "It's yours. It's always yours."

Jermajesty's smile grows as he pumps his fingers faster in you. You feel a coil in your stomach, and your orgasm flows dangerously through you, your face flustered as Jermajesty licks your juices up. He licks his fingers clean before he leans up to kiss you, tasting your juices.

Jermajesty breaks the kiss, pulling his pants and boxers down, revealing his length. He leaned forward, spread your legs open, and inserted himself with a thrust.

You cried out, the pleasure hitting you all at once. Your eyes shut close, moaning as Jermajesty is thrusting in and out. "Fuck," he groans in your ear, kissing the spot below your ear.

You tried pushing him away again, but he swats your hand away. He moves his hands up to your throat, slightly squeezing. "Move your fucking hand. Open your eyes and look at me."

Your eyes flutter open, looking at him as he's thrusting in you, hitting the spot just right, his voice shifting into a breathless, ragged murmur that didn't match the punishing, heavy depth of his thrusts. "I am so sorry, baby."

He leaned down, pressing his sweaty forehead against yours, his gaze locked onto your eyes as he drove himself into you again. The sudden shift from dominance to a raw tenderness made your heart do a violent flip, making you completely helpless under his weight.

"You just… you drive me fucking crazy," Jermajesty growled, his grip on your throat loosening just enough to let you catch your breath, his palm sliding up to cup your jawline firmly. His thumb swiped over your lower lip, smudging the last of your brown liner. "Out here in that tight-ass top, letting other niggas watch you. I was ready to tear that whole club down, deadass."

He delivered a sharp, upward thrust that hit your sweet spot perfectly, cutting off your response and forcing a loud, high-pitched cry from your lips. Your hands flew to his bare shoulders, your manicured nails digging deep into his skin as your hips automatically rose to meet him, matching his desperate, aggressive pace. The friction of your bare skin rubbing against the mattress was hot, and the heavy silver chain around his neck swung back and forth, clinking rhythmically with every heavy hit.

"Maj, please—oh fuck" you gasped, your head thrashing against the pillow as the coil in your stomach began to tighten all over again. The pleasure was too intense, shooting straight down your spine and making your legs tremble where they were wrapped around his waist.

"Look at me," he demanded again, his hips pausing for a split second, burying his length completely inside you, holding you still. He was panting, his dark eyes burning with an intense, addictive fire that told you he was right on the edge with you. "Say my name. Let me hear it."

"Jermajesty…Maj, baby, fast please ," you begged, your voice breaking as you pouted up at him, your eyes completely blown out and glossy with tears of pure pleasure.

A satisfied smirk broke across his face, and he didn't make you ask twice. He pumped into you with a fast, relentless rhythm, his hands moving down to your hips to anchor you completely against him. The sound of your bodies meeting filled the quiet bedroom, a heavy, intoxicating noise that drowned out everything else. You were completely gone, the intense heat between your legs building into a tight, unbearable wave.

You cried out his name as your walls suddenly clamped down around him, your second orgasm crashing through you in violent waves. Maj let out a low, guttural roar into the crook of your neck, his body stiffening as he delivered two final, deep thrusts, completely filling you up as he came right along with you. He collapsed heavily against your chest, his breath ragged and uneven against your collarbone, your perfume and his cologne mixed with the raw scent of sex wrapping around you like a blanket.

He stayed buried inside you, his heavy frame crushing you into the mattress as his ragged breathing slowly began to level out. The room was dead silent, save for the sound of you both panting for air in the dim, shadowed space. He laid his head in the crook of your neck, his lips pressing a soft, lingering kiss against your damp skin right where his hand had been gripping your throat just moments before.

"Damn," Jermajesty muttered, his voice a low, gravelly vibration against your collarbone.

You let your legs slowly slide down from around his waist, your muscles trembling from the aftershocks of the orgasm. Your manicured fingers were still loosely tangled in his hair, and you gave it a gentle tug, a weak laugh escaping your lips. "You're lucky I love you, deadass. Because you are entirely too much."

Maj pulled back slightly, propping himself up on his forearms so he could look down at you. The dark intensity in his eyes hadn't completely faded, but the angry, tense set of his jaw was gone, replaced by a smug, satisfied smirk. He reached up, his thumb gently wiping away a stray tear from the corner of your eye, before smoothing down your messy hair.

"I'm too much? You're the one out here trying to give me a heart attack," he said, his voice dropping into a soft, teasing murmur. He leaned down, catching your bottom lip in a slow, deep kiss that tasted like the liquor from the club and the raw heat of the last twenty minutes. He broke it off with a soft nip to your lip. "Don't ever play with me like that again on my phone. I mean it, ma."

"You started it," you pouted, looking up at him defiantly despite the fact that your body was completely melted into the sheets. "Sending screenshots like a whole detective."

"Because I'm not about to let another nigga think he's got a chance with what's mine," he stated plainly, his tone leaving absolutely no room for argument.

He slowly pulled himself out of you, making you let out a soft whine at the sudden loss of his warmth. Jermajesty rolled onto his side, instantly wrapping a large arm around your waist and pulling your back flush against his bare chest. He tucked you securely against him, his hand resting right on your hip, his fingers tracing the edge of where your low-rise shorts had been sitting earlier.

The heavy, woody scent of his cologne was faint now, mixed with the musky heat of the room, completely enveloping you as you rested your head against his arm. You knew Iris was going to text you in the morning demanding a full report, and you knew you were going to have to admit that you gave in within ten minutes of getting home. But as Maj tightened his grip around your waist, pulling you so close there was no space left between you, you closed your eyes and let yourself drift off. Let her clock your tea tomorrow—tonight, you were exactly where you wanted to be.

literally just porn. 18+ MDNI

(You have to have Twitter to view them!)

