NyNy

𝗽𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗶𝗻𝗼, 𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝟭𝟵𝟴𝟬 ྀི

◟ michael jackson x reader, mdni

"jesus mikey," you nearly gasped out.

the plump fat of your ass had lightly bumped up against the steering wheel of michael's baby blue rolls royce, the sound of the horn making you jump.

michael sat in the driver's seat, chair all pushed back and his pants hastily shrugged down to the middle of his thighs. you sat on top of his lap, like a princess. the bottom of your small dress was getting pushed upwards as he rested his hands on either side of your hips, lightly bouncing you up and down onto himself.

"want the whole damn block to hear?" you breathed out, brows furrowing.

he barely even heard what you were saying though. truthfully, his attention was fully focused on your breasts bouncing out of the silky, pale yellow blouse you had decided on wearing that day. he'd undone most of the buttons and he was trying to get you out of it completely.

you had the faintest tan lines poking through where your top had shifted from swimming at the pool the day prior. your tan lines had to be one of michael's weaknesses, no matter how much he tried to deny that to his brothers.

"c'mon darlin'," he said breathlessly, rolling your hips on his lap once more as he rested his head against the headrest, "i wasn't tryna do it on purpose, you know that."

your manicured nails toyed at the curls at the nape of his neck, your lips forming into a small pout, "you'll wake up my father."

you were supposed to be home twenty minutes ago, and technically you were!

the two of you just happened to get a little side tracked while you were stopped around the corner from your house.

michael reached his face up to attach his lips to your neck, thumbs rubbing on your waist.

"mm," he groaned against you lightly, "i'm not too worried about him."

michael's reputation made him impossible to dislike, but you had a reputation too. everybody in encino knew you, but they knew your father too.

which meant everybody knew his rules. the biggest one being that his daughter wasn’t dating anybody.

so despite being one of the most recognizable people in the world, michael somehow found himself sneaking around like every other lovestruck guy in the valley.



you scooted back down his thighs to free his dick from under you, your hand reaching to stroke it as michael sighed right into your collar bone. the heat from his mouth made you grind against his thigh, a small whimper leaving you as you clamped your lips together, so desperate to keep quiet.

the thing is, your father actually liked michael. he thought he was polite and well mannered. an all around good kid.

you thought the same too.

you loved the way he always thanked you after you make him cum.

pairing - college nerd! jafaar jackson x black fem!reader

rating - explicit (18+)

word count - 3.4k

summary - after finding jafaar’s journal, you have to find out for yourself if he’s really as innocent as everyone thinks.

warnings - smut, profanity, secrecy, invasion of privacy, he’s not as innocent as they said, you should’ve minded your business, obsessive thoughts, p in v, spitting, hair pulling, imagination and pet names, spanking.

A/n: my first Jafaar fic i hope you all enjoy it! 😋

photo credits: @onlyonemack ★

𓂃 the way you make him feel.

⋮ ⌗ ┆ thriller era michael.

⋮ ⌗ ┆ summary: gentlemen can still get their dicks sucked. michael thinks he’s exempt because you’re too pretty. AHNT! wrong.

⋮ ⌗ ┆ smut, oral sex (male receiving), a very shy and flustered michael because I genuinely don’t think he’d be any way else at this age, female reader. wrote this with the “it’s wonderful day!” interview in mind.

Michael isn't sure how he got in this predicament.

One second she'd been curled against him on the bed, tracing lazy shapes against his chest while the television hummed quietly somewhere in the background. The next, her lips were brushing against his ear, soft and plush and devastatingly warm, whispering something sweet as melted honey that made his stomach flip straight into his ribs.

He didn't even fully process the words, only the feeling of all the blood from his head rushing straight to his pants.

A featherlight breath against his skin.

A little kiss tucked just beneath his ear.

The way her voice wrapped around him slow and warm, making him melt before he even realized he was melting. And somehow after that, she was on her knees between his legs.

Michael sat frozen at the edge of the mattress, staring down at her with wide brown eyes while she looked up at him like he'd hung the stars himself. The lamp beside the bed washed everything amber gold, catching in the blush already flooding his cheeks and the nervous shine of his bitten lips.

She looked downright lovesick.

The kind of gaze that made his pulse scramble like frightened birds in a cathedral. Her pupils looked enormous beneath her lashes, soft and syrupy and practically heart shaped with how fond she seemed of him. It made him duck his head immediately, one hand flying up to cover his face as a helpless laugh escaped through his trembling fingers.

“Baby..” he laughed weakly, voice embarrassingly breathless. “Don't look at me like that...”

“Why not?”

“‘Cause...” He peeked at her through his fingers only to instantly regret it when she smiled. “You know why.”

Her hands settled on his thighs then, thumbs smoothing absent little circles against the fabric of his jeans while his knees twitched under her touch. Michael inhaled sharply, shoulders pulling inward with shy tension as she started inching upward, slow enough for him to want to instinctively close his thighs as his stomach tightened when her fingers brushed his belt.

“Can I taste what's in here, angel face?” she spoke softly, tilting her head.

Michael Jackson x female reader

˙⋆✮ SUMMARY: You and michael spend some quality time together while he works late in the studio

˙⋆✮ CONTENT: fluff, smiley giggly michael, lovey dovey established relationship, not smut but it gets just a little saucy at the end, a brief make out sesh, mentions of dry humping if you squint, was picturing bad era michael when i wrote this but feel free to choose your fighter

˙⋆✮ AUTHOR’S NOTE: Alrighttt the Michael biopic has me revisiting my decade long hyper fixation. That’s right!! we’re writing some mj fanfiction because I have no shame!! This little drabble came to me in a dream so I had to write it out lol hope you enjoy

𓂃 drag that bitc—

⋮ ⌗ ┆ off the wall era michael.

⋮ ⌗ ┆ summary: it’s genuinely on sight if you catch diana by herself.

⋮ ⌗ ┆ no crazy warnings. female reader, public verbal argument (reader and diana), brief emotional stress and anxiety, romantic jealousy, relationship strain, smoking / cigarette use—pls its the 80’s, mikey in the doghouse.

So.. Michael doesn't think he's ever been this fucking scared in his life.

Which feels deeply unfair considering he’s Michael Jackson. He’s performed in front of thousands of people, he’s danced on national television. And yet somehow none of those experiences prepared him for the sight currently waiting across Studio 54.

His girlfriend is sitting alone in a velvet booth with a drink in front of her, looking so spectacularly deadpan that Michael briefly considers leaving the country. The problem is that she isn’t crying, isn't yelling. She isn’t even causing a scene. She’s ignoring him. Which is infinitely worse. When she gets loud, at least he knows where he stands. When she gets quiet? Oh, baby that’s when God himself starts abandoning his people.

The club pulses around him in flashes of gold and red light, cigarette smoke hanging thick in the air while celebrities and socialites laugh their way through another night they’ll be talking about for years. Meanwhile, Michael is standing near the bar wondering if it’s possible to die from being in trouble with a pretty girl. The worst part is that she has a point, enough of a point that every defense he’d come up with has fallen apart the second he’s tried saying it to himself.

The evening had started perfectly fine. Then Diana arrived. And somehow Michael had spent the next two hours getting continuously pulled into her orbit. One conversation became three. One dance became several. Every time he managed to drift back toward his girlfriend, Diana found a way to pull him somewhere else. A joke. A story. A hand on his arm. A request for “one more” dance. Michael hadn’t noticed how bad it looked at first, but his girlfriend had. The first warning came in the form of a look. The second came as a pointed comment. The third involved her physically appearing beside him while Diana stood entirely too close and entirely too comfortable. And Michael, complete idiot that he was, had smiled. Smiled! Like there wasn’t a bomb actively ticking beside him.

𝗢𝗡𝗘 𝗧𝗜𝗠𝗘 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗕𝗜𝗥𝗧𝗛𝗗𝗔𝗬 𝗚𝗜𝗥𝗟

⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔

letting michael make you feel like the birthday princess you are. after all, his baby girl deserves nothing less.

℘rincess reader x mature era michael ꪆৎ ༘⋆ mdni

pairing - michael jackson x black fem!reader

rating - explicit (18+)

word count - around 3.4k

summary - after a producer flirts with you, michael can’t help but want to claim what’s his.

warnings - smut, profanity, michael is all possessive and jealous oral (reader receiving), p in v, pet names, praise kink, reader is kinda oblivious to someone else’s flirting towards her. dom!michael, sub!reader exhibitionism/voyeurism themes, hair pulling, backshots, missionary, aftercare mentioned + a little choking, overstim and fingering.

A/n : i got inspired by @michaelsfavgirl fic called word to the jealouss and decided to write this 😋

pairing - otw!michael x black fem!reader

rating - explicit (18+)

word count - around 1.9k

summary - michael catches you masturbating and he just can’t look away.

warnings — masturbation, voyeurism, oral (reader receiving), p in v, sub!michael (he begs + crawls), top!reader, facial (he nuts on your face), michael is inexperienced but also kinda isn’t, praise, desperation, again..lots of begging, multiple thank you’s and please’s + a little choking & finger sucking.

A/n : this was requested but i also wanna dedicate this to @enzo6ekiii 🫶🏿 happy birthday!!! I had so much fun writing subby mike i need him so bad.

Soo I wanted to ask could you write a fic where f!reader is an artist who loves to draw as a hobby. The thing is that she loves to sketch Michael in her sketchbook when no one’s watching but then he finds her sketchbook and like starts to see his own beauty if u feel me through her vision

Fluff and smut would be good, but whatever you like to do I’ll go with it

Off the wall/ thriller era or any era u want

Butterflies

Type: One Shot

Genre(s): fluffy, smut

Pairing: Michael Jackson x Reader

Tags: #thriller!michael, crush, friends to lovers, celebrity x reader, fem reader

Summary: You have been close friends with Michael since you were teenagers. Your families are close friends. You are a quiet artist. One day you misplace your sketchbook and they end up in hands you never wanted it too.

“I never considered myself as art so seeing those drawings of me just hit differently. I get fan mail all the time of drawings of me but they never truly capture the essence of me. But you do…you see me.”

author note: first request kinda nervy but thank you so much for your continued support! I hope you enjoy <<333

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Smooth RnB plays through your radio. You sit at your desk by your window as soft rain whispers against your windows. The outside is blurred in grays and glint.

Thankfully for you, you are warm and dry. You have graphite pencils scattered all over your desk. Black dust on your finger tips and hands. Your favorite sketchbook in front of you.

It was a gift from Michael from all those years ago. Maybe it was the catalyst for your fondness of him. He was the only one who noticed your drawing skills. You used to draw on whatever you could, sometimes you’d accidentally doodle on the backs of important papers or sheet music.

Over the years you honed your skills, you gotten really good with faces. Especially Michael’s. You draw him quite often. You feel guilty and ashamed about it. But he’s your biggest source of inspiration.

You love the way he expresses himself. You love the way his smile consumes his face. His rosy cheeks and his gentle eyes. The kind that never lie. The kind that pulls you in without even trying.

You often ponder if this is just a crush or pure inspiration. Either way you let the pencil take you there. Your hands have a mind of their own when you are in the zone.

Right now you sketch—messily in your opinion, Michael looking a far. His expression is ponderous and gentle. It’s a quiet moment that you only remember. You always remember small snapshots in time so that you can eternalize them for good.

“Hey! The Jackson’s are here,” your older brother says at your door.

“Okay, I’ll be down in a minute,” you tell him.

The Jackson’s are a close family friends. They come over for dinners occasionally. Your brothers are also in a band, and often mingle with Michael and his band. They are moderately successful and musically inclined. A gene that skipped over you.

But at least you did have a knack for something. You create beautiful sketches and art. They litter your walls and space. The only art you keep hidden is the one in your leather sketch book.

You close the sketchbook and peal out of your seat. You stretch the muscles that had been sitting dormant while you sketched. You aren’t done with this sketch yet so you take the book downstairs with you. Plus having the real life reference would make it all the better to get the little details right.

You scale down the stairs, getting closer and closer to noise. There’s joyful conversation and laughter. Your heart jumps when you see him. Michael. He’s still as cute as he was when you last saw him.

Maybe has a bit more finesse than before. As he now has gone solo with multiple number one hits. But you still see the human underneath all the fame.

You give his mother a hug, then go down the line of greeting the rest of his family. Until you finally get to him.

“Hi,” you say awkwardly, not sure rather you should hug him or not.

“Hey,” He says, opening his arms out for you.

You give him a side hug, hoping you don’t look like a fool. It’s been a bit since you’ve seen him. He’s a busy guy. He calls you still but not as much.

You understand the life of a pop star so you don’t take his silence as a slight. Because when you do talk it’s like you never stopped in the first place.

Eventually everyone shifts form the entryway. The older adults go one living room, while you, Michael, your brothers, and his go to the other. There’s a bar in the corner they drink from. You don’t indulge.

You sit in the corner as the boys catch up. You listen and laugh along to their banter as you continue sketching. You are the only girl here since Janet was too busy doing her own thing.

It always amazed you how talented that family was.

After a while it was time for dinner. Everyone sat at the grand dining room with all the chairs, the one saved for holidays or business meetings.

Michael sat across from you. Your feet fight under the table as if you were little kids again. You blush as you eat your food. The rest of dinner you avoid eye contact because you might just explode.

After dinner everyone disperses again. You help wash the dish even after the maids insist they do it. After the dishes were done you head over to where the boys are.

You hear their voices in low whispers, they are clearly laughing at something they didn’t want everyone to hear. When you finally make it, you see them huddled together with a black book in your hand.

It’s black leather with worn edges. As soon as you registered what book it was your heart dropped down to your stomach. Your hearing goes to a halt. Your heart quickens uncomfortably.

You run at them, snatching the book away.

“Who said you can take my things?” You retorted.

