Just an introverted young woman who loves to read and write novels, and MJ fanfics to get away from this exhausting world. Requests are open until 8/28!!
A romantic, passionate honeymoon with Michael Jackson
Summary: It was your and Michael's honeymoon on Catalina Island in May 2026. You were both excited to spend an entire week together as newlyweds, though neither of you expected rain to be in the forecast for the whole trip.
After arriving at a cozy beach house tucked away among the trees, far from the crowds, you found yourselves spending the first few days indoors. The constant rainfall turned your honeymoon into a peaceful retreat filled with conversation, laughter, board games, old movies, massages, delicious cooked meals, and peaceful evenings by the fireplace. Yet beneath the comfort was a shared nervousness. Both of you were painfully shy, dancing around the unspoken anticipation that came with being newly married, each waiting for the other to make the first move. Eventually, Michael decided to take the initiative, closing the distance between you.
Word count: Approx: 2,304 words. 12935 characters
Paring and author’s notes: This is a Michael Jackson/black fem-reader. I used some of the lyrics in this fanfic. This is Michael Jackson’s Thriller era look if he had kept his original nose. I’ve always loved his original nose! This is my first-ever smut on this platform, and honestly, I always have a hard time writing smut in general. I normally write on Wattpad, so we'll see how this goes! Enjoy! :D
Warning: *18+*, Smut, consent, teasing, some strong language and explicit content, both are virgins, honeymoon, slow dancing, affirmations, slow burn, sweet talking, oral, orgasm, whimpering, begging, yearning, love making, singing you through it, serenading.
"We've made it, my love," Michael sang softly as the rental car came to a stop.
He hurried around to my side and opened the door before offering me his hand. After helping me out, he lifted my hand to his lips and smiled.
"Doesn't it look wonderful, Y/N?"
I looked up at the charming beach house tucked away among towering palm trees and thick green shrubs that shielded it from neighboring homes. The sun hovered low over the horizon, painting the sky with streaks of orange and pink, though heavy gray clouds rolled overhead. Rain had already begun to fall, casting a bluish haze over the island while the fading sunlight still glowed through it.
"Only my beautiful wife deserves the finest." He slipped the house key into my hand. "You go inside while I unload the luggage. Hurry before you get soaked."
He kissed my hand once more before making his way to the trunk.
I smiled to myself as I walked toward the house, my long orange summer dress swaying with each step in the warm spring breeze. A colorful cobblestone path led to the front door. Unlocking it, I stepped inside and immediately stopped to admire the view.
The open-concept kitchen and living room overlooked the beach through enormous glass windows that stretched nearly from floor to ceiling. Beyond them, the ocean faded into the misty horizon. Fresh fruit, complimentary snacks, and a selection of wine rested neatly on the kitchen island. The refrigerator was empty, but Michael had already stocked up on groceries before the trip.
He had insisted on cooking every meal himself, claiming his home cooking was better than any five-star restaurant.
Honestly, I believed him. He was very good at making soul food. His favorite things to make were mac and cheese, yams, and oven-roasted yams with lemon butter. He was amazing at making red velvet cake.
Curious, I wandered farther into the house. The bedroom was even larger than the photos online had shown, complete with a king-sized bed, a sofa, a flat-screen television, and elegant furnishings that made the room feel warm and inviting. The bathroom was just as impressive, featuring a spacious walk-in shower and a large soaking tub positioned beside wide windows overlooking another side of the beach.
The entire house carried the fresh scent of citrus and rain drifting in from outside.
I returned to the living room and stood before the windows, watching the waves roll onto the shore.
"Enjoying the view, I see."
I turned to find Michael standing in the doorway with our luggage. His curls were damp, and droplets of rain clung to his jacket.
"Michael!" I hurried over and kissed his cheek. "You're all wet."
He laughed softly. "I'll survive."
Setting the luggage down, he looked around the house with wide-eyed wonder.
"It's even prettier than the pictures. I'm glad we reserved it before someone else did."
I chuckled.
"Please put the luggage away and change before you catch a cold."
"All right, all right." He grinned. "I'll be right back."
A few minutes later, he returned wearing dry clothes, his curls still slightly damp around his forehead.
Without saying a word, he slipped his arms around my waist and rested his chin on my shoulder.
"It's a shame it's raining."
"It is." I leaned back against him. "My weather app says it's supposed to rain all week."
He let out an exaggerated sigh. "Then we'll make the best of it. Just you and me…homemade meals prepared by yours truly, our favorite playlists, plenty of movies, and our phones on Do Not Disturb."
I laughed. "You actually did that?"
"I even blocked my brothers."
I turned to look at him, trying not to laugh. "Michael, they're going to be upset when you unblock them."
He lowered his voice in playful annoyance. "Those dimwits will survive."
I smiled. For someone as gentle and soft-spoken as Michael, his brothers had a remarkable talent for testing his patience. Beneath the sarcasm, though, he adored every one of them.
He pressed another kiss to my neck. "Now go freshen up and put on something comfortable while I make us dinner, my love."
"As you wish, Chef Jackson."
The rain continued to pour without letting up the past few days. Any plans of strolling along the beach or swimming in the ocean would have to wait. I knew Michael had imagined us spending our days in the sunshine and the water, so the weather had clearly disappointed him. We spent our days playing board games, watching classic black-and-white movies, enjoying delicious home-cooked meals, sharing jokes that left us in stitches, and taking turns giving each other relaxing massages.
As I looked around the cozy beach house and then back at my husband, I couldn't help but think that maybe being stuck indoors because of the rain wasn't such a terrible way to spend our honeymoon after all.
Yet there was an unspoken tension between us that neither of us seemed ready to acknowledge. Every lingering glance, every accidental brush of our hands, every moment we found ourselves standing just a little too close made us both shy. We were newlyweds, yet we still blushed like teenagers whenever our eyes met. We hadn't even seen each other undressed, each of us too nervous to cross that invisible line.