I got this idea from the amazing @strawberrykittymp3

Banners by @cursed-carmine

He loves when you ride him until his eyes get glassy and teary, staring helplessly up at you. He always cums so hard like this—especially when you’re kind enough to spit in his mouth.

one. Two. Three. Four.

He’s obsessed with the way your ass jiggles every time you push your hips back to take his dick. His grip on your hips is bruising, fingers sinking deep as he’s guiding you

One. Two. Three. Four.

He eats your pussy like a man starvedd. He takes his sweet time worshipping you first, kissing and licking every sensitive spot before his tongue goes to work. Soon he’s a sloppy, glistening mess, your slick dripping down his chin while he moans against you.

One. Two. Three. Four.

He loves fucking you with the toys he got you. He takes his time sliding them in deep, twisting and pumping while you squirm and moan beneath him. His favorite part is watching your face as he plays with you, getting you nice and wet before he finally gives you the real thing.

one.

He loves missionary with you. It’s his favorite position. He fucks you ever so slow at first then switches to fast hard strokes that make your mind literally go mush. He also loves seeing those creamy rings around his dick every time he thrusts.

One. Two. Three. Four.

Get to work

content ! 18+, mentions of teasing, cock warming, hair pulling ,

"Ah, ah, ahhh-" Michael taunts, grabbing your hips and pulling them down; a sound akin to a harsh slap has him grinning ear to ear as he sheaths himself back in your gooey depths. "You were talking big game earlier, angel-" He sinks his fingers into the base of your scalp and tugs-

You hiss, hands balling into fists and pressing hard on your boyfriend's shoulders. "Too much, Michael !" you grit out between your teeth, your thighs burning in an attempt to raise yourself off of his cock. It's simply too deep like this; the pressure of his swollen tip nudging your cervix as you're forced to sit at the hands of his absurd strength.

"You better show me what you've got."

You can feel him rub every single inch of your sensitive walls with even the most subtle shift- "Too big- mmm- need to m-move-

"you whine, nuzzling your head in the crook of his neck, trying to garner any semblance of sympathy.

"You should've thought about that before running that dirty mouth of yours all day, sweets." He giggles, effortlessly holding you in place as you squirm. Michael’s ready to keep you there-cockwarming him as long as it takes for you to give him the show he's been dying for.

"Are you going to be a woman of your word?" he starts, voice low and taunting. "Or are you just a girl who bit off more than she could chew?" he hums, leaning down to plant a gentle but patronizing kiss on the crown of your head.

"You're so mean." you mumble against his skin, burying your face further into his shoulder.

"I'm mean?" he scoffs, his grip becoming bruising on your waist.

"Says the little tease-" he lifts you up- "who can't even handle dick like she said she could." and drops you back down, down, down-

"Fuck!" you cry, choking on a high pitched moan as the very back of your poor cunt is slammed via cruel gravitational force.

"m'sorry." you whisper, letting out a shaky breath and fighting tears of frustration.

"You're sorry, are you?" he mimics, his grip on your waist loosening as he pulls your head from his shoulder; dilated brown eyes crossing every inch of your pouty face.

"Mhmm-"

"I'd say you better get to work, then." Michael pecks your lips before leaning back against the headboard and flashing you that cocky grin of his; two fingers raising in a round-a-bout motion.

You give in. Your hips start moving on command-grinding, bouncing, rolling. Every small movement has you keening and him laughing with victory; occasionally raising his hips to meet yours just to see you twitch-

You're in for a long (and hard) night.

𓈒❤︎︎࣪˖ what happens in the bedroom doesn't always stay in the bedroom!

intro ✴︎⸝꙳.˖𖥔݁˖๋ ( 5.2k ) childhoodbsf!popstar!reader x bad!michael jackson ╱ after a long night of passion between husband and wife, michael mindlessly rips open his shirt onstage, forgetting entirely about the previous night’s evidence sprawled all over his back… now, that’s something for the public to talk about!

notes ⁺˚♪º·˚ 𝟏𝟖+ established relationship. husband n wife of 8 years. begins with transcribed excerpt from an interview together. reader’s transcribed dialogue is signalled by heart symbol. ;; softdom!michael as always. makin’ sweet love til the break of dawn! mikey is shy in the streets n sexy in the sheets. . . light dirty talk. being overheard in the bedroom. hot n passionate sex. he talks u through it. zero protection. creampie. multiple orgasms. overstimulation. kinda babymaking. allusions to pregnancy. aftercare. sleeping while cockwarming. markin’ up ur sweetheart. . .

what if thriller michael lets you love his fresh stache in the most proper and considerate way? 18+

“y’really think i look good ma?” your eyes gleaming at the sight of michael’s freshly shaved face, only leaving him with a small stache over his pretty lips. “perfect. just perfect.” his smile growing as he continues to watch you bite the corner of your lip subconsciously, never leaving your eyes off his stache. “c’mere baby show me how perfect it is?”

your legs trembling at the immense feeling you were receiving at the generous laps of michael’s tongue over your hot wet hole. “mmngh lil’ bit— more—mama” michael’s voice shakes from below as his hand grips tighter over your thighs, enjoying every single drop of you.