You see what page they were laughing at. It’s Michael up close. His face relaxed. One of your favorites.

Your eyes catch Michael’s, his expression unreadable.

“If you don’t want us to touch them then maybe don’t leave them around,” your brother laughed. The rest of the boys joined but Michael.

Your vision goes greasy as tears begin to well in them. You run to your room as quickly as you can. You slam your door shut then plop on your bed. You bury your face in pillows to muffle your cries.

How could they do this to you? Your own brothers? You never wanted them to see—especially Michael. It was not out of insecurity about your skill or anything.

You just didn’t want him to see you differently. Like another deranged poser who pretended to be his friend. The sketch book is littered with sketches of him. From his hands to his face to his body.

From an outsiders point of view it looks crazy. To you it’s the most beautiful thing pencils could ever carve in to paper.

Knock…Knock…Knock.

Someone gently taps on your door before pushing it slowly.

“Go away,” you tell them.

“It’s me, Michael,” He says.

Your three favorite words. That’s how he always starts his phone calls. So gentle and welcoming.

He enters your room anyways.

Embarrassment scarlet red on your cheeks. You sit up to face him, sniffing. It was only a matter of time before he saw them. You just hoped it was later when you gained the strength to stop drawing him so much. So you could laugh it away haha I was so young and silly back then.

But you are still young and silly now. He stands silently infront of you. You rack your brain for the proper words to explain or apologize.

“I just want to say—“ you start.

“Are you okay—“ he begins.

You both say at the same time.

“I just want to say,” you continue first, “I’m sorry if you find the sketches weird and I totally understand if you’re done being my friend.”

“That’s not it at all. I think your drawings are quite wonderful.” He assures you.

“Really?” You respond.

“Yes! I think they are beautiful,” he double down.

He joins you on your bed to open the sketchbook to flip through with you.

“I always loved your doodles, even if they were all over my lyrics,” he jokes.

“Sorry,” you murmur.

“I was going to ask you if you could draw me, but I just thought it might be weird so I never did,” he confessed.

You remain silent as you process his words.

His thumb gentle swipes at a tear that trickles down your face.

“So don’t feel sorry…and if anything…they make me feel beautiful,” he admits.

“You are beautiful,” you respond too quickly for your liking but it was instinct.

“I never considered myself as art so seeing those drawings of me just hit differently. I get fan mail all the time of drawings of me but they never truly capture the essence of me. But you do…you see me.”

“I see you,” you repeat.

You do see him. You see his small expressions, notice little moments, see beyond what he says. Your drawings capture the feeling of Michael Jackson.

His hands brush over yours. His eyes lock on to yours. You stare into his endless pools of deep ember. He sees you for the first time.

The young lady you grew into. He’s only two years older than you but he always treated you like a sister. So you never let your crush get any bigger than a pebble.

But with the way he’s looking at you right now, it makes your heart throb. Your skin litters with goosebumps and your throat dries.

“Can I kiss you?” He blatantly asks.

Yon think you mishear him. There’s no way—right?

His eyes search yours for an answer.

“I-uh—I…Yes.” You finally get out.

Your heart beats in your ears as you anticipate his next moves. He leans closer to you, slowly closing the distance between you two untill there’s none left.

The tip of his nose brushes yours. He presses his head forward to connect his lips to yours.

It’s just a small pressure against yours. It’s warm and soft. It relaxes the muscles bunched together. It’s nothing intense, just lips on lips. No tongue. No biting.

He backs away for a second, searching yours eyes for any indication you don’t want more and he finds none. He cups your chin and kisses you harder this time.

He sucks on your bottom lip into his mouth, slightly tugging on it. His tongue forces your mouth open wider so he can deepen the kiss. His hand draws to the back of your head as he gently pushes you down on the bed.

The air in your lungs thins as your kiss comes to an end. Michael looks at you with a smile.

“You are art,” You tell him sincerely.

He blushes and it’s the cutest thing you’d ever seen. His boyish smile sends butterflies invading your stomach.

You kiss him again, this time with more passion and heat. You pull him closer to you, chasing his lips. You arch in to him. His hands grab your back pulling you even closer. His fingers flex in your skin.

Your hands grab at his neck and hair, caressing them as your lips move in tandem. It’s a kiss like no other. It’s soft, passionate, and spicy. Everything you thought kissing him would be like.

“I always wanted to do that,” he tells you.

“You did?”

“You’re so pretty to me,” he whispers in your ears as he kisses down to your neck.

You melt under his touch. This is not where you expected the night to go especially after he found your sketches. But you don’t complain because this is the best case scenario.

His hands grab at your thighs hungrily. He places open mouthed kisses along your neck. Small moans escape your mouth under his attack.

You are like puddy in his hands, in this moment you’d whatever he says. You don’t even care if you get caught either. Everyone is down stairs. Your family, his family. You’re right above his parents right now.

But you couldn’t care less. His lips on your body feel right. His touch feels electric, lighting up every nerve ending.

Your lips connect back with his. You send a new message with your tongue. It’s heated and full of lust. It’s not juvenile anymore. There’s no sweetness. Just desire.

Your body so hot, your clothes feel too restricting. His too, he’s wearing too much. You hands go up his shirt, his torso is firm and warm. He has the sleek body of a dancer that makes you just want to run your tongue up it.

You caress his body as he does to yours. His hands slip up your shirt and fondles your breast. His large hand easily cups it. He squeezes and pulls. You moan under his touch. Your body aches for more.

You pull away to rip off your shirt, he follows. Clothes scatter across your bedroom floor.

Michael’s eyes darken as he looks at your naked body. He looks like a cheetah waiting to pounce on its prey. It makes you nervous. You are not a virgin per se, but you aren’t as active as you’d like to be.

Compared to him, he has women throwing themselves at him all the time. Even your mother subtly flirts with him.

“Be gentle,” you murmur.

“Of course I will, but we just have to be quiet. You don’t want the others to hear us,” he smiles.

You lay down with him between your legs. His fingers dragging up and down the sides of your thighs. It’s ticklish but soothing. He watches your face for any indication to stop as he slowly pulls your underwear off.

He bites his lower lips at the sight of you. It makes your core clench.

He dives down. Dotting your inner thigh with small butterfly kisses. Just heat from his face sends your sensitive core on the edge. He looks at you through batted lashes.

“Is this okay,” he asks.

“Yes,” you breathe.

He proceeds. He kisses all around your core. Slow and wet. Very contact sends jolts of electricity up your spine. Michael places an open mouth kiss, swallowing your clit. The sudden pleasure makes your back arch. He does it again and again.

He eats you out like a starved man. His tongue swirls around your clit magically. Your breathing quickens and your hands reach for his hair. You need something to grab or pull to balance the waves of pleasure.

Moans leave your throat, louder and louder each time.

“Shhh you don’t want to get caught do you?” He teases.

How are you supposed to stay quiet when he’s sucking the soul out your clit. Your hips begin to buck. Michael slides a finger into your core. There’s a lot of friction. You do your best to open up. It’s been a while.

You try your hardest to unclench but it’s hard to focus when his mouth is on you like that. With time and wetness from your upcoming orgasm, his finger is able to slide back and forth and with even more time he adds another finger.

Now you really can’t shut up. His hand shoots over your mouth to muffle your uncontrollable moans.

“Shh applehead you’re going to get is caught!”

“I can’t help it,” you say under his hands.

He continues to finger you into your first orgasm. This one ricochet’s through you like a gun shot. It was like his fingers were the mallet and your body was the high striker machine and he hit all the way to the top.

You came hard with a muffed moan and some tears.

No one has ever gotten that reaction from your body before. Michael did it with such ease it made you question everything. That’s what he makes you feel. He makes everyone feel that way. And he doesn’t understand his power.

“How was that?” His gentle voice grounds you. He places soft kisses on your chin and cheek.

“ ‘mzing,” you coo.

He chuckles.

“Can we keep going?”

“Yes,” you find your voice to say. You shake your head aggressively. There’s no way you could ever want to stop with him.

He kisses you on the lips.

“I’ll be gentle,” Michael promises.

“Or don’t,” you tell him. Going back on your words.

He smirks.

You feel him pressing into you slowly. Your fingers grab onto his naked back. Stars paint your eyes. The friction is slightly uncomfortable, it feels like he’s ripping you open.

His size is what you’d imagine with his large feet and hands. But your imagination could never guess how far you’d feel him.

He’s pressed himself all the way into you. You feel it deep in your lower belly, so sure if you were to look down you’d see a bulge. When he finally drags out you moan. He hushes you, then thrusts back in. Slowly each time, making way.

Soon enough the pain melts into pleasure as he rocks into you with sensuality. His moans echo into your ears. Bouncing through your body, making your core wetter. There’s nothing sexier than a man moaning and whimpering in your ear.

“You feel so good,” he tells you.

His voice is so raw and dirty you want to tattoo the voice waves in your brain forever. You want to tattoo this moment really. His body curls into yours as he thrusts deeper. Your moans mix with his.

“We have to—we have to be,” he curses, “quiet.”

He says through thrusts. You don’t even register what he’s referring to. Why do you have to stay quiet? Who cares? It’s just you and him in this beautiful moment.

You watch him, sweat pellets his forehead, his eye borrows scrunch, and his lips part. The curls in his hair loose. He looks like a prince. Just looking at him makes you want to get your pencils and sketch.

Sketch this moment to forever eternalize it.

“You’re so handsome,” you kiss his forehead.

He moans.

“You’re so beautiful,” you kiss his forehead again.

His pounding takes a monstrous note. The slap off skin echoing off your walls. The bed creaks.

“You’re art Michael. My biggest inspiration,” you moan. You mean every word. You want him to understand just how beautiful he is.

Your words were his unraveling because he pulls out to come all over your stomach. Thick hot white ropes of his arousal spray out across your body. He groans as his orgasm rips through him.

It’s the hottest thing you ever saw.

“Good boy,” you tell him, jerking the rest out.

His body slumps at the end of his orgasm.

You sit there in silent as the weight of the situation hits you.

You just slept with your long time friend. And it was the best sex you ever had in your life and probably lifetime.

Thanks Michael Jackson, you’ve ruined me for other men. You think.

He smiles at you with so much admiration it makes you blush. Those same butterflies come back. You don’t think you’ll ever get over this crush anytime soon.

He pulls himself off your bed, slips on his boxers then gets a towel. He wipes his load off your stomach before it crusts. You finish wiping yourself off, as he gets dressed. You follow suit.

“You go first,” you tell him.

You don’t want to set any alarms off (if the bed creaking didn’t give it away). You push him out your room.

But Michael pulls you close again, kissing you in an intoxicating away. Your lips smack loudly in the quiet hallway. He makes you feel all dizzy.

“Go! I’ll be down in a minute,” you nag at him with a smile.

“Okay, okay, I’ll see you,” he laughs as he rounds the corner to the steps.

You silently scream to yourself.

“holy shit! I cannot believe that just happened!”

You look at yourself in the mirror. You fix your sex ridden hair. Reapply some lip gloss and put a hoodie on. Since Michael wasn’t as careful as he thought he was. Small red marks litter your neck.

Product of Loveliness

Type: One Shot

Genre: smut

Pairing: Michael Jackson x Reader

Tags: #mature!michael, hard to get, tension, botdf!michael, gender neutral

Summary: It’s Friday night and you decided to treat yourself and go to the bar. You aren’t going out to look for someone to bring home or any friends. Just for the nasty burn of alcohol you come to stand. However there’s a man who just can’t seem to leave you alone, and you can’t seem to find the words to make him leave you alone.

You try to ignore him, but the heat of his gaze is sizzling.

“Can I help you?” You break. You meet his eyes and your vibrato falters.

“Dance with me?” He asks. And it does sound extremely convincing.

authors note: shout out to E <<33 botdf Micheal is beyond hot

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The first thing you when you come home is kick off your shoes, next you plop on to any surface that can hold you, in this instance your couch. Then you release the heavy sigh that had been cradled deep in your chest ever since you came into work.

It was one of those weeks. The ones that have never ending problems and drag on for what feels like eternity.

All you want to do is fall asleep right there but something propels you to get up. You smell like work. All stale air, melancholic musk, and stress. Nothing will feel better than showering off the week.

So that’s what you do, you take a nice steamy shower that relaxes your frigid bones while you play music from your favorite singer.

You walk into your room, turning on the heated floors on the way there. You work real hard and your house—sanctuary—haven, whatever you want to call it reflects that. Your Manhattan penthouse is way too big for just yourself but you don’t care. You fill the space just fine with all the things you love.

As you are about to put your night clothes on, a sliver shimmer catches your eyes. You know exactly what it is—your revenge dress. It’s not really for any revenge because you get along with people well enough, even past lovers. However this amendment gives you the confidence of Princess Diana’s revenge dress.

A thought tickles your mind.

You ponder it. Taking the dress in your hands and running fingers across the ruby red silk.

This isn’t where you thought your night was go but you are okay with either way. Your heels click on pavement as you make your way to The Waterfront. It’s a upperclass bar. You actually have to pay a subscription to even step foot inside. So not just anyone can get it in, and you like it that way, though creeps still slip in anyways. But atleast everyone here has money or pretends too.

You flash your Waterfront ID card at the bouncer. He gives you a Kurt nod becuase he recognizes you now. You flash him a smile in response. The bass hits you immediately. You feel it in your chest. The air is taut patronsdance together nastily. The hot air juxtaposes the cool crisp spring air outside.

As you walk by men snap their head at you, you feel their eyes watching your every step, and drinking you in. Before it used to bother you but now you brush it off. Each step more confident than the last. You know exactly where you want to go first. Delight spreads across your cheeks when you see your favorite barista behind the counter.

“Damn, lookin’ good today,” Stephanie purrs.

“Thank you, thank you!” You say, taking a seat in your favorite corner.