By the fourth evening, the rain still hadn't let up.
After taking a warm shower, I slipped into a comfortable, flowy nightgown with sheer sleeves and made my way into the kitchen. Michael stood at the island, pouring wine into two glasses. The lights had been dimmed, casting a soft golden glow throughout the room that made the beach house feel even more intimate.
He looked up, and his eyes immediately widened.
"Y/N…" A bashful smile spread across his face. "You look beautiful, my love."
I felt warmth rise to my cheeks. "Thank you, Michael." I walked over to him and glanced toward the windows, where raindrops continued to race down the glass. "Another rainy day."
He handed me a glass before lifting his own. "But it's also another day with my beautiful wife."
I smiled and took a sip. "Mmm…I like this one."
"So do I." He tasted his wine before grinning shyly. "It's sweet and fruity." He looked at me for a moment before adding with a shy smile, "Kind of like you."
I laughed, gently nudging his arm. "Oh, stop. You're so cute when you flirt."
"And it works every time."
A small blush colored his cheeks as he set his wineglass on the counter and reached for my hand.
"Come on," he said softly. "Dance with me."
He picked up his phone, scrolled through one of our playlists, and selected a mellow jazz song. As the music filled the room, he guided me into the living room.
One hand rested gently at my waist while the other held mine. We swayed slowly across the hardwood floor, smiling at one another as the rain tapped softly against the windows. The scent of wine lingered on his breath as he softly hummed along with the music, his movements graceful and effortless. Every slow turn and gentle smile made the rest of the world disappear until it felt like there was no one else on the island but us.
"This is nice," I said. My fingers moved through his hair. The smell of him was close and comforting. I kept my breathing even, my voice level. The gown was thin enough that I was grateful for the dark.
“I love you, Y/N,” he whispered softly into my ear.
“I love you too, my wonderful husband.” I rested my head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “You’re an amazing man…I’m so lucky to have you in my life.”
“I’m glad I married you, Y/N. I’m glad I chose you. I’m glad I fell in love with you.” He gently lifted my chin so I could meet his gaze. His warm brown eyes held mine with a tenderness I had come to cherish. “You mean the world to me…you’ll always be the lady in my life.”
As he said it, the music shifted. The song faded into a soft instrumental of The Lady in My Life, as if the moment itself had quietly transformed to match it.
It almost felt like magic, like he had a way of making everything around us fall into place without trying.
He didn't say anything. He just stayed quiet for a while. Then he exhaled softly, his forehead resting briefly against mine. “My love…” he murmured. “I want you. In every way. I want you in a way that…it burns.” He whimpered like it hurt. His eyes told the same story. "Do you want me?"
My breath caught. “I want you too,” I whispered back, my voice barely steady. “Why do you think I’m wearing this gown?”
A shy warmth rushed to my face as I hid my gaze for a moment, overwhelmed by how close we suddenly felt.
His lips found mine before I could think. He tasted like the wine we’d left on the kitchen island. His hands found my hips and drew me in, and the sounds we made were soft, almost involuntary. Every place he touched left heat behind. He wanted more. We broke apart, breathless, and he held my gaze as he began to sing along to the song, just for me, and lifted me up and carried me to the bedroom.
He set me down on the bed and stood at the edge of it, looking at me. “Do you want this, y/n?”
“I do, Michael. Do you?”
“Of course I do, my love. This is your night. You’re so beautiful, baby. I promise I’ll be gentle.” He kept singing as we undressed. He was beautiful in every way. That cocoa brown skin of his; it was like looking at a beautifully crafted melted chocolate. I wanted to eat him up.
He parted my legs slowly, his eyes dark. “Lay back on my tenderness,” he sang, his hands moving along my legs, his mouth following. “Let’s make this a night we won’t forget.” My back lifted off the bed. He was everywhere at once.
His tongue traced slow, deliberate circles where I was most sensitive, my eyelids fluttering shut as I lost myself in the heat of it. His fingers pressed into my thighs, anchoring me as his rhythm grew faster, his breath warm against me. A low moan escaped him. “Mmm, Michael—” I gasped.
His mouth lifted instantly. “Too much?”
“No,” I breathed. “Don’t stop. It’s just…so good.” He lowered his head again, tongue returning with renewed focus, and I twisted the sheets in my fists.
Then his fingers brushed lightly across me before slipping inside, and I arched off the bed with a sharp cry. “Oh—Michael!”
“Stay with me,” he sang, voice rough. “I want you to stay here with me.” It wasn’t just a request; it was his way of saying he loved the sounds I made, that he wanted more, even if my body was trembling on the edge.
“That’s it,” he coaxed. “Let me hear you.” My hips jerked upward, unsteady, and he pinned my legs open with both hands. “You’re not going anywhere,” he growled, his words thick with want, his lips slick with me. “Don’t you go anywhere. Mmm, you taste so good, my love. Sweet just for me.”
My body tensed, fingers tangling in his hair as the pressure built. “Michael— I—I’m—” The words dissolved into a gasp.
“Let go, baby,” he murmured against me. “Come for me, sweetheart.” The release crashed over me, my back arching as his mouth stayed pressed there, slow and deliberate, like he was savoring something too good to rush. When he finally pulled away, his lips glistened, his gaze heavy with want.
“Perfect,” he breathed. “So sweet.” My pulse still raced, but the sight of him, hard, straining, sent another wave of heat through me.
He settled between my thighs, his weight warm against mine. “Ready for me?” His voice was rough.
I nodded, breathless. “God, yes. Please.” The first push was slow, a sharp sting that made me flinch. He paused, kissing my neck, my collarbone, anywhere to soften the burn.