“m-michael please i nee-need..stop stop stop” your voice huffing out in an exasperated breath at your words ending from a sudden cry. except you didn’t receive a verbal response back from michael. instead, his hands slide from your thighs to your hips soon pushing your lower body even more down and over his mouth. just a bit more to practically cover his face with your delicious pussy.

michael’s fresh new stache slightly prickling in a good way as your clit continues to come in contact with it—soon letting more cries to echo through the room at the pleasurable feeling increasing even more. “jus’ like that mama. good job keep going pretty.” his voice still vibrating on your core as your slickness begins to soak his stache and lips. only driving michael to tongue fuck and eat you out more ferociously than before.

michael continues praising you as your hips now guide its own path with your movements interchanging from circular to swaying patterns.

“atta girl keep on going.”

“you’re doin’ so well for me mama go on.”

“so so perfect baby. so good for me.”

“show me how much you love it pretty. fuck yourself on me.”

“so wet and dirty baby look at your mess mama ahh.”

his hands still clinging on your skin as he’s still eating you like your life depends on it. “whatever you want ma. take it take it—there y’go baby that’s it.” softly as his voice is semi-unrecognizable by the weight of your pussy over his face.

michael was obsessed, to say the least. 3 orgasms and his tongue still overlapping your clit and sucking on the bud, soon sending you once again completely over the edge. your hands flying towards the closest thing you could grab, his hair. “fuck fuck fuck i really c-cant-“ your pleads growing in desperation as michael continues his work—knowing you were losing your mind, while groaning softly at the feeling of your fingers curling into his roots.

private matters

summary: this post

contains: just you and jer being freaked out, jaafar and randy jr mentions

notes: sum sweet and short for the girls

“ya’ll” your friend, Noami, and fellow podcast host started “i get to the studio today and this bitch is taking forever to say goodbye to her man, like they was hugged up together”

you giggled and took a sip of your drink “did ya’ll…because you got that good dick glow going on”

“we sure did” you replied tucking a strand of hair behind your ear “that’s why i got this scarf on, my lace isn’t even intact anymore girl” you said patting the scarf on your head

“jermajesty really be doing you like that” naomi questioned “mhmm” you hummed

“for the past three days” “THREE DAYS?!” “yeah” “what yall celebrating” “nothing, whenever either of us have a trip coming up without the other we fuck 24/7 until the other leaves” you sail calmly while naomi looked at you with a look of pure amusement and utter confusion

“why?” “because why not” “so your telling me you and that man have been fucking for three days straight” she asked receiving a smirk from you

“yeah, sometimes in public” “but where in public though” you looked at the camera and then looked at her “i can’t tell you that but what i can tell you is” you took a sip of your drink

“that man possesses a supernatural level of stamina. because the things he does to my back….whew” you let out a breath, naomi resting a hand on her chest in shock

“I woke up yesterday and he gave me that look and girllll” “what” “he had my legs on the headboard and after that we had the bed shaking so much the damn lamp fell off the side table” the two of you burst out into laughter

“listen y’all…if i come out with a pregnancy announcement, do not be shocked” you said with a smile and pointing at the camera

on the TV screen, the podcast clip paused on your smiling face.

in the hotel living room, the silence lasted for exactly one second before exploding. Randy Jr. and Jaafar completely lost it, throwing their heads back and laughing so hard they were practically falling off the couch.

“the headboard?!” Randy Jr. laughed loudly “and then the lamp, Jermajesty?! You out here breaking furniture?!”

“bro, she just told the entire internet and i mean the entire internet that ya’ll be fucking like rabbits” Jaafar wheezed, wiping a literal tear from his eye.

Jermajesty sat trapped between them, the remote glued to his hand, he buried his face in his palms, trying and failing to hide the embarrassed, slightly proud smirk tugging at his lips.

“man, turn it off” Jermajesty muttered into his hands, his voice muffled but totally defeated. “she has absolutely no filter, not even a lick of it”

“oh, we are never letting you live this down” Randy laughed, leaning over to punch his shoulder. “next time I see her, I'm buying her a new lamp!"

tags 🏷️ @unseenleylinesecret @vict-oryy @hip-hop-star-4 @blkkbratt @pinkjollyrancher54 @dollthoughtz @commaanders @anglfac @doleuia @missharper33

of course love ! as an inexperienced!otw mike connoisseur i got you

— unprotected sex, pathetic michael, soft dom!reader, mikey cries ;) ,cowgirl, dry humping etc.

author note: ts kinda buns cause i was cleaning while writing … but i hope you like it!

taglist — @yourleogf @michcarrillo02-blog @princesspluuto ( wanna be added? click here)

Michael had kept his fantasies to himself while growing up, he went from being a hormonal teen to a young adult that couldn’t handle being in a vicinity of a woman due to the nerves.

until he met you.

you were a goddess, all curvy and beautiful with glossy brown skin and a sinfully sweet voice. michael had crushed on you and winded up asking you out in the most weirdest ways possible—while drunk—but enough of the background.

he and you often made out when things got intimate, but he never let you go farther than that, always getting up with a painfully hard cock and rushing to the bathroom to clean the cum stain from the front of his pants.

but now? he couldn’t back out.

he was settled on the bed in just his boxers with you standing in front of him, slowly stripping out of your clothes—his throat bobs when he swallows, eyes trying there hardest not to look down at your stomach, breasts, or the valley down to your pussy.

“cmon, angel, look at me.” you cup his face, forcing his eyes onto you, stepping in between his legs.

his breathing picks up and he feels his cock jump in his boxers as your tits hover just in front of his face. “love i-… i don’t think i-.. Ah!” he cries out when you settle onto his lap, bare cunt right on top of his clothed dick.

you smirk when you feel him throb beneath you. “you’re so hard, is that all for me baby?” you purr, slowly rocking your hips. he gasps and bite into his lip, large hands hovering awkwardly over your hips—you notice and raise them to cup your tits. “Mm.. feel so good, you feel good too daddy?” you say teasingly.