Even though you look good, that didn’t mean you wanted the attention that follows. You are just here to let loose a tad and order your favorite drink about five times.

But sometimes you never get what you want.

Stephanie slides a fruity drink your way.

“Some guy over there,” she chucks her head toward his direction.

It’s an older man, maybe 50ish, in a navy blue suit you know his wife brought him.

You take the drink and give him a smile. It’s phony but it’s a free drink. All you hoped was that he stay on that side of the room.

You order another drink this time selected by yourself. The first sip is like heaven and vinegar. The initial burn is worth it and after a while it will stop burning. You just had to get to that point.

His cologne hits you before he sits down. Another gentleman, this time does not appear to be married, and is wearing a three piece suit that your sure costs more than what Stephanie makes in a year (which says a lot because rich people love to tip).

His movements were so smooth you thought you’d imagine it. He hasn’t said a word nor looked at you but somehow your heart kicked up a notch. You watch him anyways, he raises a hand for Stephanie, she acknowledges him and slides his drink without a single word.

What the fuck?

You think. Stephanie is only like that with you. Well she’s supposed to be. Who is this guy that she knows his order by heart? How could she cheat on you with other partions.

Your eyes finally meet his. His face matches his clothes and body. Very handsome man. With his high cheek bones, deep eyes that could pierce ice, and rosy lips that you know are dangerously skilled. He’s everything you said you would not be looking for!

“Hello gorgeous,” he drawls.

His voice is far from what you expected. It’s airy, grounded, and completely laced with sweet seduction.

“That’s the best you can come up with?” You retort back.

Hoping that if you put enough venom in the words he’d leave you alone.

Instead, he doesn’t move. He doesn’t react either. He’s looks at you with renewed interest as if your lack of interest excites him. Strange but being in the New York dating pool, you’ve seen worst.

You wave Stephanie over for your second round becuase the weight of his stare began to be to much. Her easy smile relaxes you, your sweet cocktail relaxes you even more.

You try to ignore him, but the heat of his gaze is sizzling.

“Can I help you?” You break. You meet his eyes and your vibrato falters.

“Dance with me?” He asks. And it does sound extremely convincing.

You look back at your drink to hide your blush. This is ridiculous. Some strange man who has a staring problem should make you gag, not blush.

“No. I’m okay,” you tell him.

“Alright,” he accepts.

As smoothly as he came, he left.

You were shocked of how easy that was.

Finish your drink in somewhat peace. Though you can’t see him, you feel his gaze on you. It makes you fidgety and uneasy. Even with three cocktails down. His presence lingers long after he left.

Like a panther lurking in the shadows waiting for his prey.

Suddenly those drinks catch up to you and you feel the joyful buzz of being drunk. But your bladder also feel extremely heavy and every part of you tells you to use the bathroom.

Thankfully the line isn’t too long and you’re in and out quick.

The man in leather walks up to you. You use your folded arms as armor.

“You sure I can’t get one dance?” He pries again.

One dance wouldn’t hurt. Maybe he’ll leave you alone.

“Fine,” you hold out your hand.

He graciously takes it, placing a kiss on the back of your hand. He guides you further into the dance floor. Something Brazilian plays, your hips wind together. His large hand holds your hips firmly. You feel secure…and also nice. But this is where you draw the line. Nothing more.

He pulls you out to twirl you. Now you are face to face.

“My names Michael,” he tells you.

“Michael what?”

“Michael Jackson.”

“Cute,” you chuckle.

The back of his hand scales your arm, making your senses all come alive. This man was a true seducer. He knows exactly what he’s doing—you do too. Which is why you fight it.

He touches the butterfly tattoo on your wrist.

Michael leans low in your ear, his voice rumbling through you setting tiny fires.

“I have some back my place if you want to see them?”

“Do you now?” You quip. Not believing him

You try settle your face into stone becuase your body doesn’t seem to cooperating. It’s come alive and there’s want trying to break through the tight box you kept it in.

Under the dim lights, shadows perfectly cascade across his face, darking his eyes but highlighting his lips. Before you thought a man could just be handsome but this man infront of you proves other wise. He’s beautiful, you think.

“Mhm. I do. I have lots of pets,” he says stepping closer. You can feel his heat radiating. His hand rakes a little lower than your waist and snakes around to the side of your ass. Dangerously close to a palm full.

Your bodies on defense mechanism finally kicks in. You untangle yourself from seduction personified before you make choice you’ll regret in 12 hours.

“I’m good no thanks”

You turn to walk away, getting lost in the crowd. You only mere seconds away from caving. That guy was a real charmer—seducer like the ones in the myths and tales.

You only knew him for 30 minutes but somehow he still set you aflame.

An ice bucket that comes in the shape of a middle aged navy suit wearing man douses any lingering heat. Instead puts you on alert for a different reason.

“Hey doll, want to come join me and my buddies over there? We have a booth,” he says. His tone the opposite of seduction. It sounds more like abduction.

“I was just leaving, sorry sir.” You give him the same phony smile from before.

“Another half hour won’t hurt,” he urges.

“I have a really important meeting tomorrow morning so that half hour will hurt,” your smile never drops however there is a slight twitch on your right eye.

“It will be fun. I swear we are a good time,” he grabs your wrist.

“Let go of me.” You demand. All the pho niceness in your tone dissipates.

His does too.

“Relax doll. All I wanted was for you to come with me. I bought you a drink after all,” his face contorts like a toddler when you tell them no. In this case there’s no difference.

“I appreciate it, but I didn’t ask you to.”

“It’s always ones like you. What? You think you’re too pretty for me or something?”

Yes.

“Sir please just let go of my arm,” you yank back at it.

His grip hardens.

“Not until you come with me!” He drags you through the crowd again.

You hit at his wrist but it’s like he had an iron grip on you.

You get whiplash suddenly. Someone pulls you in different direction. It’s Michael. You don’t need to see his face to know, you smell him. Suddenly his scent became comfort.

“Do you know that guy?” He asks you.

“No, I tried to tell him to leave me alone but he wouldn’t,” You tell him.

“Listen here smuck, if they don’t want to go with you, then they don’t have to go with you. Respect that.” Michael gets in the old man’s face. His last words a threat than advice.

You watch as his fingers curl into a fist.

“Whatever,” Navy suit murmurs before walking off.

“Make you call your wife to tell her you love her!” You yell over Michael’s shoulder.

The man retorts something back but you don’t hear it. All you can see in front of you a tall man who holds either side of your shoulders and looks at you with such care, you forget you are strangers.

“Are you alright?” He asks, his eyes darting all over your body.

“Yeah. Thank you,” you pout.

The heat returns hotter this time.

“Do you need someone to escort you home? I can call someone for you,” he offers.

“No, I’ll be okay. Good night Michael.”

You leave him there. You drag your legs out the door even though something in deep in your gut tells you turn around.

You don’t. You fight it. Until the spring air hits you, clearing all your senses.

“Wait!”

A voice calls out from behind you.

You turn. It’s Michael.

“I can’t let you go like that. You are a very attractive person. Please give me a chance,” His voice is so sincere for a person he’d only met an hour ago.

You believe him for some reason.

“You said you have butterflies?” You call back.

“Yeah, amongst other animals.” He recovers quickly, falling back into the smooth man you first met.

He offers his arm and you loop your hand inside it. He walks you to his car. It’s a luxurious car for a luxurious man. He opens the door for you and you climb in.

He plays smooth RnB as you drive to his house. The car painfully silent until he strikes a conversion about your careers. Apparently he’s a film producer. Clearly a well known one with the way he reeks wealth.

You pull up to his mansion. Nerves kindling through out your whole body. The drive only solidified your need to to get closer to him.

When you are finally able to see past your stubbornness, and see him more than sweet seduction. He’s actually really easy to talk to. And not who you thought he was. He still at an edge that made you queasy but your care for that went out the window when you started needing him.

“The butterflies are this way,” He says.

“I don’t give a fuck about the butterflies,” your voice taut.

You grab his face and kiss him. He’s stunned for a moment before he holds you and kisses you back. Matching your energy. He taste exactly how you thought—expensive but sweet.

He puts you on the car hood to deepen the kiss. You chase his lips with hunger you didn’t know you had. His fingers grab your waist hard. You arch into him to get closer.

Your skin flushes and your clothes feel to tight.

“Let’s go inside,” Michael pants, his breath hot against your skin.

You nod your head excitedly.

You walk up the stairs to his front door and he playfully slaps your ass. When you make it inside, he wastes no time connecting your lips again. It’s messy in the best way possible. His random brush of his tongue lights you up. He picks you up and leads you to a room, your lips not disconnecting once.

It doesn’t look like his main bedroom, but it’s a room with a bed. Frankly that’s enough for you. He throws you on the bed. Flips you over to unzip your dress.

“This dress…you look stunning,” Michael murmurs. His voice is low in a way you didn’t think it could go.

He bites his lips as he completely undress you.

He goes to take his own clothes.

“No, let me do it,” you interrupted.

You lock eyes as you strip him layer by layer. Kissing freshly exposed skin as you unbutton his silk shirt. He gently pushes you back on the bed with a wicked smirk.

Micheal kisses you from your neck to your chest to your lower stomach just before your sex. It aches and pleads for any contact. He places wet kisses all around it. It makes your chest heave as anticipation eats at you. You arch into him to encourage him to do something.

“Please,” you plea. Your voice cracked and banged.

“Alright. Since you asked so nicely.”

He devours all of you. Overwhelming pleasure shooting up your spine. The warmth and wetness of his mouth is everything you craved. His tongue swirls and licks you. You feel like a fire being dosed in water—steamy.

Sweat pools on your skin the more you thrash under him.

“Don’t run away from me love, you can take it,” He coached.

“I-I can’t—it’s too much,” you exclaim.

You go to push him off you. But his grip on you is bruising. All you can do is yelp out as you feel heat pooling in your stomach. Your orgasm painting the edges of your vision white more and more as you get close.

“Fuck—I—“ you curse.

His sucks and licks harder. Bringing you over the edge completely. You want to pull him off before he tastes your arousal but his grip on you hardens.

“Never interrupt a man while he’s eating,” he tells you, his voice extremely serious. His face all hard and linear.

You sit under him a whimpering mess. You’ve never came from head like that before. Maybe it was the alcohol making you extra sensitive or maybe Michael’s just really skilled.

But that’s too much for you to worry about right now becuase you still on fire. That did not sate your unexplainable need for the man in front of you.

Michael looks extremely hot in front of you with his hair covering his eyes. Moonlight cascades behind him, illuminating him as if he was an angel.

You bite your lip as new desire courses through you.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he teases.

“Like what…” you play into it.

But for once you make him go silent. He gets shy. It’s cute and charming. You find him very interesting that he can be so assertive one second and the next a bowl of mashed potatoes.

Like now when his desire settles on his face. You see the moment he gets serious in the way his eyes darken. His lids get heavy. His breathing slows.

He spreads your legs open wider to get better access to you. He slowly presses into you with a long drawn breath. You suck in a labored breath and hold it. His cock slides into you thick and long. You do your best to relax.

He slowly rocks his hips testing how much he can take each time.

The air is full of his breathy shutters mixed with your own quiet gasps.

“You’re doing so well,” Michael whispered as he kissed a fallen tear.

You aren’t crying because it hurts but because it feels really good. He feels really good. Like he was made for you. You for him. Your body’s click together amazingly.

With some give, he’s able to rock into you with more force and speed. Each thrust paints constellations over your eyes. Your moans get louder. You get more ravenous.

Your finger nails dig into his back, leaving red marks in your wake. He hisses and drives into you deeper. He puts one of your legs on his shoulder to really get into you. Chasing the that friction lead pleasure.

He tossed his head back.

“No, look at me,” you urge.

You want to look him in his eyes as you come together.

When he does, his hips take a monstrous rhythm. He puts your leg down and lifts your hips into his. All while locking eyes with you. His hair covers his face but you see his piercing black oceans on yours.

“M close,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Me too,” you cry out.

His thrust feels like tidal waves as he fucks you into orgasm. He pulls his dick out of you and his arousal sprays your chest. Hot and thick. Your body vibrates your own arousal spews out. Your vision blurs as tears run down your face.

Michael plops down next to you. You both sit there heaving as exhaustion creeps behind your eyes.

“That was…” you say, though your breathing has not returned to normal.

“Yeah...” his voice hoarse and scraped.

You both lay there speechless then begin to laugh.

Michael sits up.

Michael's trying to act calm and cocky, but he slowly loses it when other people start touching/flirting with her. Lots of eye contact, him pulling her close, whispering in her ear, toxic tension type vibes.

Then at the end he takes her back to his place and the tension finally snaps. I want it to feel messy, INTENSE AND FLITHY SMUTT if u can lolll.

Thankss!!

There’s Something About You Baby…

Type: One Shot

Genre: smut

Pairing: Michael Jackson x Reader

Tags: #bad!michael, messy, tension, toxic, situationship, bad boy x reader

Summary: You’re young, hot, and rich. You live life on your daddy’s dime so that means you do whatever you want to who ever you want. But there is just one person you refuse to cross the line with. He’s all bad boy covered in leather and buckles. Heart break personified as one tall, dark, and handsome man. But you can’t deny there is something there…and maybe—just maybe you are brave enough to taste it.

Maybe it’s the liquor but you don’t look away like you usually would, instead you stare back. The song switched to something more sensual and you feel rough hands snake around your waist and a firm body behind you. You lean into this mystery man with a smirk. Your body grinds against his as Michael watches.

authors note: omg thank you so much!! I love this prompt soo bad!! I hope you enjoy ;)

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The latest hits blare through a pink stereo in the corner.

“How do I look?” Your friend Kennedy asks, her voice cutting through the bass like a blade through satin.

You catch her in the reflection of the mirror before you turn to face her.

“Banging!” You squeal.