“Breathe,” he whispered. I did, and then he was fully inside me, filling me in a way that made us both groan. “Fuck,” he rasped. “You’re so tight.” His hips rolled in shallow thrusts, each one sending sparks through my nerves. My nails dug into his shoulders, searching for an anchor in the overwhelming sensation. Then he started singing, soft, off-key, the lyrics melting into nonsense as his pace quickened.
“Don’t stop,” I begged. He groaned, picking up speed, his rhythm faltering as he neared his own edge.
“I love you,” he panted. “Fill you with the sweetest love. I'm gonna fill you up!” The sound of his voice, raw and unguarded, sent me over the edge again.
"Michael! Yes, Michael!"
We came together, our cries tangled in the humid air between us.
“That was…amazing, Michael. Thank you. I love you.”
“I love you more. y/n” He turned over and held me in a tight embrace. “You were amazing. Thank you for being my wife. The lady in my life.”
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Hello, my beautiful people!🩷 I’m amazed that I’ve been receiving many requests and love since I joined the Tumblr community a month ago. It's still a slow start but I'm growing little by little. Also, sorry it takes me a while to write and post your requests!😅 It's a lot of work writing and navigating this app.
Quick announcement! I will be accepting requests until 8/28. I will be starting classes this Fall semester and will be busy. It's only temporary and I will most likely post my own stories every two weeks, if I have the time.
I appreciate all of you and I’m more determined to keep writing some amazing fanfics.🩷
♯ Jermajesty Jackson x OFmodelgf!reader series m.list
“Mmhmm,” you push at his head. “Maj.” you whine, brows furrowed as you pout.
He hums against your clit, eyes low and full of lust as he looks up at you. “Yeah mama?” He mumbles as he runs his hands over your thighs, giving you a soft and reassuring squeeze.
You moan, letting out a weak cry as your eyes roll back, his tongue steady abusing your slit. “You eat me so good..” you whimper, eyes watering from just how good you felt.
He grins against your pussy, giving it a few kisses before he’s looking at you again. “Yeah baby?” The tone is his voice teasing and low.
You nod, completely dazed. “Yeah..”
He just shakes his head with a smile before diving back in, eating you out like never before.
“Oh m’god,” you mewl, whining loudly as you try to turn your body away from the overwhelming sensation. Your thighs fight to close, legs shaking as Jermajesty holds them down.
“M’so close pa,” you moan, nails running over his head as you bite your lip. He groans against your clit, tongue fucking you even slower. “Gimme that shit bae.”
“Hnnh. .should eat me like this for a video—“
Jermajesty smacks his lips, your little comment instantly throwing him off causing him to shoot up. “Man watch out.” he mutters as he walks around the bed, shaking his head.
You gasp at the lost feeling glaring up at him as he licks his lips and wipes his mouth. “Whattt!” You whine.
“Just threw me all the way off talking about a fucking video. Better play with your pussy or sum.”
“You really gon stop cause I said that?!” You question as you sit up. But you notice him ignoring you. “Bae!” You shout and throw your hands up.
“Yep.” He answers simply, sliding your leg over as he sits in the bed next to you, turning the tv back on.
You frown, looking over at him. “You really hate the idea of filming with me that bad!? Okay I won’t say nothing, just come back.” You whine, pulling at his arm.
“Mm-nn,” he shakes his head and grabs his snacks off the nightstand before beginning to eat them.
You whine, honestly only mad because he stopped munching on you.
“Okay I won’t mention it again, can you just—“ he covers your mouth with a hand, shushing you as you lean back against the pillows, pouting.
He brings a chip to your mouth and you eat it, nearly biting his fingers off as you glare at him.
“You such a buzzkill,” you mutter, crossing your arms over your chest and forcing yourself to watch the movie as he places a kiss to your cheek.
kissmyglxck — don’t copy my work, ask to translate, & if you recreate anything pls tag me <3
Can you do one where plus size reader and Michael lose each other's virginitys to each other during off the wall and later on during wembley concert after human nature Michael wants to get rid of his adrenaline so he take it out on reader and she ends up nonstop squirting until almost the next day cause she couldn't sleep due to her body shaking and squirting each time she moves and Michael just smiles and tells her now I have breakfast and he goes between her legs and makes it worse for her and she finally stops midday and michael does after care for her.
Whew! I'm exhausted, and I need a nap and a cold glass of iced peach tea. I hope you enjoy this one.
His Geyser Queen💦🔞
Warnings/Tags: 18+, MDNI, Smut, explicit sexual content and language, Michael x plus-sized f!reader, LOTS of squirting, fingering, oral, multiple orgasms, both lose their virginity at the concert, Michael being obsessed, desperate, and possessed, I don't know what else to put because a lot goes on!
"Michael, babe?" A crimson blush spread across your cheeks as you stepped behind the stage curtains, finding him taping his fingers in front of a mirror. His shoulder-length curly hair was damp, framing his face, and his off-white jacket hung loosely on his shoulders, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of his chest. His leather pants hugged his legs, and his bambi eyes sparkled with curiosity as he turned to face you.
"Yes, hon?" he asked, a small smile playing on his lips.
You took a deep breath, your voice barely audible. "I…I think I'm ready, Michael. For us to…to take the next step." You shifted uncomfortably, your legs rubbing together as you spoke. You were wearing your favorite pink and white plaid dress, the hem riding dangerously high, your thick legs clad in lacy black stockings. Your thick curly hair was parted to one side, cascading down your back.
Michael watched you for a moment, his expression soft but curious. “No. Tell me.” His voice was gentle. “It must be important.”
“No, it’s n-nothing. I’ll, um…tell you some other time.”
Michael sighed, a small smile forming on his lips. “Babe, please turn around,” he said with a light chuckle. “You’re already here, and I don’t have to go back on stage for another ten minutes. Tell me.”