“Yo—you’re killing me, girl.. Oh gosh—“ he feels the incoming orgasm and tries to push you off. “Nuh uh, don’t do that.” you cluck your tongue and get off his lap, despite his swiftness to retreat as usual, he was disappointed at the loss of your weight.

“take off your boxers.” you order, and he obeys, hasn’t he always?

the fabric of his boxers now lay on the floor, thick cock twitching and slapping his stomach occasionally, you hum with delight and push at his chest for him to lay back. He does.

you crawl ontop of him and look down at his wide eyes. “you ready?” you ask, one hand cupping his warm cheek. “y-yes mama, i think so.” he swallows.

you grin and sink down onto his cock, he gasps and slowly sits up. “Jesus.. oh my goodness, i-…” he groans. it was cute, the way he was about to bottom out already.

you bounce erratically ontop of him, ass slapping against his thighs as you moan. “god, mikey! you’re so big, feel so good!” you brace your hands on his chest.

“i think-… i think im gon’ come..” he rasps, curls framing his face beautifully. “oh god.. ah.. ah..” when you glance down, you swear you see tears trickling down his face. “aww baby..” you coo, bouncing faster.

“you wanna come? come with me then, fuck.. come in me baby.” your lips are glossy and michael cant help but whine, his cock throbbing inside you before he shoots his seed, hands gripping the sheets.

your orgasm follows through not long after, sweat coating your skin as you pant, but when you move to get off—michael stops you. “W-wait..” his damp eyes find yours. “can we go again..? please?”

Size difference

content ! 18+, unprotected p in v, praise, sweet sex, pet names (baby, honey)

"fuck!" you cry, throwing your head back and letting your jaw go slack. michael is pistoning his hips against yours relentlessly, the only sounds in the room being the lewd skin slapping and the heavy panting and moans emitting from both of you.

"i know, honey" he coos, trying his best to be sweet verbally despite how rough he's being with you physically. "m'sorry babygirl" he tries.

the stretch was borderline excruciating. he was just too big. the funny part is he doesn't even know he's that big! or atleast he didn't know it until you started screaming complaining about it.

"s'too big, michael!" you mewl, squirming under him, but you can't help but arch into him. it's almost instinctive.

"just breathe, baby... breathe" maybe he should take his own advice, because he's barely able to take in a full breath with just how tight your gummy walls are squeezing and fluttering around him.

"i- can't-" the pleasure becomes overwhelming when michael reaches in between the both of you to aimlessly rub at your clit, anything to get you to stop whining. he immediately notices your eyes roll back and your breath hitch. "s'that better honey?" he asks, "that feel a little better?" you nod frantically, barely able to compute his sweet words as you feel yourself growing closer and closer to coming undone. the sniveling and the cries coming from you morph into delighted moans as the stretch becomes euphoric, his praises egging you on impossibly.

"there she is" he purrs, a small, knowing smirk playing on his face.

"there's my girl" he litters your face with small kisses in an effort to calm you down as he continues his thrusts, growing closer to the edge himself.

"g-gosh- baby," he groans, his big fingers still working at your clit.

"feels s'good michael!" you moan, right at the edge. "yeah?" he moans right back at you. "that feels good, huh?" he speeds up his thrusts, making you squeal. "feel me so deep, yeah?" he looks down and sees himself poking through your lower belly. he reaches down and presses on the bulge, making you wince at the tightness. the bulge is disappearing and reappearing with every thrust. "shi-shoot, honey" he mutters.

you feel the white hot band in your tummy snap, pleasure shooting through your body as you cry out his name. that alone is enough to push him over the edge as well. he cums deep inside you, fucking into you a few last times. you both lay there, panting. he's heavy on top of you, laying sweaty on top of you (not that you mind). and of course, michael is quick to comfort you.

he pushes some of the hair out of your face, off of your damp, flushed skin. "you did so good, baby... m'sorry i was so rough" he speaks gently, kissing your forehead.

you're gonna be so sore tomorrow.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ kiss it better. jermajesty jackson ₊ ౨ ৻ꪆ

❤︎  texts au───smau. f. reader ! est relationship. nsfw. fluff. overly freaky. & inlove w each other. ˆᗜˆ

part one. ♥︎ part two.

summary: jermajesty suggests making a movie and you agree without a lick of hesitation

contains: heavily 18+, mdni!, oral ( m and f receiving), pinv, freaked out jermajesty, recording

notes: i saw a clip from the 2000s of kim k absolutely serving face and i learned that clip was actually from her tape so…. enjoy !

The red record light blinked and the camera made a click

In the reflection of the large bathroom mirror, Jermajesty stood right behind you. One of his hands was wrapped steadily around the camcorder, while the other cupped around your breast, slightly bouncing it in his hand

“look at my baby…doing her makeup” he zoomed in on your face in the mirror as you did your makeup in a very short yet oversized white button down that belonged to jermajesty

“shes gonna look so pretty when i fuck her” he mumbled earning a little giggle from you

he zoomed out, angling the camcorder down just enough to capture his large bulge rubbing against your butt

the camera clicked again

now, the two of you were pressed tight against each other, cheeks touching as you both looked directly into the lens. your fingers stroked along his jawline, tracing the sharp line of his face. clashing a playful grin, you playfully stuck your tongue out at the camera, and he mimicked you,

with a sudden tilt, the frame whipped toward the wall mirror, revealing that you were now completely straddling his lap.

his hand was resting comfortably on your butt before slapping it and then gripping it “jer!”

the camera clicked again but you were now holding it

Jermajesty had his head buried deep between your thighs. a soft, involuntary moan escaped your lips, your fingers burying themselves into his hair, gently tugging the strands to guide his way .