She looks hot in a black sequin dress that hugs her every curve.

“Stop it,” she teases.

You both burst into light laughter.

“Can y’all hurry up?” Another one of your friends cuts in. Sadie. Shes the mom friend. She keeps you wild cards together.

It’s Friday night, the clubs open soon and for certain amount of time, it’s free for ladies. Even though money is never an issue for you, you still like the thrill of free things.

You sit at your vanity perfectly winging your liner so that it’s symmetrical. You apply your last touch of lipstick and add a fake mole under your eye because you can.

You tease your hair so that it falls the way you like.

“Okay I’m ready,” you say the other girls, “how do I look?” You run your hand down your little black dress.

It clings to your body as if it was molded to you. It enhances all your curves. The back of the dress is dangerously low, sitting right at your lower back. Short and backless. Your favorite.

“You look sexy!” Kennedy purrs at you.

You squeal again, and Sadie rolls her eyes but you see a smirk creeping at the corners of her mouths.

As if you were girls again, you walk out of your parent’s mansion hand and hand to a black SUV waiting outside. Your driver, Pierre, opens the door and helps you three inside delicately.

The drive to the club is your favorite part. The loud music. Bottles of liquor. And the three of you being nonsensical. You drunkly sing along to the lyrics and giggle. It’s the most freeing part of your day.

As you drive, you pass all the weight of the week with each mile. The liquor runs through you softly, making your cheeks warm and your senses slightly buzzed.

You see LED signs illuminating the late summer night which tells you are right where you want to be. Downtown. All the hottest bars and spots for all the hottest people.

Pierre pulls in front of the club, you three trickle out and tell him you’ll be back in a couple of hours. He nods then pulls off to wherever he goes. It’s none of your business nor concern.

There’s already a line queuing up. You groan. You hate lines. Even though you are rich, so are they. So you walk to the back of the line. Loud music escapes every time more people are let in. The muted bass makes your skin buzz with excitement.

Your senses go on alert for different reason. You feel him before you see him. Your smile drops instantly. You turn and not to your surprise, you see Michael with his usual entourage.

His smugness makes you want to roll your eyes and you do.

He’s in his black leather jacket with a plain white shirt that clings tightly around his muscles. His pants black too with a heavy sliver belt that jangles each step. Your eyes size him up until you reach his face.

Smooth skin, vicious smirk, and evil seductive eyes that hide behind ray bands. Medusa’s son truly. His hair curled in lucious dark waves with a single incorporative coily strand dangling in the middle of his forehead.

It would be sexy on any other man but him, well if you stop lying to yourself. It is extremely sexy on him. That’s the thing…he’s extremely sexy but no good. He’s the type of boys they warn you about in songs.

You hope he doesn’t notice you and walks by—but of course he does. How could he not when you are reeking sex appeal. Your black dress, heeled boots combo was most lethal. It was simple but on you it was the hottest thing a person could ever wear.

Michael drinks you up completely. Even with his sunglasses on you see his slow perusal from your thighs to your bold red lips. In response he shoves his own lip under his ivory teeth. He’s so shameless it makes the hairs on your arms rise.

“If you come in with me, you can skip the line,” he drawls, taking a step closer to you.

Despite his hard exterior, you get a whiff of his cologne. It’s gentle, warm, and welcoming. It makes you want to keep him in your vicinity.

“We’re good,” You tell him, crossing your arms.

You do your best to mask whatever effect he has on you.

He steps closer to you, taking smooth hands to gently grab at your shoulders, dragging them up and down. It tickles and excites you. You hate it. So you take a step back.

He huffs a smirk.

And that’s why you couldn’t stand him. He’s too cocky. Too handsome. Too intoxicating.

You look over at your girls. Kennedy looks completely amused while Sadie looks annoyed. But that was her face all the time.

“I hate waiting,” Kennedy says.

“Me too,” Sadie grumbles.

Sadie is usually on your side about these kinds of things.

Seriously? You mouth. They just shrug at you. And his offer lingers sickeningly sweet in your mind. You do also hate waiting.

“Fine,” you huff.

His smirk turns into a full on smile. It hits you deep in your heart with a sharp pain. His smile is too perfect. It makes you just wanted to roughen him or ruin him somehow.

He wraps an arm around your shoulder. You roll your eyes again but anything to get in fast and free.

“You know I like it when you roll your eyes at me,” he teases.

You scoff at him.

Remember how everyone here was rich and you had to play by the rules? Through that out the windows. Those terms that did not apply to Michael Jackson. His wealth rivaled everyone’s wealth combined. Actually, he owned the bar himself. The bouncer didn’t even acknowledge him or you.

The music hits you instantly. It’s loud and electric. You feel in your body. The bass blares with your heart beat.

Body to body to body is what you see. It excites you. This is how you loved to spend your weekends. You shrug Michael off and take your girls somewhere else. Only Kennedy bothers to thank him.

“Girl! That man is so fine!” Kennedy says into your ear.

Not another women following for his charms.

“Trust me, he’s more evil than fine,” you warn her.

“What ever you say,” she cooes.

You all head to the bar for quick rounds of shots before you hit the dance floor. The liquor burns hot down your throat and to your stomach. You relish the burn. It only means your alive which means your not drunk enough.

Your favorite song comes on and your body lights up. You drag the girls to the floor and begin to dance. Your body has a mind of its own. Your hips sway, your head bangs, your hands wave. You feel young. By an off chance you look up, on the second floor and you catch him watching you. His expression dark from down here.

Maybe it’s the liquor but you don’t look away like you usually would, instead you stare back. The song switched to something more sensual and you feel rough hands snake around your waist and a firm body behind you. You lean into this mystery man with a smirk. Your body grinds against his as Michael watches. The man’s hands get a little to curious so you swat them away.

But Michael didn’t see that part. He’d walked away by that point.

You: 1. Michael: 0.

The song ends and you abruptly push the man away. You tell your friends you are getting a drink. You need more liquor, soberness grazes your vision. It has only been an hour there so no way.

You sit at the bar. Looking for your next target. You see a whimpy blond guy, his chains are bigger than his neck. He looks cartoonish really. But you bat your eyelashes at him a couple of times, you see interest light his face the moment he realized you want him. He comes over immediately.

“Hey handsome,” you purr. You don’t mean not a lick of what you say.

But again you love a good time and a free time.

“Hey gorgeous, let me buy you a drink,” he sounds as dorky as he looks.

You giggle at him.

The guy gets both a drink and you take the shots at the same time.

“Thank you,” you say.

But at least you mean it this time.

“What’s your—“

You get up before he can finish his sentence. You hear his confidence die as you walk away. You just wanted a drink not to start conversation. You return back to the floor. Dancing again Kennedy and Sadie.

You feel those same eyes burning into you. You don’t need to look up to see who. You always know who. No one else can make you feel so alert on your own body.

Did he have this effect on all women or was it just you? Or was his consistant perusal of you finally getting to you.

You shove those complicated feels in a box to never be to touched again. More of your favorites play. You get lost in the music.

But as it always goes. Nature calls.

“I have to pee,” Kennedy words slur.

“Me too,” Sadie agrees.

You three link hands and walk toward the bathroom. For it to be an established place only two bathroom stalls was idiotic. You wait in line with all the drunk girls. The cool brick feels great on your exposed skin.

The lights are low over here. You stand alone as Sadie and Kennedy use the bathroom. You just hope they don’t fall in. They are both light weights surprisingly.

Your eyes catch on the figure coming your way. Again, it’s Michael. Though his usual smugness doesn’t reek through every step. He almost looks…angry?

“What do you want,” you ask, your guard already up.

“Just to talk,” He answers cooly.

But you know there’s nothing but venom behind his intent.

He leans against the wall next to you. His scent floods your scenes. It makes you feel hungry.

“Who said you can talk to me?” You quip.

“Who said you can let that guy touch you like that?”

“Like what?”

It’s always like this. Constant back and forth. You want to stop but something about the way he looks at you and his feathery touch just pulls you in.

“Like this,” Michael whispers deep in your hear.

His hands trail to your hips

“You let his hands touch here,” His hand on your waist, “to here.”

His hands drag dangerously close to your breasts with the tips of his fingers grazing a little. Your breathing stills.

“Even down here,” Michael presses his fingers on your lower back.

He groans at the hot contact.

“Because,” you try find your words.

But it’s hard when he’s incapsulated you. Boxed you complete to his trap. His nose just a pinch from yours. You can feel his breath tickle your skin.

“Because it’s my body. I can do what I want to.” Your words come out clear and grounded. Despite the roar in your stomach.

“Is it?” He asks, his voice so low you’d think you imagined it.

“Yeah,” you breathe.

You fix him with the nastiest stare you can muster. His endless dark pools meet yours in an electric clash. His eyes tell promises of sweet sin. They are taunting you.

You just hope your eyes don’t tell the same shameful story. You hope it’s all disgust…nothing more because you could never go there.

“You keep thinking that,” He tells you before walking away.

He takes all the oxygen with him. Suddenly you feel cold without the heat of him against you. Your body aches with the lost of his piercing touch.

“Okay we’re ready,” Kennedy and Sadie come swaying in.

“Let’s go.”

You do your best to mask your… discomfort is what you want to you call it because anything other than that is just no!

Despite your better judgement your eyes scan the room for him but you don’t see him. Then the second floor balcony where he likes to stay. He’s not there. Maybe he went home? A twinge of sadness ripples through you. You swipe it away immediately and chalk up to being drunk. You’re glad he’s gone. You remind yourself.

But your eyes still search for him.

“Looking for me,” Michael whispers in your ear from behind.

His hands claim your body.

“No,” you tell him.

“I think you were,” he teases.

“Not,” you bark but there’s no bite and you both know it.

The dj plays a slower song. Michael’s body presses against yours. You feel his heart beat on your back. His hands possessively hold your waist. Your hands grab on to his. You sway back and forth.

You feel his breath on your neck. It’s sends a shiver down your spine.

“Michael, what are we doing?” You finally ask.

“Dancing,” he cooly replies.

He turns you around to face him. You stumble a little but his firm hands catch you immediately. Your face lands mere seconds away from his. Your eyes connect dangerously again.

Your eye contact is always charged. Kindling always lingering, waiting for a speck of dust to attach to. You don’t give it anything to stick to because you know it would be more than just a simple fire, but a raging untamed fire.

Your hands land on shoulders. His fingers press into your lower back. He pulls you closer.

“You look incredibly sexy right now,” he whispers.

Each word hits you differently. You hate how alive he makes you feel. Your eyes catch on his sickly sweet lips. It’s like pollen for a bee.

You consider it for a moment. You really do. Even he goes still under your gaze. But then your eyes notice red on his neck.

Under the of courtesy of the neon lights, you see it clear as day, it’s a lip stick mark.

You come to your senses and remind who you are dealing with here.

He realizes it too because he instantly brushes a hand on his neck.

“Listen…” He starts.

“Save it,” you snap.

You walk away furiously, making sure to swing your hips extra hard.

You hear him curse behind you.

You curse at yourself for letting him get so…close!

The thing is, he’s not just some annoying guy who can’t take no for answer. You’ve got history. A history you’d love to ignore but it tells you everything you need to know to stay away from him now.

You guys used to be a thing back in your early twenties. Before he turned into whoever he was now, he was a little dork back then. But like now you are like oil and water. However when you did mix…oh it was magical. Just the thought has your core clenching.

You don’t get far before you feel a big hand clasp your wrist. Your pulled into some sort of a corner? Or closet. He roughly throws you against the wall.

You slap him.

Unbothered, Michael steps closer, his hands cup your face, forcing you to acknowledge him. But you don’t. Your eyes flick to the side.

Your body wants to melt into his gentle touch. Your body remembers the way his touch can feel.

“I’m done talking to you,” you tell Michael.

“Just…listen,” his voice he’s all breath.

You’re listening but he’s doing zero talking. Instead his mouth ghosts over yours. Hesitant and curious. You can feel the want bleeding out of him in the magnetic pull that is between his lips and yours.

Your heart swells with dark desire that you stored away for way too long. You tip your chin closer to his. Because you can’t lie anymore. You want him.

You go to push him away but somehow you pulled him closer by his collar. His lips meet yours hard and messily. His mouth devours yours completely. His hand hits the wall to steady himself from the sheer force. Your back hits the brick hard.

Your lips fight and curse each other out in ways you’ve been wanting to. Your tongues twist nastily.

“I can’t stand you,” you say between kisses.

“I know,” he replies.

Your hands gently pull at his curls. He moans. You feel it vibrating in your mouth. He hugs you, his arms easily encapsulating you. His mouth conquers yours, your heads bobs back in forth viciously as you try to fight for dominance.

“I hate you,” you bite his lip.

“I’m counting on it.”

He slams your hands above your head, locked tight as his mouth attacks your neck. He’s knee parts your thighs. Only the thin sheer fabric of your tights separates your core from his thigh. His knee forcefully presses against your core deliciously as his teeth skid across your neck.

You moan. Your chest heaves.

“Michael,” you say but it comes out more like a moan than a word.

You feel ablaze. Your vision blurry with lust and want. Your clit pulses with anticipation. Your skin feverish. Every part of you is ultra aware of his presence.

He lets your hands go to kiss you again. His lips connect with yours more hungrily than before. His large hand grabs your thigh to pull you closer, his erection presses against you. You moan at the size. Your body floods as past memories of what it did to you hit. His other hand grab at your neck, squeezing it untill you see stars in your eyes.

He’s everything but gentle and it’s everything you absolutely need.

“I just want to turn you around and fuck you right here,” he groans.

“So do it,” the words leave your mouth before you can process the meaning behind them.

“Not here sweetheart.” He breaks the kiss.

Leaving you on the wall.

You roll your eyes.

“Pussy,” you tease him.