You slowly turned around, your legs rubbing together nervously as you faced him. “Michael, we’ve… b-been together for a year now, and—”
“Babe, come over here.” Michael held out his arms, motioning for you to come closer.
You walked toward him, nervously rubbing your arms and biting your lower lip. Once you were within reach, he wrapped his arms around you and gently swayed you from side to side.
“What’s wrong?”
You rested your head in the crook of his neck, breathing in the warm, sweet scent of his cologne. “Nothing…I’m just…” You hesitated. “You know, anxious about telling you this. Ugh, how do I even say it without feeling ridiculous?” Your face grew warm, and you could barely bring yourself to look at him.
Michael chuckled softly and gently cupped your face, encouraging you to meet his eyes. “You’re making me anxious,” he teased gently. “Just tell me, hon. I won’t laugh at you or judge you. You can always tell me anything. You know that.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
You took a deep breath and slowly opened your eyes. His shoulder-length curly hair, damp from the concert, clung to his face in wet tendrils, framing his bambi eyes that sparkled with curiosity. Those beautiful eyes staring back at you were enough to make your heart race.
“Michael…I want us to take our relationship to the next level.”
Michael tilted his head, his expression curious. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…we’re both, you know…virgins.” You swallowed nervously. “I’ve been thinking about us taking that step together.”
The two of you had talked about it before. You had imagined your first time together being romantic, intimate, and filled with love and trust. You had talked about flowers, soft candlelight, comfortable blankets, and romantic music playing in the background. Most importantly, you wanted to take your time with each other, making sure you both felt safe and comfortable.
But tonight, you finally felt ready.
“Michael, I want us to lose our virginity…together.”
The words finally left your mouth, and you immediately felt as though all the air had been pulled from your lungs. You covered your face with both hands, mortified.
Michael's eyebrow lifted, followed by a shy, amused smile. “Oh, babe…that's what it was?” He let out a soft chuckle. “You scared me for a moment.”
He looked at your flushed face before gently pulling your hands away. “Come here. You don't have to be embarrassed.”
You whined, hitting him playfully in the chest. "I am telling you this at your concert. Ughh, it's embarrassing. But I really wanted to tell you before you got busy."
He chuckled, reaching out and grabbing your hands. "It's a good thing you're telling me now, because…I'm ready to take things to the next level." He pulled you close, his fingertips, taped for the concert, brushing against your cheek. "I've been waiting for this. And I promise, it's going to be incredible."
You gasped, feeling his hard bulge press against you. "Michael, you want to do this now?" You asked, surprised.
He nodded, a shy smile playing on his lips. "Yes, babe. Sorry, I've been hard all day because of you. Look at you, wearing that dress that hugs your curves. It's been driving me crazy. You drive me crazy."
You blushed, flattered by his words. "But Michael, you have to get back on stage in ten minutes."
"I'll tell Brad to give me an extra five minutes," he said, already pulling you towards the backstage area. You protested, but he was determined, hurrying you past crowds of stage workers. Brad spotted Michael, his eyes widening in surprise.
"Michael, you're up in eight minutes—"
"Brad, could you give me an extra five minutes?" Michael asked, panting slightly. "I've got something important to handle."
Brad looked at you, then back at Michael, crossing his arms. "Five extra minutes? I mean, alright, but—"
"Thanks!" Michael brushed past Brad, pulling you deeper into the backstage area, his heart pounding with anticipation. You could feel the electricity in the air, the excitement of the concert still buzzing around you. This was really happening. You were about to lose your virginity with Michael, right here, right now.
Michael led you to a plush couch in his dressing room, his hands never leaving your waist as he kissed you deeply. He broke the kiss, his breath ragged, and looked into your eyes.
"Do you want this, babe?" he asked huskily. "Do you want to do this? Here? Now?"
You nodded, eyes filled with love and desire. "Yes, Michael. I want this. I want you."
He groaned, his hands sliding down to your thick thighs, hiking up your dress. He found the hem, pushing it up further, his long fingers brushing against your panties. You gasped, your hips bucking slightly.
"Michael," you moaned, your hands fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. You helped him, pulling it off, revealing his toned chest. You ran your hands over his abs, feeling the hard planes of muscle.
He unhooked your bra, his hands finding your big, round breasts, squeezing gently. You arched into his touch, your breath coming in short gasps. “Wow, these feel so good in my hands. They’re so big and beautiful. You’re so beautiful.” He leaned down, his mouth and tongue finding your nipple, sucking it in. “They taste even better.” You cried out, your fingers tangling in his hair, holding him close.
"Michael," you panted, "I…I want you inside me. Now."
He was buried in your chest, drunk on your scent and the taste of your breasts. “Oh babe, I want to be inside you so bad, but I have to feel and taste your other sweet lips first. C’mere.” He growled, his hands sliding down to your panties, pushing them aside. He took the tapes off his fingers. He slipped a finger inside you, and you moaned, your hips moving in time with his hand. “Is this okay? Does it hurt?”
You panted, gazing into his eyes. “A little, but you can keep going, Michael.”
He added another finger, his thumb finding your clit, rubbing it in slow, steady circles. “So wet f’me. So beautifully wet and tight. Does it feel good?”
"Yes, it feels good, Michael," you gasped. "Please. I can't wait any longer. You don’t even have to taste me. I just want you inside me."
“I know, love. I know.” He kissed your lips, holding your chin up. “Be patient, love. Be patient.”
He groaned, standing up and pushing his pants down, revealing his hard length. “Wait, let me grab a condom. I know Brad keeps them here somewhere.” He grabbed a condom from a nearby table, sheathing himself quickly. He guided you back onto the couch, your thick thighs spreading wide as he positioned himself at your entrance.