“just like that baby” you gasped, tilting the screen slightly. Jermajesty looked up from between your legs, catching the lens, and gave the camera a very confident wink.

click

you were sitting on the very edge of the mattress now, and Jermajesty stood over you

“open for me, baby," he ordered softly.

you looked up at him and slid your tongue out. he chuckled and lightly slapped the thick tip of his cock against your tongue. before you could even swallow, he cupped your jaw firmly, tilting your head back, and began to smoothly thrust into your mouth.

the camera recording went on for 10 more minutes capturing the raw and messiness all the way until he finally came on your tongue.

“good girl”

click

you were laying completely flat on your back now, holding the heavy camcorder up in the air, pointing it down at yourself.

completely ignoring the mess of the room, you focused entirely on the flip-out screen. you checked your angles, idly fluffing out your hair, and took your time reapplying a thick layer of lip gloss until your lips looked perfectly glassy in the low light.

you gave the camera a confident smile, thoroughly enjoying your own reflection.

you glanced slightly to the side, looking at Jermajesty who was currently just out of the frame, and then your eyes snapped right back to the lens.

you held the gaze of the camera, leaned in a little closer, and whispered, “I’m about to get fucked” before bursting into a quiet giggle.

click

the camera tilted wildly for a split second, the frame spinning past the ceiling fan before stabilizing as it was propped up on the side table right next to the head of the bed. the angle was low, wide, and caught everything.

you were on your hands and knees now, your back arched deeply as you looked up, checking your reflection in the flip-out screen one more time. the short white button down was bunched up around your waist, leaving you completely exposed.

Jermajesty kneeled right behind you, his hands instantly gripping your hips, his thumbs digging into your skin to anchor you in place. he didn't waste a second. He lined himself up and pushed all the way into you with one deep, heavy stroke.

a sharp gasp caught in your throat, your hands gripping the bedsheets as he started a relentless, demanding pace.

“look at you” Jermajesty growled, his voice thick and rough as he stared down at where your bodies met. “look how pretty you look taking my dick…you like looking at yourself in that screen, huh?”

“yeah" you whined, your head tossing back as he slammed into you, the friction loud in the quiet bedroom. “jer, please” you whined

“please what? tell me exactly what you want” he commanded, slapping his palm against your hip, the sound sharp and echoing through the room, he leaned his upper body down over yours, his chest pressing hard against your back as he kept driving into you from behind. “tell the camera how good it feels.”

“oh my gosh your stretching me out so good” you moaned, looking toward the lens, your eyes heavy-lidded and glassy with pleasure. “t-so big, baby... fuck.”

“that's it, talk to me” he mumbled, his lips brushing against your ear “show me that face you make when I’m deep inside you, look right at the camera for me”

you turned your head toward the screen, serving face even through the haze of pleasure, biting your bottom lip as Jermajesty sped up.

The mattress squeaked rhythmically, the audio capturing every wet, heavy slap of his thighs against yours.

“look at my fucking girl," Jermajesty praised, his grip shifting from your hips to the back of your hair, gently tugging your head back to force you to look up and back at him. “how deep is it baby, can you feel me in your stomach?”

“yes baby!” you gasped out, arching higher against him, completely intoxicated by his words and the view on the screen.

“your doing so good for the camera baby” he groaned, his pace turning frantic, completely losing his composure as he buried himself as deep as he possibly could inside you. “arch your back more for me…take it baby, don’t run”

click

you were flat on your back, your hips elevated off the mattress by a stack of pillows, with your legs draped completely over Jermajesty’s broad shoulders. ye was hovering over you, pinning your upper body down in a heavy, suffocating mating press that left absolutely no space between you.

“look at me” Jermajesty said in a possessive whisper, he then leaned down, burying his face in the crook of your neck, before driving down into you with a slow, agonizingly deep stroke that made your eyes roll back.

“Jer...” you choked out, your hands flying up to grip the wooden headboard just above you to keep from sliding away. “your too deep, oh my god!”

"I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be," he began to grind his hips against yours, using his entire weight to press you down into the sheets, making sure you felt every single inch of him. “look at the camera, baby. let it see how you look when I fill up your pussy”

even pinned beneath him you were completely overwhelmed, you tilted your head toward the side table. you caught the reflection in the tiny flip-out screen,

your hair fanned out across the pillows, your lips parted as you let out a series of needy, broken whines and you held the camera’s gaze

“look at those pretty eyes” Jermajesty muttered, noticing where your attention went. he pulled back just enough to slam back into you, the force of it shaking the mattress and making the camcorder's view shudder slightly. “you love the way I fuck you on camera , don't you?”

“yes!” you cried out loudly, your fingers clawing at his shoulders now, pulling him down for a messy, desperate kiss. “don't stop, please, Jer, just like that!” you whined

“i'm not stopping," he promised against your mouth, his breath coming in heavy, ragged pants. His pace turned frantic, his hips hammering down in a relentless, bruising pace that completely locked you beneath him.

“your taking every fucking drop of me.”

The tape whirred to a sudden and complete stop.

you and jermajesty looked at the small screen and then out of each other completely breathless

Jermajesty let out a low, exhausted chuckle, leaning over to press a lazy kiss to your shoulder. “we really did that," he mumbled, his voice completely shot.