You drag your tongue up his neck and kiss where his jaw meets his ear.

You push off him, wiping your lips. You go to walk past him, but he catches you by your wrist again.

You turn to look back at him. His face craved deep into stone.

“Go tell your little friends goodbye and meet me outside in five minutes,” He commands.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you snap back him.

He smacks your ass in warning.

You do as he says, you were going to do anyways but you just had to remind him who’s in control here. Becuase right now the score is:

You: 1. Michael: 3.

He probably has more on you than you know. And that can’t be.

You gather the girls up, safely guiding them into the car. They are so drunk they don’t realize you don’t join them. Pierre ensures you that they both make it back home.

“Call me and I’ll be there as soon as possible,” Pierre’s says, his voice husky with age.

“Of course. Thank you.” You tell him.

You watch as the car pulls off.

Nerves settle deep in your stomach once you realize what you really got yourself into.

“Made it out here in two, you must really like me,” Michael says from behind you.

You twirl to face him, doing your best to fix a disinterested stare.

“I was making sure my friends are safe,” you say.

He hums. He takes his jacket off and wraps it around you. You drown in it. Michael takes you by the hand and leads you to his motorcycle. He puts your helmet on for you. It’s so domestic, it knocks you off your axis.

“Hold tight,” he warns with a devilish grin.

He gives you barely a moment to register his words before he peals down the street. You scream and hold his waist tight. He laughs at you.

“I hate you!” You scream.

He laughs again. His laugh calms you. It centers you. It regulates you. You always loved his laugh. Hearing it again brought back the happier memories.

Michael wasn’t completely terrible almost lover, but he still wasn’t the best.

In a matter of ten to fifteen minutes you make it to his mansion. You stay seated on the bike as uncertainty raises its ugly head.

Like he can sense your mind running a mile a minute. He places a sweet kiss on your forehead, you close your eyes to it.

He offers his hand, you take it. He leads you to his house. It’s a newer house, but his love for art remains the same. His hallway is filled with beautiful pieces. He takes you to his room. He closes the door with a soft click. Your eyes follow his every move.

He brushes his jacket off your shoulders. He places a kiss on your shoulder. Just the slight brush of his lips make you jump.

His hands snake to your waist.

“What happened to all that mouth you had just a couple minuties ago?” He drawls. It’s laced with his infamous smug and cockiness.

“I—“ you go to fight back.

But his lips meet yours—effectively shutting you up. His lips pry yours apart slowly, more sensually. Your lips don’t fight this time but lock in union.

You cannot lie, this does feel amazing. Every bone in your body tells you to reject it—to call Pierre to pick you up. Instead Michael lifts you by your lower thighs, he walks you to his huge bed. He lays you down and it feels like you’re on top a literal cloud. You practically orgasm just at the softness of his bed.

If you had a bed like this you’d never leave it.

Your lips take a starving note as the kiss prolongs. Desire pools in your lower belly hot. Your skin becomes sensitive even more so because your drunk.

Michael breaks the kiss first. He pulls his shirt off. You watch him, drinking up the sight before you. He’s a lot more developed than the last time you were with him.

Michael then flips you onto your back, savagely yanking your ass in the air. His fingers rip your tights revealing your bare sex.

“Fuck I’ve been wanting to do that all day,” he murmurs.

You moan in response at his words and the sudden cool air on your pulsing core.

His thumb swipes up your pussy, hitting the bundle of nerves that make you see stars. Follow by his tongue licking a long stripe along your cunt. His wet contact makes you melt instantly.

Michael eats you out like a starved men.

“Wait—hold on—fuck—“ he makes you scramble your words. You don’t even know what words you were trying to say.

“You taste so good,” he groans.

That makes you even more wetter, aching, needing. You rock your hips in his face to chase more of him. His tongue flicks your clit faster. He sucks harder around your clit, and if he sucks any harder he’s going to take your soul too.

Your first orgasm was easy to pull out of you. Becuase Michael knows your body. Your hips fall as you get your breath in control.

He smacks your ass.

“Did I say you can lay down? Ass up sweetheart,” he orders with another harsher slap.

You do as he says. You feel his raw erection against your rear—it’s warm, pulsing, and dripping precum.

You arch your back as deeply as you can. All the pilates finally coming in hand.

“Fuck you’re so hot,” he moans.

Michael inserts himself, shoving his whole length deep inside you with a loud groan. Tears prick at your eyes.

“Asshole,” you swear under your breath.

“What was that, sweetheart?” He asks.

“Ass—“

He drags himself all the way out then all the way back in.

“Hole!” You shriek. The word clogging your throat.

He does it a couple more times, though a lot slower. You feel yourself opening up for him. Though you still clench down at him in protest. He hisses and smacks your ass every time you do. Your ass tender and red.

He slides it in nice and slow one more time before he picks the pace, driving into you hard. The slaps of skin against skin is loud and sound like thunder. His thrusts are so hard that he manages to make his king size bed rock. It was like an earthquake hit only this room.

Each thrust hits a different spot, each thrust illicits a different wavelength of pleasure.

You scream out in pleasure. Everything your body thought it knew about his touch was beyond outdated. In the years you stop dealing with him, something changed. He’s got a new edge that is he never had before.

He lifts you up to pull your dress completely off. Your mouths meet find another as he takes you from the back. His hands squeeze and tease your breasts.

“Who do you belong to?” He bites the tip of your ear.

“Nghmff” is all you can say. Why is he asking you questions while scrambling your insides?

He drives you back down into the bed. Forcing your head into the pillows as his pounding take a monstrous note.

“I said who do you belong to?” He repeats again, his voice hoarse with lust.

You don’t respond. But this time becuase you don’t want to. He does not own you.

“Hm?” He presses.

He grabs you by your hair.

“Can’t use your words now huh babe?” His words are hot against your skin.

“I hate you,” you remind him.

No matter how bad painful throbbing need strangles your core you will never admit to belonging to him again.

“Do you now?”

“Always,” you promise, low.

He laughs like a crazy man before withdrawing himself very so slowly. Then back in even slower. He continues this torturous space. Your body aches for more of that deliciously painful fiction. You rock your hips into him, chasing the feeling but his hands squeeze bruising into your hips, forcing them in place.

“Aht. You hate me but you want my dick pumping deep inside you. What sense does that make? Huh?” His tone is incredibly condescending.

And if you were in another position rather than this you’d slap him against.

At some point he stops all together.

“What the hell is your problem,” you snap at him.

“I want you to beg for it.” He tells you clear as day.

“Never,” you cry.

“I’m not moving until you beg for it, sweetheart.”

You still feel his cock deep inside you, twitching and throbbing. It sits just before a spot that makes you see stars. Your mind plays images of that sweet pleasure like a cursed montage. Making your torture even worse.

“Use your words sweetheart,” Michael coaxed.

You clench around him at the pet name. It breaks your pride down. He’s the only one who can break past your walls.

“P-Please…” you whisper.

“Speak up,” he slaps your ass.

“Please! Please I need you to fuck me,” You confess through tears.

“That’s all you had to say pretty girl,” his tone is so gentle, it settles deep in your ears.

He continues his pumping in and out of you. He fucks you into another orgasm that has you screaming out to gods that don’t exist. Your orgasm comes squirting out all over his body.

“You’re perfect,” he hisses like a curse word.

He turns you around to hold you this time, his thrusts are gentler. He buries his head in your chest. Your moans mingle with his. He’s a lot more vocal than the last time.

His sweet moans are melodic to your ears. They are soft and breathy. You feel his breath against your chest. He hisses and sighs. His moans become quicker and clipped as his own orgasm approaches.

He lays you on your back as his hip rocks slowly rock himself into euphoria. His cock twitches inside of you. His cum coats your insides white and warm. Your last climax is long and electric. Your legs shake violently and your back arches. You open your mouth but nothing escapes.

The air stills as you both come down from your intense long awaited battle. He whimpers in your ear as he removes himself from you. You almost come again at that.

“Yours,” you muster.

He kisses you in agreement. Like he knows what you were trying to say. But he already knew it, it was just you who was running from it.

However…after moments of prolonged silence. Something nags at you.

The old uncertainty from earlier squeezes through the fog of your orgasmic mind.

Type: One Shot

Genre: smut

Pairing: Michael Jackson x Reader

Tags: #say!michael, sinners inspired, vampire, makeup, celebrity x reader, reader is the vampire

Summary: You stumble upon a new town to sink your teeth in. It’s bustling with music and life. You spot a young man that intrigues you, he has a nice voice that just draws you in. You don’t know if you want to devour him or to keep him. But you for sure want to taste him.

You trail your hand up his arm slowly. His eyes follow the movement. You can hear his heart beat and the sound of freshly produced blood. You began to salivate at the thought. At what he tasted like.

TW: blood, light gore...

Authors note: saysaysay is sinners coded to me in a sense….

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You lick the last drops of your last victim's blood off your finger tips. This one was a bit tangy. You just finished feasting on this sad and dull town full of beings that look melancholic. Not your typical choice, however it did the job. The thirst for more lulls, and you feel clearer headed.

You look down at your once mauve dress stained burgundy and reeked of old pressed coins. Streaks of red cover your arms like tree roots. You looked a mess. And you hated looking a mess.

Yes, you are a vampire, but you still had the class of your prior life. You were an upperclass lady who wore pearly gloves and feathers in your hair.

So you go to the nearest boutique once full of life, now sucked dry. You take a look off the mannequin and disappear into the night.

Eventually you find a little river at the end of a sandy hill. You wash off and listen as the river cries. You change into fresh clothes. Even stole some perfume and powder from one of your victims.

You trail the trees just before a path. Walking until you reach your next destination and a spot to hide from the sun.

The roar of the truck fill your ears long before you actually see it. It was old and janky, and it rattled like it might fall apart at any moment. The tires struggled against loose rock and gravel, making the car lurch and shake as it ran it over.

There were three people in its trunk. Over the cars loud clatter of old medal, you could hear their laughter. It spilled from every corner of the truck. It was warm, loud, and overlapping. Everything that makes your ears tip.

The yellow glow in your eyes return as you stalk the crew from the shadows.

“We really got em!” One of the men say.

He has a big floral bag full of money.

“Did you see the way they all crowded us when I took down Big T?” Another younger man said.

This one took your interest immediately. His eyes lit up with delight as he counts the cash in his hands. His smile sends flutters in parts of your body you thought died. Your throat dries at the sight of him. His laughter is as beautiful as his face.

The tips of your mouth quirk up. He is exactly what that last town lacked. Then the young man began to sing along with the man. They sounded lovely and mesmerizing. You knew you had no choice but to follow them.

You creeped in the shadows, following them as they made their way to the next town. It looks like they are a traveling act just like yourself. It appears they brought right to your next victims as well.

They park outside a local inn, and you retreat into the deepest shadows you could find as the sun begins to rise.

You wait patiently all day, carefully planning out your attack. From what you hear, there’s a popular tavern everyone goes to at night. That’s when you’ll make your attack. During some parts of the day, you do snack on some unsuspecting patrons that linger to close to your hideout.

Finally, the sun kicks the bucket and you are free to roam the town again. The shadows cradle you like a mother to her new born child. You make sure your hat covers your eyes completely as you slowly peruse the town. This one sandy and dusty like the other but it was pulsing with life. You see groups of people talking, laughing, making music using barrels.

This place electrified you in ways you hadn’t felt in ages. You just wanted to bite all of them. But most of all the handsome young man from last night. You made your way to a crowd where his friends calls for everyone’s attention. He lingers somewhere in back.

“Let me tell you all about the Mac and Jack Wonder Potion!” The man’s voice bellows through the crowd as he holds a glass bottle filled with of what looks like tomato sauce.

The crowd ohh’s at the product. You roll your eyes and chuckle. He claims drinking that potion will give you strength and unbelievable power.

To the public’s credit, they don’t look like they believe him. Until the handsome young man steps up, takes a bottle, fails to open it, feigning weak. His friend opens it for him, he drinks it and hoots. The man looks lively as the Mac and Jack potion course through his viens.

An extremely muscular man steps up and the two lock in an arm wrestle, and the skinnier guy wins. The crowd surges forward demanding a bottle of the strength potion.

You just laugh to yourself. Humans are so easily fooled. He was going to be an easy target if you just buy into his trickery.

You moseyed down to the tavern where everyone was headed later.

“Can I come in?” Your voice soft and languid.

“Of course you can darlin’,” A country man says.

He offers his hand to you and you pass through with no issues. He has no idea what he just did. You shrug off your jacket revealing a blue silk slip dress underneath.

You feel men eye you up and down as you make your slow descent to the bar. Your every step laced with sweet seduction. You want their eyes on you, all the easier to get them alone to feed off of later.

You sit at the bar, waiting for one fool to approach you. It’s not long before an idiot does, he buys you a cheap shot. You take him to a secluded back room without even having say much. You sink your teeth into the croak of his neck. Eating tore flesh and sucking warm blood.

You feel power flow through your body. As your color returns—his color fades as you suck every last drop from his neck. You eat to kill not to recruit. So he’s not coming back. You wipe your mouth and return back to the main era.

On stage you see him again. This time he’s in red button up, tie, and some slacks as he dances and sings on stage with the man from the stall. You watch him completely captivated.

He’s real good looking under this light and you just want to take a bite. The crowd below dances along to his sound, and you can’t help but move your hips to his voice. The tavern buckles under skittish feet. Sound bounces off the wall. You feel alive.

The young man jumps off the stage at some point to dance with the crowd.

He comes behind you, you feel his body heat against your behind as his hands hold on to your hips. His body moves in tandem with yours for two beats before he scurries back to the main stage.

Your body pulses with the need for more. More of what you don’t quite understand. However you wait at the bar again, hoping he joins you so you can figure it out.

You wait there long after his set ends. Your fingers swirl the rim of your empty glass. Cutting your finger slightly. With a hiss you suck the blood away.