"Are you ready, babe?" he asked, his voice ragged with desire.
You nodded, your eyes locked with his. "Yes, Michael. I'm ready."
And with one thrust, he was inside you, filling you completely. You cried out, your fingers digging into his back, your body arching to meet his. “O–oh my mmff!!”
His eyes went wide, cupping your face as he peppered you with kisses. “Baby, are you okay? Did I hurt you? Does it hurt?”
You chuckled nervously, panting. “Just a little. But I’m fine, please keep going.”
He began to move, his hips thrusting in a steady rhythm, each stroke pushing you closer to the edge.
"Michael," you moaned, "Yes. Oh god, yes. Harder. Faster. Please."
He obliged, his body slamming into yours, each thrust pushing you closer to your release. You could feel it building, your body tensing, your breath coming in short gasps. But there was something odd happening. You felt a strange pressure in your lower abdomen, like you needed to urinate. You pressed a hand on Michael's chest, signaling him to slow down.
"Baby, what's wrong?" He asked, concern etched on his face, but he didn't slow down.
"I…I think I need to…to pee," you admitted, your face flushing with embarrassment.
Michael stopped, his eyes widening. "What? Now?" He started to pull out, but you grabbed his wrist, holding him in place.
"No, Michael, wait!" You cried out, your body convulsing as an intense orgasm washed over you. "Oh god, yes! Yes! Don't stop!"
He held you, his body shuddering as he came with you, his voice mingling with yours as he groaned, "Babe. Oh god, yes! Yes!"
As you both came down, he collapsed on top of you, his body slick with sweat, his heart pounding in time with yours. He looked into your eyes, a soft smile playing on his lips. "I love you, babe," he whispered. "That was…incredible."
You smiled back, your body still trembling with aftershocks. "I love you too, Michael," you replied, your voice filled with contentment. “You should head back to the stage.” You didn’t even realize the pool you left on the couch.
"I can't believe we just did that," Michael murmured, still in disbelief, his heart pounding in his chest as his hands roamed over your curves, pulling you into a searing kiss. The backstage area is a flurry of activity, crew members rushing to and fro.
"Lost our virginity at your concert, no less," you added, a thrill coursing through you despite the sting of wrongness having sex in the dressing room, in private. Michael's hands were still on your hips; he leaned back to look at you, his eyes dark with desire, a soft expression on his face that turned into one of primal hunger.
"We'll remember this moment forever, love," he said, his voice low and passionate, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin, sending shivers down your spine. "I'm still thinking about it, in fact. The adrenaline's pumping, and I want more. Right here, right now." His hands drifted down to your inner thighs, feeling the heat that has gathered there, the evidence of your desire dampening your panties.
"And I see you left a little something on the couch," he said, a smirk playing on his lips.
You blink, confused, then feel your face flush as you realize what he's talking about. "Michael, we can't," you protested, your body betraying you by arching into his touch. "You're about to perform your last song. We can't do this here, not with everyone running around."
He silenced you with a kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth, exploring every inch, claiming you. He pulls back, his chest heaving with desire, and takes your hand, leading you deeper into the backstage area. He pressed you against the wall, his body pinning you in place, his hands found the hem of your shirt, pulling it up passed you waist in one smooth motion. He ripped the stockings off your legs, tossing the remnants away.
“Michael, why did you do that?” Your breath hitched as his fingers trailed down your skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.
"I’ll get you another one. I want to see something, love," his voice hoarse with desire, taking the tape off his fingers. "Just hold on." He hiked up your skirt, pulling your damp underwear down, and you gasp as he stood up and pressed his body against yours, his fingers finding your clit with unerring accuracy. “Spread them wider f’me, babe.”
"Mmff," you moaned, your hands gripping Michael's sweat-slicked chest as he sank his fingers into you, your eyes fluttering closed in ecstasy. The hum of cheering crowds echoed through the walls; the danger of being caught by the crew only added fuel to the fire burning within you, your body responding to Michael's touch with reckless abandon.
His fingers moved with expert precision, parting your slick folds, thrusting into you with increasing speed. You could feel your body tensing, your core clenching around him as he found that sweet spot inside you, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your veins.
"So wet, so tight, and so fucking beautiful," he growled, his voice hoarse with desire. "I'm gonna make you squirt all over the floor, baby. Make you mark this backstage with your pleasure."
“Hmmff.” You let out a whimper as he withdrew his fingers, but your protest died on your lips as he dropped to his knees, his mouth replacing his fingers. His tongue flicked against your clit, making your thighs clamp together as a jolt of electricity shot through you.
"No, no, don't hide from me, love," he said, prying your thighs apart with his strong hands. "I need to taste you, all of you." His mouth was insatiable, his tongue and fingers working in tandem, driving you closer and closer to the edge. The pressure in your lower abdomen built, and you felt a strange, unfamiliar sensation.
"Michael, I think I'm gonna pee," you mewled, pushing his head away, your body tensing.
He looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire. "I don't care, baby. Let it go. Come for me. I want all of you, everything you've got." His fingers curled inside you, his tongue flicking against your clit, his free hand pressed on your belly, and you were lost, your body convulsing as a warm rush escaped you, coating his tongue.
"Yes, love. That's it. My squirt queen. Give it all to me," he groaned, lapping up every drop, his face a picture of satisfaction as he rode out your high, his tongue gentle as it coaxed the last shudders from your body.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you, my queen," Michael panted, helping you back into your clothes, his face still glistening with your arousal. "I needed that, more than you know. It's fueling me for the rest of the show. But don't worry, I'm not done with you yet." He pressed a hard, hungry kiss to your lips, leaving you breathless and eager for more. With that, he turned and strode back onto the stage, leaving you with a pounding heart and a body already aching for his touch.