“we did” you breathed out, a proud, satisfied smile tugging at your lips. You tilted the camcorderup to look at yourself one last time, serving one final, sleepy look for the lens. “and honestly? the lighting was perfect.”

Jermajesty groaned, rolling onto his back and pulling a pillow over his face. “let’s keep this to ourselves and not leak it”

… sike !

tags 🏷️ @unseenleylinesecret @vict-oryy @hip-hop-star-4 @blkkbratt @pinkjollyrancher54 @dollthoughtz @commaanders @anglfac @doleuia @missharper33

mature! michael

context: you discover an early sign of vitiligo on your son.

"You look just like me,"

You whispered into the dark nursery, leaning over the wooden railing to poke his soft thigh. "Don't listen to your father. You have my toes. And my ears. We basically twins, Peanut."

The nursery was quiet at three in the morning, save for the rhythmic, mechanical hum of the baby monitor and the soft, heavy breathing of five-month-old Sean—affectionately dubbed "Peanut" by Paris the very first day he came home from the hospital.

You stood over the crib, your hair wrapped in a silk bonnet, wearing one of Michael’s oversized flannel shirts as a makeshift robe. Peanut was fast asleep on his stomach, his little knees tucked up under his chest, his diapered bottom sticking up in the air. He had a full head of thick, tight, jet-black curls that defied gravity, a tiny button nose, and a pair of chubby, dimpled cheeks that you spend half your days kissing.

"Who are you tryna to convince, applehead?"

A low, raspy whisper came from the doorway. You turned to see Michael leaning against the frame, his frame silhouetted by the dim hallway light. He was wearing black pajama pants and a loose white V-neck, his own hair tied back in a messy, loose bun. He looked exhausted from a long string of meetings with his management team, but the moment his eyes landed on the crib, that soft, incredibly smug fatherly smile broke across his face.

He walked over on quiet tiptoes, the floorboards barely groaning beneath his feet, and slid his arms around your waist from behind. He rested his chin on your shoulder, his skin warm against your neck, smelling of lotion and the lavender soap he used before bed.

"I'm not trying to convince anyone," you sniffed playfully, leaning back into his chest. "I carried this child for nine months, Michael. I endured swollen ankles, heartburn, and a literal midnight delivery. I deserve at least one feature."

Michael let out a breathless, silent laugh against your neck, his chest vibrating against your back. He peered down at the sleeping baby. "Beautiful, you are a vision, and I love you with all my heart, but that boy is a literal carbon copy of me from the Gary days. Look at that lip. Look at those curls. You just provided the penthouse suite for nine months."

"A penthouse suite is crazy." you mumbled, turning in his arms to face him. But you couldn't help the smile that tugged at your lips.

He wasn't lying. When Peanut had been born five months ago, it had been a whirlwind of emotion. The labor had been fast and furious, hitting you like a freight train in the middle of the night. You remembered Michael panicking, trying to grab the prepackaged hospital bag while simultaneously tripping over Blanket’s toys, while Prince and Paris stood at the top of the stairs in their pajamas, cheering you on like you were running a marathon.

When the doctor had finally handed the baby to you, wrapped in a striped hospital blanket, the room had gone completely still. Michael had wept openly, his hands shaking as he cut the cord, falling to his knees by the bedside to kiss your damp forehead over and over again. And when the rest of the Jackson clan had come to visit the ranch a few weeks later, the agreement had been immediate. Katherine had held the baby close to her chest, her eyes crinkling with tears as she whispered,

“Oh, Mike, he looks just like you did when you were a baby. Exactly like you.” Every single one of Michael's brothers had teased him about having a literal clone running around the house.

Life with a newborn had turned Neverland into a beautiful, chaotic playground.

Prince and Paris had adapted to their roles as big siblings with fierce, almost comical devotion. Prince considered himself the "Head of Security" for the nursery, strictly monitoring who entered and making sure anyone who wanted to hold the baby used a generous pump of hand sanitizer first.

Paris treated Peanut like her live-in doll, constantly picking out his little onesies, singing him off-key lullabies, and insisting on holding his bottle during feeding times. Even little Blanket, who was still the baby of the house himself, would toddle into the nursery just to press his favorite blue blanket against the baby’s tiny feet, making sure his little brother was warm.

By the afternoon, the heat of the California sun had mellowed into a golden, lazy warmth that flooded through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the main living room.

The house was filled with the comfortable, domestic sounds of a family at peace. Peanut was down on the rug, happily playing inside his large mesh playpen. He was surrounded by a generous assortment of soft plush animals and a bright plastic teething ring that he was currently gnawing on with pure determination. Prince and Blanket were sitting on the hardwood floor right next to the pen, intensely focused on a massive game of ‘who can build the biggest lego tower’.

They were building an elaborate, multi-tiered fortress completely surrounding the playpen, treating their baby brother like a royal king protected inside an impenetrable castle.

"Don't put that block there, Bigi, it's gonna fall on the perimeter," Prince instructed in his serious, older-brother voice, carefully balancing a wooden piece. Blanket just let out a quiet grunt, happily passing Prince another block, his eyes occasionally darting to Peanut to make sure the baby was still smiling.

A few paces away, the open-concept kitchen was separated from the living room by a wide marble island. You and Michael were working together in tandem, preparing a late lunch for the kids. The radio was playing a soft, soulful Motown track in the background. Michael was humming along, his hips swaying slightly to the rhythm as he expertly sliced up red apples and peeling oranges on a wooden cutting board. You were beside him, assembling ham and cheese sandwiches, spreading mayonnaise over the white bread with practiced ease.