Finally, he joins you. He sits right next to you, you see the sweat dripping into his collar. You lick your lips.

“Hey puddin’,” you speak first. Doing your best to sound as sweet as possible.

Interest sparked on his eyes.

“Why hello,” He says.

He’s voice as sweet as his singing. It’s light and welcoming. It makes you want to just listen to him all day.

“What’s your name, sugar?” You finally ask.

“Michael,” he reaches a hand out for yours.

You delicately place your hand in his, noting how his hands swamps yours. He raises your hand and places a soft kiss that sets your body on fire. Your cheeks feel hot and it’s not from the cheap liquor.

His eye contact is deep and almost unsettling. You feel your skin buzz with unease. You shift in your seat. Usually you’re on the other side. You are the seducer, not the seduced.

“That was some nice singing you did there,” you drawl.

“That was some nice dancing you did there,” he echos back.

Your eyes lock again, more playful this time. You can handle his gaze now.

“You have pretty eyes,” Michael tells you.

And you feel your cheeks actually flush.

“Never seen that color before,” he continues.

Because it’s not a natural color. Your eyes are black that glow yellow in the light. You wonder what he’d look like with matching pair.

You trail your hand up his arm slowly. His eyes follow the movement. You can hear his heart beat and the sound of freshly produced blood. You began to salivate at the thought. At what he tasted like.

“Are you…staying around here?” You lean in close and lower your voice, all breathy.

“I—“

His word cut off at the abrupt sound of smashed glass. A hush fills the room and the air stilled.

Two men crashed into each other in front of you, wildly swinging and cursing. Michael lunged forward to break them apart, but instead a fist caught him across the face. The hit sent him stumbling into a back table, glass shattering against the floor.

Then someone else joined in.

The room erupted. Chairs were violently scraped across the wooden floors, bottles smashed into walls, people shouting everywhere as the brawl spread like wild fire. The air was thick with sweat, liquor, and panic.

Somewhere in the chaos, Michael grabs you by the wrist. His grasp was tight with urgency. Without a word, he pulled you through the mess of fists and toxic masculinity into the cool crisp air.

He seemed panicked. However life pulsed through your body. You wanted to go back. That was the most interesting thing to happen in years.

“Are you alright?” Michael huffed with his hands on his knees.

“Great,” you beamed.

Michael gave you a concerned look.

Your core clenched at the sight of him. Fresh blood dripped from the corner of his mouth.

All your senses heightened. You felt your ears clear. You could hear the blood rushing through his body. You could see his viens. You can smell the sweet coppery smell of blood and practically taste the metallic honey.

You become ravenous because you need him in a different way than before.

You now take him by the wrist and whisk him away into the shadows. You find an abandon shed, and you throw him against the rotted doors with your elevated strength.

Your hands press flat against his chest as you push your lips to his. You suck his bottom lip into your mouth, and moan at the taste of him. His blood taste as wonderful as he sounds and looks.

His hands snake around your waist, pulling you closer, grabbing you tighter.

You force his mouth open with your tongue. Exploring more of him becuase he makes you feel things you haven’t in decades.

You bite on his lip, making more blood ooze out. You watch as blood trickles down his chin, then you lick up the red trail.

You feel him shudder under you. His eyes watch you with darken curiosity. You feel his body harden under yours.

By your surprise, Michael switches your position. He now encapsulates you completely. His hand grabs on your ass while his other hand hold on to your face tightly, you feel his fingers pressing into your skin.

His mouth takes a hungry approach just like yours, it makes you question his own humanity. But the way his heart rushing tells you he’s no haint.

Your body hums as he trails kisses down your throat. His fingers slip between your thighs. He touches you in places no one had in years. The fact that you can still feel down there is mind boggling.

Maybe it’s because you hadn’t been touched in years or because being a vampire heightens every sense but you are extremely sensitive down there.

The slight brush of his fingers has you gasping for air. His assault against your neck, trails down to your stomach, to under your dress. Michael bends down.

“W-Wait. What are you doing,” you grab at him.

You hear your own heart beat in your ears.

“You’re beautiful—I just want to taste you,” his voice is low and vibrates through your body.

His large warm hands lift the edges of your dress. His big eyes look up at you with deep want and a spark of mischief.

He lifts on of your legs over his shoulders. Michael drags his face among your thigh, the tip of his nose cold against your skin. You feel him taking in the scent of you.

Passion boils throughout your body, fighting for dominance over your need to devour him before he devours you.

You yelp out at the first contact of his mouth against your cunt. It was just a kiss. But to you it felt like he swallowed you whole.

You hear him chuckle. Then he begins to slowly lick at you, taking long stripes of you. His entire mouth encapsulates your cunt making the moans escape your mouth uncontrollably.

Your body buckles under his mouth’s skillful attack on your cunt. His mouth teases your most sensitive bud. Making you erupt around him. A foreign feeling burns your insides and demands to set your body alight.

“You taste so good,” Michael voice rasps from deep desire.

You feel like puddy in his hands.

You grab onto his shoulders hard as his continues to taste you. And taste you he did, your juices flow out of you like a flimsy dam. An orgasm ricochets through you hard and demanding.

You had no idea your body could jolt and thrash like that under a man’s touch.

“You’re so beautiful,” he confessed.

You could hear how sincere he was. It melts something inside you.

You recover quickly. You shove him to the ground and straddle him. You unbutton his shirt with the swiftness.

You kiss him again, tasting your own arousal on his tongue. Your hips begin to rock against him. You can feel a tent under you.

You moan at the sight of his bare chest. You run a clawed nail up his chest making him bleed before licking it all up.

“You’re unbelievable,” he huffed.

You unbuckled his pants and his long fingers help you. He pulls out his cock, it’s long and girthy. It goes up to your stomach. You only wonder how it’s possible to fit. But there’s only one way to find out.

Your core pulses as you slowly sink into him. You feel him ripping you apart inch by inch.

“You can handle it,” he tells you as he swipes a fallen strand of your hair out your face.

A tear falls down your cheek when he’s fully in you, scorching your insides. You feel his cock quivering from your tightness.

He bites his lips hard as his face contorts with sharp pleasure.

You begin to slowly wine your hips. You relish the pain, it makes you feel alive again. Like a being that walks this earth. Your cunt never acclimates to his size but the pleasure of his cock inside you dulls any pain you feel.

Your fingers dig deep into his shoulders, blood falling under each digit. He doesn’t seem to notice or maybe he doesn’t care.

Your hips take a mind of their own as you ride him. You’ve never done this before but with him it feels natural and not forced. You feel like an animal in heat as you chase the jolt of pleasure. His cock hits deep inside you and your clit scraps against him. You feel feverish from the gratification only his body gives you.

Your moans mix with his in the cool night air. You see your breaths hot and wet.

“That’s it,” he breaths.

His hands guide your hips, slamming you down on him with the power of his strength potion. His moans chopped and breathy. Melodic. You love to hear it and you make it your mission to hear more of it.

You grind your hips savagely against him, you feel him twitching inside you.

He pumps your hips frantically into himself as his orgasm shoots up his spine.

You take this moment to bite his neck. Finally seeking your fangs deep into his flesh.

He cries out in pain and pleasure as he comes hard inside you. It’s warm and hot in your belly.

His hands grab at you, but you continue feasting. He tastes like he fucks, amazing. You moan as his blood fills your stomach. He’s so fucking delicious, that you do something you never do.

You turn him.

When you finish. His body is limp as you suck the rest of his spilt blood.

He’s has you licking your body like a cat.

No drop wasted.

You button his shirt back up. Then you remove him from your self with a long hiss.

You sit next to him, rubbing his face and hair. Tracing the lines of his cheeks to his jaw. He looks like a sleeping prince. You wait until he finally wakes up.

Black eyes meet yours. His smile returns with sinister hint.

He looks up at you with new life burning in his eyes.

“That was amazing,” Michael says as he sits up. He grabs his neck.

“Let’s go eat,” you tell him with a bloody smile.

You help him to his feet.

His hand holds yours as you stroll back to the ton.

Type: One Shot

Genre: smut

Pairing: Jaafar Jackson x Reader

Tags: #Jaafar Jackson, #cheating, #forbidden, #celebrity x reader

Summary: It’s the final wrap party of Michael. You worked hard these past couple of months and excited for the world to see your project. You were always on the outskirts but you contributed like anyone else, you always watched Jaafar from afar but never had an opportunity to speak. One plants itself when you you meet Jaafar on the balcony and hit it off. You take him back to your hotel room only for him to realize you are neighbors and his fiancé is just one wall away.

Your hands land on his shoulders when he pulls you down to his lap. A breath escapes your lips. His name plays on your tongue. Should you stop him ? Or keep going? Your body tells you see what happens. But your mind screams his future wife is on the other side of this wall.

authors note: TW M*ddie mention and cheating.

first jaafar ff kinda nervous 🤭🤭

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You play with your curls one more time before giving up. It will never sit the way you want it to but you figure it’s alright. No one will be looking that hard.

You’re just an assistant of another assistant.

You go unnoticed 90% of the time.

Tonight you decide to step out of your comfort zone and where something a little more flashy.

A Carolina blue silk cocktail dress with a dangerous slit. A low neckline that you pair with a long gold necklace.

You apply your lipstick one more time, smooth your dress, and spray some perfume.

Nerves sit low in your belly but you do your best to ignore them. It’s just a casual event. Just to bring everyone together one last time before production begins editing. The hard parts are over. All that’s left is editing which is way above your pay grade.

You grab your clutch on your way out the door. One of your last perks of being on the team was that your hotel room was paid for.

You take the elevator to the 16th floor where the event is being hosted. It’s 5:45, there’s about 15 minutes before it’s actually started. But again you are not a main star so there’s no need to show up fashionably late.

You sit in the lobby just before the ballroom and fidget with your hair and makeup. You reapply gloss and crimp your curls. You check your makeup but this lighting does not do you any justice.

After while you just scroll on your phone and wait for the doors to open. After about 20 minutes the doors finally open and a man in all black stands in front.

You hear a crowd of people come and duck in between them. Even though you were the first one to arrive, you find it slightly embarrassing to be the actual first one inside the ballroom.

When you get to the door the man asked for your name, you tell him, and he scans the list searching and when he finds it he gives you a nod. For a second you were worried you didn’t make the cut.

The ballroom is littered with circle tables draped in cream silk. Assortments of flowers don every table. Off to the side there is a long table with finger foods. In the corner there’s a dance floor.

The room fills with overlapping chatter. You take a seat in the back where no name cards are present. You assume it’s for the people like you who were invited but not noticed. Either way you are grateful for the opportunity and a reason to dress up on a random Wednesday evening.

After an hour, you feel comfortable enough to get food. Majority of people who matter are here, even the star himself Jaafar Jackson. Your eyes catch on him from across the room, he looks insanely handsome.

He wears a black suit with a diamond broach to bring the look together. It’s simple but yet so elegant on him. Probably costs more than what you were paid.

You note that he also brings his fiancé. This mystery figure you weren’t even so sure existed. But there she was. Taking up space.

You notice that she doesn’t look to happy with her arms folded and borrows drawn tight.

You take note but move on and get a plate. The portions were so small. You’ll never understand why rich people insist of eating portions of a toddler, regardless you make it back to your seat and people watch.

Your eyes find Jaafar subconsciously, his laugh lights up the room. It’s hard to not be drawn to him. You’ve seen him from afar for years. Even now, he’s there and you are sitting in the back of the room.

You could go talk to him, he’s a nice enough guy who would spare you a couple of words. But your butt is glued to the chair. It’s unfortunate because you think you look pretty tonight.

After another hour or so, you excuse yourself and go to the bathroom to freshen up. On your way back to the ballroom you over hear something. It sounds like an argument.

“I told you, I didn’t want to come but you dragged me here anyways!” A women shouts.

“I know and I’m sorry. But you told me to bring you around more often and…” a man’s voice responds. It’s soft, gentle—familiar.

You realize it’s Jaafar and his fiancé. Should you retreat or stay and listen?

“Not like this. There’s no cameras or paparazzi. No important people to capture us together. This is just a dumb party.” She snaps.

Geez, she must be a joy to be around. You think.

“So what do you want to do?” Jaafar says in a tone you never heard before.

“I’m going back to the room. Call me if anything interesting happens.” She storms away before he can respond.

A heavy sigh expels from deep in his chest as if it had been sitting there all day. You wait for him to walk away before you finally peak out from your hiding spot.

You feel air fill your lungs again, you didn’t realize you had been holding your breath. Before going back to the Ballroom you catch the night bleeding into evening. It’s beautiful, you must take a picture.

For the first time in months you can actually see the stars scattered across the sky. You go to the nearest balcony with your camera out. One last momento to remember your time by. You turn to take a selfie with the sky when you catch a figure in the frame.

“Oh! I’m sorry—I didn’t see you there!” You say quickly.

“No you’re all good.” He says.

It’s Jaafar. Looks like he had the same idea as you.

“I can go,” you offer.

“No. It’s okay. Stay.”

“I wasn’t taking a photo of you—the sunset is very beautiful so,” you stumble. You feel your cheeks getting red.

He laughs. It’s soft and barely audible. But it still makes your stomach flip. Even in the evening light he’s still incredibly handsome.

“I know. Just do your thing.”

“Okay,” you say.

But now you feel self conscious. Your smile doesn’t feel genuine and it’s weird posing in front of people.

You give up and sigh.

“Would you like me to take a picture for you?” He asks.

“Oh-uh sure,” you murmur.

He walks closer, each step like a knife to your heart. Your heart pumps so fast you might just faint.

Pull yourself together! It’s just a photo! You tell yourself.

You hand him your phone and your fingers brush past each other in an electric moment.

You try to ignore it to stop your cheeks from reddening.