"Shit, Michael, I can't. Please, it's too much," you gasped, your fingers tangled in his hair as he feasted on you, his tongue and fingers working in tandem to drive you to the brink of ecstasy. He had kept his promise, and now, in the candle-lit hotel room, he was determined to make you squirt again and again. His face already drenched in your arousal.
"Yes, you can, my squirt queen," he growled, his eyes locked onto yours, dark with desire. "I want to see you squirt all over this bed, love. I want to drown in your pleasure." He had been at it for what felt like hours, his concert-fueled adrenaline driving him on, his obsession with seeing you come apart consuming him.
Your legs were spread wide, your ankles tied to the bedposts to keep you in place, to prevent you from pushing him away from your sensitive, throbbing core. "My legs are getting tired, Michael. Can you untie them, please?" you begged.
He looked up at you, his tongue pressing hard against your clit, making you squirm. "Are you going to keep pushing me away, love?" he asked, the pleading in his bambi eyes.
"No," you promised, tears of exhaustion and pleasure streaming down your face. "I don't have the energy to. Please, just untie me."
“Good.” He released your ankles, massaging your legs as he did so, giving you a moment to stretch and relax. “I’m sorry, babe, but I can’t stop. I love seeing you squirt. Something triggered inside of me when we lost our virginity at Wembley. I’m obsessed.” But he didn't stop, couldn't stop, his mouth and fingers continuing their relentless assault on your body, driving you higher and higher, until you came apart once more, coating his face and the bed with your release.
"Oh yes, you're like a geyser, love," he groaned, his eyes locked onto your convulsing body as he continued to lick and finger you. "A geyser full of the sweetest nectar I've ever tasted."
The next morning, you stirred awake to Michael's hands on your knees, gently pushing them apart. You blinked your eyes open to find him kneeling between your legs, a hungry look in his eyes.
"Mmm, good morning, love," he said, his voice already thick with desire. "I thought I'd start the day with my favorite meal." He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the inside of your thigh, making you shiver.
Tired, but your body already responding to his touch, you let your legs fall open wider, giving him better access. "Breakfast is served," you said, a small smile playing on your lips, eager to see him devour you once more.
Michael was still driven by an insatiable hunger to see you squirt, his desire unwavering as he continued to pleasure you for hours on end. You lost track of time, your body and voice pushed to their limits as he refused to stop, fueled by the sight of you coming apart on his tongue and fingers. It was only when you let out a final, exhausted squirt, followed by a whimper against the pillow, that he finally relented.
"Oh, my queen, you were fucking amazing," he breathed, pulling you into his lap, your legs straddling his waist. "Let me take care of you now." He spent the rest of the day and night tending to your every need, drawing you warm baths, massaging your aching muscles, cooking you meals, and murmuring words of love and admiration into your ear.
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He was carefully reshaping his newly grown facial hair, shaving cream barely there or planted on.
Maddie walks in wrapping her arms around his waist, placing her chin on his shoulder, “Oh you’re really keepin it?” She says surprised.
He places a fake smile, “yea, I like how it looks” he replied, his fake smile being replaced with a smirk remembering where the growth is coming from.
“s-soo good oh my…” you moan out, breath shaky as his mouth devours your puffy core.
his tongue giving small licks before patting your enterance with the tip of his tongue, “Ja—Jaafar…” you whimper out.
His tongue now licking non stop, from your clit to the end of your entrance. Your hands finding anything to grip.
The loud squelching, slurping, your eyes trail down on him as his eyes meets yours, low and filled with passion and lust.
His new growth scratching the surface of your core so perfectly.
Jaafar’s jaw working overtime, licking like a damn lollipop, his hands snaking up to your hips, pulling you closer.
“Ba—baby….slo—slow down…Jaafar oh my god” you mumble out, a hand instantly gripping his messy curls.
His tongue listening to your words giving you slow long licks, ending each one with a suck to your clit. Swirling around your entrance before licking back up to suck once more.
Your squeals and whimpers becoming more louder with each contact he makes.
Taking one more long slow stride before meeting your enterance licking repeatedly over your entrance. Your growing arousal wetting his face with each passing second.
“so damn sweet baby…” he growls, giving you pleasureful vibrations towards your core.
Your eyes rolling, head pushing deeper into the pillow as his tongue slides into your core, as he moves it inside giving you a captivating euphoric pleasure.
Your brain nearly mush, “fuckfuckfuck yessss! m’so closeee !” you pornographically scream before creaming his face for the final time.
your release adding onto your portrait on his face, his tongue now licking up your release, your core giving him more and more to lick up. Milking you dry nearly.
His mouth giving one more long slow stride with a suck of your flit before pecking your core and releasing his mouth off of you.
“my secret growth syrup” he chuckles out, licking your release off his lips.
Can you do the permission to eat tiktok trend with jaafar jackson x plus size reader reader where they are at a restaurant with the whole Jackson family including michael who is alive celebrating the release of Michael in theaters and everyone stops and looks at jaafar pissed off cause they think he straves his wife can you make it a smut
This is basically part two of A Jackson Family Affair, and fulfilling this request made it a lot easier to plan out a part three. This took me forever to write and edit, and I'm sorry this is super long. I honestly don't know what came over me while I was writing this, and I'm shocked that my mind would come up with something like this! I'm spent! I hope I did a good job with this one!
A Jackson Family Affair: Part Two🎀🫦🍽️ 🔞
Warnings/Tags: 18+, MDNI, explicit sexual content and language, Jaafar x curvy fem reader, Michael x curvy reader, being fed while fingered at the table, family feud, family rivalry, sensitive topics about body image and weight, finger licking, praise, mommy kink, daddy kink, Michael being a dom, Jaafar being a sub, voyeurism, both are pussy drunk/deprived, orgasms, food play, moaning, petname such as good boy, love, babygirl, dirty talk. I don't know what else to put because so much happened. Remember, this is purely FANFICTION!