"Think we should take them to the movie theater on the property later?" Michael asked softly, tossing a small piece of apple into his mouth. "Prince said he wanted to see that new cartoon again."

"Only if you promise not to let them eat their weight in snacks before dinner," you replied, nudging his hip with yours. "Last time, Paris had a sugar rush that lasted until midnight."

Michael chuckled, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners. "Hey, I can't help it if the concession stand has the best—"

The heavy, frantic slap-slap-slap of bare feet sprinting down the long hallway shattered the peaceful atmosphere.

The kitchen doors flew open with a loud thud. Paris stood in the frame, her chest heaving underneath her overalls, her eyes wide with a sudden, absolute panic. Her little hands were gripping the edges of her shirt.

"Mama! Daddy! Come quick!" she gasped out, her voice trembling with an innocent but terrifying urgency. "Peanut's skin is coming off! It’s gone!"

Your heart violently dropped into your stomach like a lead weight. The butter knife slipped from your fingers, clattering loudly against the marble counter. A cold, suffocating wave of pure adrenaline rushed through your veins. "What?!" you shrieked, your maternal instinct instantly flaring into overdrive.

Michael didn't even speak. The apple slice he was holding dropped to the floor as his face went completely pale. He vaulted past the kitchen island, his long legs carrying him down the hallway in a blur of motion. You were right on his heels, your heart hammering against your ribs as a million horrific medical scenarios flashed through your mind—burns, a sudden allergic reaction, an infection, ANYTHING.

Michael burst into the living room, practically sliding on the polished wood floor to reach the playpen. Prince and Blanket looked up, startled by the sudden, dramatic entrance of their parents.

You scrambled in right behind Michael, your hands shaking as you reached into the mesh pen and scooped a confused Peanut up into your arms. You frantically turned him over, inspecting his face, his chubby hands, his neck, his ears. Peanut just blinked his wide, dark eyes up at you, completely unfazed, letting out a wet bubble and waving his arms.

"Where, Paris? Where is it?!" you breathed, your voice cracking as you scanned his skin.

Paris rushed over, pointing a trembling finger at the baby's left side, right under his arm. "Right there! I saw it when he rolled over to grab his toys! His skin is rubbing off!"

You didn't hesitate. With trembling fingers, you gently gathered the hem of the baby's soft cotton onesie and unsnapped it, pulling the fabric up to expose his chubby little torso and ribcage. You carefully turned him toward the afternoon sunlight streaming through the window, your eyes scanning the rich, beautiful brown complexion of his skin.

And then, you saw it.

Right near his ribs, just below his tiny armpit, there was a small, irregular patch of skin about the size of a dime. It wasn't bleeding. It wasn't raw, or peeling, or inflamed. It wasn't a rash.

It was simply a patch of skin that was completely devoid of its pigment—a stark, milky-white contrast against the rest of his smooth, dark skin.

You let out a long, ragged breath, the immediate terror of a physical injury or a chemical burn leaving your body. You ran a gentle, soothing thumb over the spot. It felt perfectly smooth. Exactly like the rest of him. "It's... it's just a light spot, Paris," you whispered, trying to calm your own racing pulse. "Maybe a new birthmark. He's okay."

You turned your head to look at Michael, expecting him to give a sigh of relief.

The words caught completely in your throat.

Michael hadn't moved. He was frozen on his knees beside the playpen, his gaze locked entirely on the nickel-sized white patch on his son's torso. Every single drop of color had drained from his face, leaving him a ghostly, fragile shade of pale. His jaw was slightly slack, his lips parted, and his dark eyes were wide, glassy, and completely unblinking.

He didn't cry. He didn't make a sound. But the sheer, agonizing weight of a silent realization hung over him like a suffocating shroud.

He knew exactly what it was.

It was vitiligo.

It was the very same autoimmune disease that had ravaged his own body, turned his teenage years into a nightmare, and transformed his adulthood into a cruel media circus. It was the disease that had physically altered him, causing him decades of physical pain in the sun and unimaginable emotional scarring from a world that refused to believe he was sick.

And now, it was appearing on his innocent, five-month-old baby boy—years, decades earlier than it had ever appeared on him.

"Baby?" you murmured softly, your voice dropping into a cautious, protective register. The kids were watching, and the sudden, heavy silence in the room was making them uneasy.

Michael didn't look up. He couldn't. His hands, usually so expressive and steady, were visibly trembling as he slowly reached out. His index finger hovered just a millimeter above the white patch on Peanut's skin. He looked like he wanted to touch it, to wish it away, but he was too terrified that his touch would somehow make it real.

Prince looked between you and his father, his brow furrowing with that quiet, intuitive maturity he often showed. "Dad? Is Peanut sick?"

The sound of his oldest son's voice seemed to snap a cord inside Michael. He closed his eyes for a brief second, swallowing hard, forcing the raw panic down into the deepest recesses of his chest. When he opened his eyes, he forced a weak, incredibly gentle smile onto his face, though his eyes remained entirely hollow.

"No, Prince. Peanut isn't sick. He's perfectly healthy," Michael whispered, his voice remarkably controlled, though it carried a fragile, paper-thin edge. He looked at Paris, reaching out to tousle her hair. "You did a good job watching your brother, Paris. Thank you for telling us."

He cleared his throat, standing up with a deliberate, slow movement. "Prince, why don't you take Paris and Blanket back to the kitchen? Go ahead and start on the fruit slices. Mama and I will be right there in just a minute. We're just going to change Peanut's diaper."