You lean on the railing with a slight smile, only hoping that you don’t look like a total idiot.

“1..2..3..1..2..3” he says before handing the phone back.

“Thanks.”

You don’t even bother looking at the photos because you feel like they didn’t turn out good. How could it when your mind was going a mile a minute.

“Of course,” he says. After a beat he continues, “are you here for the Michael party?”

“Yeah, you? Wait—I mean—“

He laughs, “yeah me too.”

“I didn’t mean. I already knew that.”

God girl, you are not playing it cool.

You clear your voice, “I’m sure everyone tells you this, but you did phenomenal.”

“Thank you.”

There’s a silence between you and you don’t know if you should break it or just go back to the party. You look out at the sky for any answers but find nothing.

Luckily for you, he does.

“Are you here as crew or a plus one?” He finally says.

“Crew,” you respond.

“Oh really? What’s your job.”

“Officially? I’m just an assistant but in reality I’m whatever they tell me I am that day,” You say truthfully.

“Yep, it’s pretty demanding job,” he agrees.

“Not as demanding as yours, I’m sure.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. I can’t do my job if it wasn’t for you.”

“Thank you…”

“Of course.”

All of the sudden the skill of communicating with others gone down the drain because silence engulfs the two of you once again.

You’re usually not like this, but yet again you don’t usually talk to Jaafar Jackson of all people.

“I like your dress.” He breaks the silence again.

“Really?” You smooth the fabric.

“Yeah. The color is very eye catching. I noticed it in the ballroom.”

“Thank you,” you say not knowing what to do with the knowledge that Jaafar Jackson: one complimented you, and two noticed you before you ever spoke.

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” you return the compliment back. A smile creeps up your lips. You feel your cheeks heat and let the rosiness win. If you blush, so be it. It’s not like you will see him again after this anyways.

“Why thank you,” he says.

This time, when silence falls it’s not awkward or still. It’s electric and exists in a moment where you two lock eyes. It’s charged and uncharted. Your heart beat drowns out the ocean in the distance.

Your eyes trace the lines of his face from his curled hair to his fish like ears. Your throat drys when your eyes meet his lips.

You realize it’s not just you, and you see his eyes drop to where your leg peaks from the slit. He bites his lip before flicking his eyes to meet yours.

“I guess… it’s time to go back. I’m sure everyone is looking for you,” you breathlessly say.

“Or…everyone can assume I left with Maddie. And I follow you to your room so we can..talk more,” he offers.

His words are golden and dripped in sweet honey. You’d be a fool to pass on it.

“Okay,” you agree.

He gestures for you to lead the way. And you do, your mind spinning. Is this actually happening or? What ever this is or what ever is to happen you vow to keep it in the closet.

You call for the elevator, skin buzzing with anticipation. Every step to get to your room felt like an out of body experience, as if you were watching someone else instead of you.

You guide him down the hall.

“This is me,” you tell him.

His face hardens. Your fantasy instantly shatters. Reality must’ve hit him.

“Is..everything alright?” You pry. Your tone light.

“Yeah. Yeah. It’s just, my room,” he lowers his voice, “my room is right there.” He points the one door down.

Your heart drops to your stomach.

“Oh!”

“Just means, we are going to have to be quiet,” he takes your key card and reaches over you to open the door.

He playfully pushes you into your room.

It’s slightly messy. You’d clean it up if you knew you were going to have guest. But like who could’ve guessed he was going to come in your room. Regardless you apologize for the mess anyways.

He tells you it’s fine as he takes off his suit jacket to reveal, an off white button up that strains against hard muscle.

You throat dries but your core not so much.

“Would you like something to drink?” You offer just to fill the silence.

“I’m good. Thank you.” He rejects politely. He takes a seat on one of the chairs by the door.

You just stand by, playing with one of your bangles.

What do you do with a boy in your room?

Well, you can think of many things you want to do but you aren’t too sure that’s what he’s on. Because he is engaged.

Right. He’s engaged.

The horned fog clears from your mind. You remember the argument from earlier and realize maybe he just wants a listening ear.

“I heard a bit of you and your fiancé argument earlier…is everything alright?” You keep your words light and not too pushy.

“You heard that?” He sinks in on yourself.

“Yeah..”

He sighs then rakes his hands down his face.

“Sometimes she’s impossible to please,” he admits. “She’s asking for so much and I can’t do everything she asks.”

“That seems pretty rough but I see you are trying your best,” you offer. It’s the best you can come up, you aren’t really trained in celebrity couple consoling.

“Yeah well my best isn’t enough for her these days.”

You grab his hands in support instinct fully.

“I’m sorry—“

You go to remove your hands but he catches your wrist. It’s small in his hand, and his warmth envelops you. Leaving you still. Electricity shots from where your hands meet.

He pulls you closer, his eyes look up at you and your core flutters. This close you can smell his cologne, and catch how slow his chest rises and falls.

Your hands land on his shoulders when he pulls you down to his lap. A breath escapes your lips. His name plays on your tongue. Should you stop him ? Or keep going? Your body tells you see what happens. But your mind screams his future wife is on the other side of this wall.

Your bed frame probably shares the same wall as hers.

Your faces hover dangerously close, you feel his nose graze yours. You feel this magnetic force between his lips and yours. They beg to connect. He takes a hand to slip one of your fallen curls behind your ear. It’s gentle and so domestic.

Your eyes watch his lips, they are red and look beyond soft. You inch your head closer to his, he smirks before finally pressing his lips to yours. It’s soft and barely anything. His eyes search yours for any hesitation and when he finds none, he comes back a little harder this time.

His lips parts yours in a swift moment. His hands find their way to your neck, and squeeze just enough to feel something. Your hands grab at his collar.

His thumb brushes over your skin, soft and sends tingles throughout your body.

Jaafar gets greedier and takes more from you. Pressing hard, exploring your mouth and body. You moan against his lips as you try to keep up with his pace.

Your chest burns deliciously from the lack of air. You grab his face tighter for support. He shifts you to straddle him in one swift move. It was like you were weightless.

This deepens the kiss. The air fills with the pop of lips and heavy breaths and nasty panting. Your hips begin to roll against his crotch searching for any friction. He grabs your ass in a tight squeeze that elicits a low groan from you.

His huge hands explore your body, touching and grabbing wherever they could. You reciprocate it with your own hands that undo the buttons of his shirt. Which exposes warm tough skin. He looks just like you imagine. Toned and muscular.

He smirks at your reaction to his body before his huge hand grab your face into another intoxicating kiss.

At some point the chair becomes to limiting, and he decides to take the both of you to the bed. He lifts you like you are a paper bag and gently places you on the bed.

You watch as he removes his shirt. You squeeze your legs to ease the building pressure. You need him badly.

He notices your dire situation and joins you on the bed, spreading your legs open. He trails soft kisses up your inner thigh. Each kiss setting small fires, each kiss settling on sensitive skin. Your toes curls the closer he gets to your needing core.

“Is this okay?” He asks through batted lashes.

He’s between your legs, on the teeter of your unraveling. Yes it beyond okay!

“Mhm,” you murmur.

“I need a yes or no,” he pushes, his voice gentle yet firm.

“Yes,” you breathe. Anything to make him touch you again.

“Good girl,” he says and it floods your basement.

Jaafar spreads your legs even wider, leaving you exposed and vulnerable. He pulls your panties to the side to expose your pulsing and swollen clit. The slight brush of his knuckles almost sends you over the end.

You are so sensitive and aching a simple breeze might just make you climax.

Your breathing is uneven as you watch him tease you.

He places the softest kisses around your clit, soft licks here and there. It take all your control to not grab him by the head and shove your pussy in his mouth.

“Jaafar…” you whine.

Your hips rock against his face. He finally stops teasing and tastes you fully. His warm and wet tongue swipes against your clit. Each swipe sets your neurons on fire. At first it’s slow but as your moans increase so does his tempo. He licks and sucks like a starved man.

“Jaafar!” You moan.

“Shh! Remember who’s next door,” he teases. “You don’t want us to get caught, do you?”

“N-no,” you reply, though you are not sure if it was in your head or out loud.

You can help anymore and you begin riding his face. His groans and moans vibrate in your core sensing waves of sensation. Making you arch your back.

Your hips begin to buckle in the telltale sign of an approaching orgasm. His grip on your hips becomes piercing as he holds you still, your struggles feeble. A nasty orgasm through you in repeating waves. Your arousal squirts across his face. And a guttural moan escaped your throat despite trying to contain it. It’s loud and long.

Your body vibrates and shakes as the after effects flow through you. Your clit still pulsing and sensitive.

Jaafar lips drag up your stomach to your neck, biting, sucking then leaving butterfly kisses to soothe. He attacks the most sensitive part of your neck. How he knows your body so well is beyond you but all you do know is that you don’t want it to stop.

His other hand slips between your legs, soothing your swollen clit, making you twitch each time his fingers come into connect with it. He then slips two fingers at the entrance and presses gently. You do your best to relax and make way for him. Two long thick fingers slide against your walls.

Jaafar attacks you from all over. His lips on your neck and breasts, and his hands inside your body slowly massaging your g-spot.

Your moans increase each time he hits that spot.

“Shh,” he reminds you again.

But you take it as a suggestion rather than an order.

“Be quiet,” he warns. Menace drips into his words.

But how can he ask you to be quiet while he finger fucks you into oblivion.

“I—“ you breathe, “I can’t.”

“Try harder,” he bites hard on your neck.

You moan louder as another orgasm hits you.

“This won’t do.” He says after removing his fingers from inside of you. He walks over to his discarded clump of clothes.

He picks up his tie, sits on the edge of the bed then lifts your head up. He wraps the tie around your mouth.

“Maybe this will help,” he says then kisses where your lips would be.

He strips completely nude. Your eyes catch on his long, thick, and pulsing cock. Suddenly glad for the gag over your mouth.

He aligns himself with you.

“I’ll be gentle I promise,” he kisses your cheek.

He grabs on thigh as leverage and presses slowly into you. You clutch around him on instinct which elicits a hiss from him. Do your best to welcome him in but the pressure is intense.

His hips rock slowly back and forth, slowly loosing you up for more.

“You’re doing so well,” he tells you through gritted teeth.

You moan against the restraints.

After a while, he can finally pick up the pace. The rhythm he settles for his smooth and sensual. The tip of his cock grazes your g-spot with each slow withdrawal and reentrance. You hips match his, as you ride the pleasure.

Each thrust loosens the tie around your mouth and your moans escape into the air.

“We can’t have that,” he spots. Flips you on your stomach and ties it even tighter this time.

Now he drives into you from the back, the head board bangs against the wall. He throws a pillow in the space to drown it out.

You burry your face in a pillow to drown out your own screams. The tie is not enough. How could it be when he’s drilling into with the force of a tidal wave.

Even if your moans are muffled, the sound of skin smacking and rhythmic bed squeaks fill the room. If she doesn’t comprehend what’s going on she’s a fool.

It’s so fucked up in a way that turns you on even more. You take pride in knowing that she must have an idea of what’s going on over here, just not of who.

When you lift your head, the tie slips again but you bite down on your lips to keep quiet.

He flips you around again to lock lips. Your fingers tangle as his hips rock into you. He kisses you with the passion of lovers on their honeymoon.

Your tongues lock and swirl. Your teeth clash, and your lips mush together in a sloppy mess. It’s unclear where you start and he begins.

Apart of you wonders if he’s this friendly with every girl he meets on a balcony.

But who cares? He’s in your guts right now. When he could be in hers. But instead she’s on the other side of the wall, possibly hearing this sinful symphony.

It feels like hours or maybe days but the two of you just can’t get enough of each other. It’s like you were made for one another.

You get on top and finally ride you both into your bone crushing orgasm. Your vision goes electric white and thick hot ropes paint your insides. You feel your arousal dripping between your bodies. You both release moans fill the space where the aggressive pounding held.

Your final orgasm is more satisfying than the others. It’s all consuming and brutal. You don’t know who you are anymore.

You slump on top of Jaafar who cuddles you close. You breathe in his natural smell and it grounds you. You slowly come back to earth. Your breaths catches up with your heart.

Most of all the reality of your situation hits you. You on top of Jaafar Jackson. His clothes mixed with yours scattered on the floor. Again, you on top of Jaafar Jackson, who is engaged but also your coworker!

“I…” you try to say. You want to say something but there are no words that can capture what you’re feeling.

“Yeah,” he mirrors.

You two lay in each other for another 30 minutes before he peals himself from you. He collects his clothes and heads to use your bathroom.

After another 30 minutes, he comes back, looking way more presentable than he had half an hour before. But you can still see the reminisce of you all over him. In the slight red marks on his neck, or how wrinkly his shirt is and in his swollen lips.

“I would love to see you again,” he starts, “but—“

“But this was a one time thing,” you finish for him.

“It’s just with the circumstances…You know I’m—“ He scratches his head.

“Engaged,” you finish again.

“Yeah…”

You both look at each other because that’s all you can do. One night isn’t going to convince him to leave his fiancé and one night isn’t enough for you to considering going through that drama too.

Although it was one beautiful, wonderful, incredible night.

It seems he agrees and leaves you with one more long kiss that screams goodbye.

Maybe you’ll see him again. Maybe you won’t. Either way he leaves with a soft click, as if he was never here at all.

Type: One Shot

Genre: smut

Pairing: Jafaar Jackson x Reader

Tags: #met!jaafar, #met gala , #tension, #anger, #celebrity x reader, #famous!reader

Summary: You’ve been invited to The Met Gala, but you’ve been accompanied by Jafaar Jackson. Everyone loves you two together but no one knows you cannot stand him—other than your team who speaks to his because you can’t spare him any words. You spend the car ride to the Met with him and you finally lash out your frustrations.

You can see his control growing precarious as the moment stretches. He pours himself another drink and whispers something to the driver.