Synopsis: You and Jaafar, along with Jaafar's family, resume your dinner after your rough, passionate interlude in the ladies' room. As your meals arrive, Jaafar expresses his concern about your weight, insisting you eat something healthier. He switches your plates, leaving you feeling humiliated and angry. Michael, seeing this, offers you his dish and warns Jaafar, his nephew, not to take yours, his eyes gleaming with competition. Michael's chivalrous behavior sparks intense, shameful acts in front of the family, as Jaafar, feeling challenged and upset, seeks to earn back your trust in his own way.
You thought about Michael's offer over and over as everyone chatted and sipped champagne while waiting for their food. You barely spoke, mostly listening to the conversations around you.
Your mind kept drifting back to the way Michael had approached you earlier—the smoothness of his voice, the intoxicating scent of his cologne, and the way he'd spoken about what you deserved and how you should be treated.
With Michael sitting beside you, you could feel the warmth radiating from him. Every so often, you caught him looking at you from across the table. He casually twirled and rubbed the butter knife between his fingers, and for some reason, the simple gesture made your imagination wander.
You tried not to look at him. Well…you did a few times when Jaafar wasn't paying attention.
Michael's voice was a smooth, rich baritone, like velvet on a summer's night, as he leaned in close, his breath warm on your ear. "I couldn't help but notice you seem…unsettled, darlin'. Anything I can do to make that better?" His fingers, long and dexterous, continued to twirl and rub the butter knife with a practiced ease, a silent promise of the skill hidden within.
"No, thank you, Mr. Jac--I mean, Michael." You felt the heat radiating off him, his confidence and swagger filling the space between you. His gaze was intense, hungry, like a predator eyeing its prey.
It still bothered you knowing that Jaafar had already confronted you earlier in the ladies' room. He'd shown you that he could become rough when he felt challenged or provoked. And deep down, a part of you couldn't stop wondering what Michael had to offer when he'd told you that you deserved better.
Your thoughts were interrupted when four waiters arrived with everyone's meals. One by one, they placed the plates around the table, and everyone thanked them. The aroma immediately filled the air.
There it was, your butter-poached salmon, served with mashed cauliflower and a creamy herb sauce.
"Ooh, this looks good, don't it?" Jermaine said, rubbing his hands together eagerly. He lifted his champagne glass. "Let's make a toast to my nephew, Jaafar, and his role alongside my beloved brother, Michael. To Jaafar!"
Everyone raised their glasses. "To Jaafar!"
You took a celebratory sip before reaching for your fork. But before you could take your first bite, Jaafar gently placed his hand over yours.
"Don't eat that," he whispered.
You stared at him, confused. "Why? What's wrong?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he lifted your plate and replaced it with his own. "Eat this instead." Jaafar waved down a waiter and had him take the salmon plate and ordered another vegetarian lasagna.
You looked down, your face twisted. His plate contained a vegetarian lasagna with a side of steamed vegetables. "JJ, why would I eat something I didn't order?" You looked back at him. "This is what you ordered."
“I know, but…” He hesitated. “This is better. It’s healthier for you.”
Not too long ago, perhaps a few weeks earlier, you had talked to Jaafar about eating healthier meals and cutting back on sugar. You had brought it up because you were feeling a little discouraged about not losing much weight since getting engaged.
You loved your plus-sized body, and Jaafar had always loved it too. You simply wanted to feel healthier, more comfortable, and confident in your body before the two of you got married.
You stared at him. The concern in his expression seemed genuine, but that somehow made it even more confusing. "JJ, I'm not going to eat that."
You reached for your plate, but he took it away again. "Just try it."
You narrowed your eyes. "If I wanted vegetarian lasagna, I would've ordered it." Your voice rose slightly. “Now give me back my plate, JJ.”
“No, I won’t. This is better for you. Trust me. I only want what’s best for you. I’m just looking out for you.”
Your eyes flashed with anger. "Huh, so you fuck me in the ladies room to prove me wrong and now telling me what I can and cannot eat, Jaafar? Who made you the authority on what's best for me? I can decide what I want to eat, thank you very much. I don't need you telling me what to do."
"Nothing, babe. Calm down." He lowered his voice; a silly, flustered smile spread on his face. "I just thought it would be better for you to eat something greener and healthier." His hand moved to your thigh, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. You immediately pushed his hand away. The sudden slap against his hand drew everyone's attention.
“What’s going on over there?” Tito asked, popping his head up as he glanced between the two of you.
"Oh, shit. They're fighting again," Jermaine muttered, watching the two of you with amusement. "Bro out here starving his girl. What a shame."
Jermaine twisted around to face Jermajesty, giving him the stern look of a father reprimanding his child for saying something out of line. “Now, boy, don’t go making accusations like that! What’s wrong with you?”
Janet's expression changed immediately. "What? Is that true?" She set down her fork. "Jaafar, is this true?"
"No, I—it's not like that," he protested. But his answer only raised more questions.
"Is he really starving you?" Latoya asked, her eyes widening with concern. "How long has this been going on?"
"Is he not letting you eat at home?" Marlon demanded, giving Jaafar a stern look. He pointed his knife in his direction. "If your father won't tear your ass up, I will. I don’t care that you’re turning 30 this year."
"Is everything all right with you two?" Jermaine asked, trying to lighten the tension. "Y'all need to head back to the ladies' room and have another 'heated discussion.'" He emphasized the last two words with exaggerated quotation marks.
Jermajesty immediately started clapping his hands together rapidly, wearing a mischievous grin, as he acted out the scene that happened in the ladies' room between you and Jaafar. "Yeah, need to clap some cheeks again?" You shot him an annoyed look.