Prince searched his father's face for a moment, then nodded solemnly. He took Paris and Blanket by their hands, leading them quietly out of the living room. The wooden doors of the kitchen swung shut behind them, leaving the room entirely silent.

The moment the kids were out of sight, the mask completely fell away.

Michael didn't cry, but he looked entirely, completely drained, as if the physical energy required to hold himself together had aged him ten years in a span of ten seconds. He sank back onto the couch, burying his face in his hands, his breathing shallow and ragged.

You didn't say a word. You carefully tucked Peanut back into his onesie, snapping it shut, and carried him over to the couch. You sat down right next to Michael, placing the baby gently in the space between you. Peanut, completely unaware of the heavy gravity in the room, immediately rolled onto his side and began to happily pull at the fabric of Michael's pajama pants.

You wrapped your arm around Michael’s shoulders, pulling his rigid, trembling frame against your side. "Michael," you murmured, your voice a steady, grounding anchor in the dark. "Honey, talk to me. Look at me, baby."

Slowly, Michael dropped his hands from his face. His eyes were bloodshot, staring blankly ahead at the wall.

"I passed it to him," he whispered, his voice entirely devoid of its usual melodic warmth. It was a flat, broken sound. "I prayed so hard. Every single night since you told me you were pregnant... I begged God to let him have your skin. To let him be safe from this."

He turned his head to look at you, and the sheer, raw vulnerability in his eyes broke your heart.

"Before I met you... my ex-partners, they... they didn't want to have children with me because of it," Michael confessed, his voice dropping into a raw, painful whisper, sharing a piece of trauma he had kept locked away for years. "They were terrified. One of them told me straight to my face that she didn't want to risk having a child who would get the vitiligo, or a child who would be too dark, or a child who would look like... like a freak to the world. They were scared of my genetics. They were scared of me."

Your grip tightened around his shoulder, your fingers digging into his shirt as a fierce, protective anger surged through you on his behalf.

"And I started to believe them," Michael continued, a bitter, hollow smile touching his lips. "I started to think that maybe I shouldn't have any more kids. Because look what I did to him. He's only five months old, and it's already starting. The world is going to tear him apart, Baby. They're going to accuse him of trying to change, they're going to call him names, they're going to look at his skin like it's a mistake. He looks just like me, and now he's going to have to suffer just like me."

"Michael, look at me," you commanded gently, reaching up with your free hand to firmly cup his jaw, forcing his eyes to lock onto yours. Your thumb brushed over his cheekbone. "Listen to me very carefully."

Michael blinked, his breath hitching as he looked into your eyes.

"Those women were blind, and they didn't deserve a single piece of the beautiful man you are," you said, your voice fierce, steady, and filled with an absolute, unwavering certainty. "You did not curse our son. You gave him life. You gave him those big beautiful eyes, that sweet smile, and a soul that is going to be just as kind and brilliant as his father's."

You leaned down, pressing a deep, lingering kiss to his forehead, then to his lips, letting him feel the entire weight of your love.

"And you listen to me," you continued, sliding your hand down to rest over his heart. "The world is different now. He is not going to go through what you went through alone. Do you know why?"

Michael swallowed hard, his dark eyes searching yours. "Why?"

"Because when you were a kid going through this, you didn't have anyone who understood," you whispered, a tear of your own finally slipping down your cheek. "But Peanut has you. He has a father who knows exactly how it feels, who can teach him how to be strong, how to hold his head high, and how to love himself. And he has a mother who will tear this entire industry apart before she lets anyone make her baby feel any less than perfect."

You shifted slightly, picking up Peanut and placing him directly into Michael’s lap. The baby immediately let out a happy coo, his tiny, chubby hands reaching up to blindly grab at the silver buttons on Michael's shirt.

"Look at him, Mikey," you murmured softly. "He doesn't care about a spot on his skin. He just wants his daddy."

Michael looked down at his son. He watched as Peanut's little fingers tangled in his shirt, his big, round eyes full of absolute, unconditional adoration for the man holding him.

Slowly, the heavy, suffocating tension began to melt out of Michael's shoulders. He let out a long, shaky breath—not a sob of defeat, but a release of the agonizing fear he had carried alone for decades. He wrapped his long, slender arms around the baby, pulling Peanut close against his chest, burying his face into the baby’s sweet, lotion-scented curls.

He reached out with his other arm, wrapping it securely around your waist and pulling you into the tight, fiercely protective circle.

"Thank you," Michael whispered against the baby's hair, his voice thick but finally steady, anchored by the strength you had poured into him. "Thank you, Mama. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You'll never have to find out," you murmured, leaning your head against his shoulder as the three of you sat together in the soft sunlight. "We're a team."

..

CRAAAASH

“Oh my god, the kids.”

Something like the reader catches micheal attempting to jerk off and embarrassingly forces him to admit to what he was doing while she "punishes" him

craving subby michael? don’t even joke lad.

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contains otw!era michael, smut (minors dni), handjob, edging, teasing, sub!michael, he’s pathetic as fuckkkk, ur mean, semi-proofread

Tonight, like most nights, everyone’s focus was on Michael. A private dinner in the backyard of Hayvenhurst, close loved ones in the rising pop star’s heart celebrating the success of his newest album, Off The Wall. First solo album where he had creative control, and could finally become a proper solo artist without no longer being tied to The Jackson 5.

Friends shook his hand, family giving him a tight hug while whispering a quick ‘I’m so proud of you’ in his ear, but nobody’s support could’ve outshined yours.