The partition you completely forgot about rolls up.

Authors note: you know who you are, and your welcome 😛😛

also title is in reference to Partition by Beyonce

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He’s such a cutie!

The people’s prince

He’s so fine!

An aggressive groan rips through your throat. You were reading the comments on your latest shoot with Jafaar. He’s anything but prince to you.

The people’s asshole more like it.

Tonight was the night of the fashion industry: The Met Gala.

It’s your first one.

You are riding the high of being in one of the best selling movies of this year. If it wasn’t for Michael, you’d be number one.

And the only reason you were in an editorial with Jafaar was because you two are the newest faces of Hollywood, and your on-screen chemistry was undeniably strong.

Once it was released, it went viral on everywhere, every social media, blogs, physical media, you name it.

Begrudgingly to you that means you two will be pushed together more often. Like tonight. More photos from the campaign will be released, and by Wednesday you are shooting an ad together.

The money’s good so that’s the only perk but you draw the line at the dating rumors  or fake dating. Absolutely not. You can barely stand to stand next to him.

You don’t even directly communicate with him.

“Is he going?” You ask your manager.

“He didn’t tell you?” She responds.

“You know—“

“Right. Yes, he is going,” she confirms.

You roll your eyes, and hope your outfits completely clash.

Especially since your look is unique.

A long black dress and in the right light it shimmered a deep midnight blue. Gold stars trailed up in delicate swirls toward the bodice, like fragments of constellations. It was almost like a quiet homage to starry night stitched in silk.

You fell in love with the moment you first tried it on.

Your makeup artist just finished the final details. Midnight eyes with gold highlights.

Next you slip into the beautiful but weighted dress. There is one thing no one told you about these events and it was heavy the garments truly are. It added at least 15 pounds. You have no idea how all the celebrities moved around so effortlessly. You only hoped to carry that same grace.

Your hands swipe gently at the dress, as you look in the mirror taking in yourself for the first time. Air escapes your lungs, like a father on his daughter’s wedding day.

The theme is ‘Fashion is Art’ and you took that to another level. Every part of you is magnificent, from the hair, to the gold highlight on your collar bone, down to the last beaded detail of your dress.

You felt like art. You are the art.

“Jafaar is on the way,” Your manager tells you.

Your high immediately plummets off a 60 foot cliff  at the mention of his name.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she says.

No one seems to understand why you don’t like him. Everyone likes him but you. And it’s not for no reason.

The reason may be a bit juvenile but you internalized it ever since the day it happened.

It was before the proper editorial, just a quick chemistry test. Jafaar seemed to be in a mood or something. You tried to make small talk since you know—you’ll be in each others faces for an entire day.

But he wasn’t having it. It was like he didn’t see you as a person but as something he simply has to interact with because everyone told him so. You don’t know what you were expecting, maybe a smile or…warmth? He was cold and clinical. He did his job then left.

Stress causes strange reactions depending on the person but this was a work environment. Leave your issues at home and do your best to be cordial.

What screamed effortless chemistry to the world, yelled phony and fake back at you.

“Why would he be on his way anyway?” You ask, lacing pure hatred into each syllable.

“Did I not tell you? You two will show up together,” she says, each word getting smaller and smaller as if preparing for the storm that followed.

“No you did not tell me that! Why do we need to show up together?!” You fumed.

“It’s good…press?”

“Absolutely not. I will not be forced to spend anymore time with him than I already have too.” You declared.

“Please? He’s actually already here…”

“Are you serious,“ you poke your head out from where you got ready, there he was. Talking to one his staff members as they played with his bow tie.

The gold trim catches your eyes immediately. It’s beautifully simple. It also pairs well with your planned dress.

“Please don’t be mad. You look great.”

“You are getting three photos out of me.” You swore before picking up your dress and exiting the room.

“Let’s go,” you demand, opening the door not caring if it slammed in his face or if he even heard you.

You press the elevator buttons and wait impatiently.

“Geez, hello to you to,” you hear his voice come from behind you.

You swing your head toward him.

“Hi Jafaar,” you say—your tone dripping with fake sweetness.

“Always a joy to be around,” he quips under his breath.

You don’t dignify him with a response. This was your first Met Gala. After you take these stupid duo photos, you swore to yourself that you will enjoy yourself.

I mean all the stars you grew up watching will be in attendance. Beyoncé is hosting for crying out loud!

The finally elevator dings, you and Jafaar both walk in at the same time, shoulders bumping into each other. It hasn’t been five minutes of him in your presence and he already pissed you off.

“Ladies first,” you snarl.

Your staff run in after you. The ride down to the garage is painfully silent and the air unbreathable.

A hummer limousine waits for you in the garage. It’s slick and black. A sexy ride for the sexiest new people in Hollywood.

You slide in first followed by Jafaar. You wait for your favorite manager, Stacy, to join you but she shuts the door. Leaving only you and him.

“Hey! Stacy!?” You yell through the window.

“Sorry! I’ll meet you there! Work out your differences!” She says as the car pulls off.

You sit back down with a huff and crossed arms.

“You look like a toddler in time out,” he chuckles.

“Shut up,” you quip back.

Jafaar shrugs his shoulders. He reaches in front of him for a sleek white glass and pours himself a drink. It’s about an hour and a half drive.

“Let me know if you need anything,” the driver says through the partition that separates him from you two.

“Will do, thank you sir,” Jafaar says with a Kirt nod and a fruitful smile.

You roll your eyes. Seeing it a phony rather than adorable. Irritating really, he’s capable of being nice to everyone but you it seems.

Silence stretches between the two of you the next ten minutes. His eyes trail the lies of your dress and body, you seem him soak in your beauty. You do the same.

He looks sharp, clean, and…well handsome. Though you would never admit that to him.

You wouldn’t need to because it’s definitely written all over your face and the same goes for him.

It fuels you with power knowing he at least finds you attractive. But who wouldn’t? You are the it girl of this year. You are young, ambitious, and insanely gorgeous.

All this staring makes dries your throat so you pour your self a glass as well.

The wine is bitter and definitely meant for old rich men. But you sip on it anyways becuase it gives you something to do.

You curse your manager for the lack of phone since she has your phone and purse. She was going to hear more than just an earful from you.

“Can I ask you something?” Jafaar finally breaks the silence.

“I have a feeling that if I said no, you’d still ask anyways,” you say before sipping your vinegary wine.

“Why do you hate me?”

You laugh.

“The same reason you hate me,”’ you respond.

“I don’t hate you, though.”

“Fooled me.”

“I only reciprocated your energy back.”

“And so did I.”

It was so easy to fall into bicker battles with him. He makes it so easy to just want to combat everything he says.

“You’re saying I started it?” He says incredulously.

As if he’s some angel that could do no wrong.

“Do you really not remember?” You scoff.

“Remember what?”

“The first day we met. You literally acted like I didn’t exist.”

“I was nervous,” he admits.

“So was I? Didn’t give the right to be an asshole.”

Silence covers the car once again. Your past hatred bubbles in your stomach.

“You’re right,” he says, “I’m sorry. I was just so nervous because your really beautiful and I was scared if I spoke to you, I’d—I don’t know. Mess up? It was just easier to keep you at a distance…”

Shocked at his honesty, your usual quick whip and retort is clogged in your throat.

“Really?” Is all you can muster.

“Stupid I know. I apologize.” He swipes his hand across his face and rubs at his chin. His eyes don’t dare to meet yours.

You find his explanation sort of…cute. Like as if you were in elementary school. You knew you were that girl but he’s Jafaar Jackson. He also has pull and comes from one the most influential families in Hollywood. The fact you had a Jackson that nervous does something to you.

It hits you deep somewhere you thought it never would.

“I accept your apology,” you say, tone light and airy.

“Start over?”

“Mhm,” you hum in agreement.

This time the silence that falls over is awkward instead of charged. You spent weeks at odds so how do you become friends with him?

Your cheeks and skin are hot now from the wine. The wine must’ve been aged well because you look at him not as a friend, but as a snack.

You realize things about him you never picked up on before. Such as his hands, and the veins that snake up them. The size of his fingers. You squeeze your knees together.

Or the way he’s sitting with his legs ajar. Or how gentle his eyes actually are. Now that his front of hatred has fallen. You see the chocolate brown flecks that wouldn’t hurt a single fly.

The air goes still with your perusal. You see him shift in his seat, probably feeling your eyes analyzing the curve of his fingers.

But he’s not so innocent either. His eyes drift to where the fabric separates between your breast, many times.

The tension so potent you could taste in on your tongue, or was that the wine? Either way there was a magnetic force that was making you want to get closer to him.

To do what though? What can you do? In this limousine, in this dress, in your makeup? The risk was way too high but somehow you don’t seem to care.

Was this the chemistry everyone were seeing but you? Were they right?

There was only one way to figure that out.

As if Jafaar was thinking the same thing, you both lean over, his muscular hands grip at your throat and yours at his face.

You pull each other close, your lips forcefully connect, pressing so hard that there was no space for air to flow in.

Your mouths fight for dominance as you unleash all the unspoken frustrations riddled deeply in your bones from the past weeks. All the back and forths poured into one sloppy kiss.

His fingers squeeze at your throat, making stars dance in your eyes. His lips are so soft but firm. Everything you never wanted to confirm.

His lips savagely rips apart yours, forcing you to comply with him. Finally getting you to behave. To cooperate. But there’s only so much force you take from him before you fight back.

You bite his lower lip and push him down. Somehow you manage to straddle your self onto him. Kissing him as rough as you can. Pouring very once of hate you can.

They say keep your friends safe and your enemies closer but was this what they meant?

Your hands grab at dark chocolate curls to mess them up. Everything about Jafaar Jackson is so perfect and all you want to do is roughen him up a bit.

The kiss is so deep and hard that you feel it engorged in your soul and core. Your stomach is white hot with kindling. You yearn for friction.

Your fingers grab at buttons, but he stops you.

“We can’t,” he says, but his eyes tell you another story.

Your breathes slow down and you realize where you are and who you are.

You cannot show up at the Met Gala looking freshly fucked, although that would add to the art no?

You peal yourself off of him and sit across from him. Suddenly self conscious. You know your lip combo is gone, it’s all over his face. Hopefully your eye makeup and body makeup are somewhat in tack. But the way his hands caressed your body…

Just the quick memory sent chills straight down to your core. The more you look at him, the more passion pools. You want him, even more now with the added barrier.

The look in his eyes is torturous and starved. His bites his lips in attempt to control the passion burning deep inside of him. His leg bobbles aggressively.

Your body feels cold when not against his. You miss his touch and his lips.

You open your mouth to say anything.

“Don’t,” he warns.

You can see his control growing precarious as the moment stretches. He pours himself another drink and whispers something to the driver.

The partition you completely forgot about  rolls up.

He takes a full swing up his glass before his lips are on yours once again, harder this time. Something you thought was not possible but tonight was full of surprises. His tongue licks down your throat and to your cleavage. His teeth nibble at available skin.

His warm hand snakes underneath your dress, and is pleased to know that you aren’t wearing any underwear. For looks like these, it’s better that way.

He has full access to the dripping and aching sex between your legs. His fingers find your clit easily and the pressure is delicious.

You both know time is not on your side and it’s only an amount of time before this beautiful moment is shattered.

Your lips mesh in sensual unison. You moan against his lips as he fingers you in precise motions.

He breaks apart from you to suckle your breast in his mouth. His teeth graze your nipple, making them harden to pebbles. His tongue swirls and licks as his fingers drive deeper inside you.

Even with the partition, the driver knows exactly what’s going on in his backseat. The mix of wet gushing noises and your cries of pleasure are so loud he has no choice.

But you don’t care if he can hear. This—Jafaar’s skillful attack on your body is all you can think of.

Jafaar’s cannot control his insatiability  that he slides between your legs, to connect his tongue with your clit. It’s warm and fat and feels good enough to push you to climax. His tongue and fingers both attack your pussy.

You do your best to contain your pleasure. There’s a small spot in the back of your mind reminding you that: it is the Met Gala, do not make a fool of yourself!

But Jafaar is making that extremely impossible.

“Wait—“ you feel your hips start to buckle with an uncoming orgasm.

You try to pull yourself away from him but his grip on your hips is bruising. He sucks your clit harder as his tongue flicks up and down maliciously.

You feel your orgasm ripping through you like a flimsy dam made up of drift wood. Like you never had a chance. It’s hard and fast.  All you can do is shake and cry from the force.

Even still, his grip never loosens, he swallows your arousal like he just ran a marathon. He places soft kisses among your overly sensitive and swollen clit.

He removes himself from under your dress. Eyes glazes and happy as if he had just eaten Thanksgiving dinner. He even licks his fingers while keeping eye contact. It makes your pussy pulse for more but you know this where the line must be drawn.

Never did you think you could even stand to be next Jafaar Jackson—let alone let him eat you out. But he didn’t just eat you out, he devoured your soul. Leaving you wanting more. If this is just one part of his arsenal…what is actually having him like?

Full range. You and him? You orgasm at just the thought of him touching you with no restriction. Despite it not looking like it, you could tell he held back.

The partition lowers.

“We are here,” the driver says.

Hot embarrassment coats your cheeks.

Jafaar helps you fix your dress. And you wipe your lipstick off his face.

He looks great, say for the lipstick and the roughen hair. Nothing a quick touch up can’t fix.

You on the other hand…let’s just say you hope that your stylist leans into the imperfections.

Jafaar is the first to leave the car. You are not at the Met officially. There a back entrance where you meet with staff for final inspections and fixes.

After 3 minutes you follow after him, doing your best poker face.

“What happened?” Stayc aggressively whispers in your ears.

Your eyes barely meet hers, but it’s all over your face…and body.

“What happened?” She repeated again,as she rushed you inside toward the makeup chair.