"Jermajesty, don’t jump to conclusions, and please shut the hell up and mind your business." Jaafar sighed, clearly embarrassed by the attention. "It's nothing. It's just a misunderstanding." He glanced around the table. "Everyone, please just enjoy your meal." You stared at him, stunned.
Why wasn't he telling them what was really happening? Yet now, with his entire family asking questions, he suddenly acted as though nothing was wrong. You felt frustrated, confused, and, more than anything, hurt. You wanted to tell everyone the truth. You wanted to finally speak up about what had been happening before everyone became concerned.
But before you could say anything, Michael quietly picked up his plate of butter-poached salmon and placed it in front of you. "You can have mine, darlin'."
You looked at Michael, shocked and completely flustered. You gently pushed the plate back toward him. "No, please. It's yours."
"No, it's fine." He pushed the plate back toward you, casually brushing a strand of hair away from your shoulder. "I'll order something else. I don't mind."
"Uh…um…thank you, Michael." You weren't sure what else to say, so you simply picked up your fork and knife.
Michael leaned slightly toward you, giving Jaafar a serious look. "And Jaafar, nephew, don't take her plate. Let her enjoy her dinner." His arm rested along the back of your chair, his hand only inches from your exposed shoulders. "Go on. Eat and enjoy yourself, babygirl." He gave you a playful wink.
You could sense Jaafar bristling at the challenge. His jaw tightened, and the muscles in his arms tensed beneath his suit jacket. But rather than spending time arguing with his uncle, he waited until his dish arrived and silently ate his own meal.
You finally took your first bite. The salmon was rich, buttery, and tender, complemented perfectly by the earthy herb sauce. The mashed cauliflower provided a light, creamy balance, with subtle hints of mint and lemon that brightened every bite. For those glorious precious minutes, you forgot about your earlier argument with Jaafar.
"Enjoying yourself, darlin'?" Michael watched you with a pleased smile as he continued eating his own meal that he ordered minutes ago.
"Mmhmm. It's delicious." You nodded enthusiastically. "Jermaine was right about choosing this."
Across the table, Jermaine nodded proudly and gave you a thumbs-up while continuing to eat.
"Good." Michael smiled. "I want to see you enjoying yourself." He paused, looking at your face. "Oh, you've got a little something on your chin."
"Oh, it's probably the sauce." You laughed awkwardly.
"I got it, babygirl." Michael reached over and gently wiped the herb sauce from your chin with his thumb. Then, without breaking eye contact, he brought his thumb to his lips and tasted the sauce. "Tastes good."
Your face immediately heated. You stared at him, completely caught off guard by the teasing gesture. Michael simply returned to his meal as though nothing had happened. You tried to focus on your dinner, but suddenly you couldn't remember what you'd been doing. You sat there frozen, fork and knife still in your hands.
"Food's so good you forgot how to eat, huh?" Michael's amused voice brought you back to reality. He took another bite of his roasted rosemary chicken, slowly lowering his fork as his eyes flickered from your hands to your face. Then he set his fork down and turned slightly toward you.
He gently took the fork and knife from your hands. "Let me feed you, babygirl."
He picked up a small piece of salmon and brought it toward your lips. You barely registered what was happening until Michael gently cupped your chin. "Open your mouth f’me."
You opened your mouth, and he carefully fed you the salmon. You chewed slowly, still trying to process the intimacy of the moment.
"That's it." He picked up another forkful and brought it toward you, his hand once again resting beneath your chin.
"You want another bite, love?" You nodded.
He continued feeding you, one bite at a time, while Jaafar struggled to contain his frustration. Seeing his fiancée being fed by his uncle was clearly getting under his skin. His jaw tightened as he ate, his fork and knife clacking against the plate harder than necessary. Several of his family members glanced in his direction, wondering what had gotten into him. Jermajesty, however, seemed thoroughly entertained by his brother's growing irritation.
Eventually, you regained your composure and held up your hands, signaling Michael to stop.
"Oh, God. This is too much." You laughed nervously. "I feel so silly. At least let me return the favor."
Michael smiled warmly. "No. Don't ever feel that way. I'm being a gentleman, and I want to do this." He paused, looking into your eyes intensely. "Do you want me to stop?"
You shook your head, eyes sparkling with desire. Michael's smirk deepened, and your thighs parted instinctively, seeking relief from the heat building within. He glanced down, a wicked gleam in his eye as he took in the sight of your thighs, barely concealed beneath the tablecloth. His hand, still holding the fork, continued to feed you, his plate of food forgotten.
Meanwhile, his other hand began a slow, sensual journey up your thigh. You hardly noticed at first, too lost in the sensation of being fed, of Michael's intense gaze on you. But as his hand neared your core, you felt a jolt of anticipation. You parted your thighs further, inviting him, eager to see if his touch would live up to his earlier promises.
Without drawing much attention, he smoothly pulled your chair a little closer to him, gently lifting your leg and resting it over his strong thigh. "That's better."
Michael's fingers found your wet center, tracing circles around your clit. You bit back a gasp, your body tensing at the unexpected contact. But you didn't stop him, didn't want him to stop. You were playing a dangerous game, seeking payback for Jaafar's earlier transgressions, and you were enjoying every second of it.
Michael leaned in, his voice a low, seductive whisper in your ear. "You're so wet, babygirl. You want me to stop?" You knew you should say yes, that this was wrong, dangerous even. But you couldn't bring yourself to utter the word. You shook your head, your eyes locked onto his, a silent plea for more.
“Say please, Daddy.” He cooed, his hot breath against your ear.
You swallowed. “Please, Daddy.”
His eyes were now on yours. "Say it again. Louder for him to hear."
"Please, Daddy."
“Good girl.” His finger began its dance, a slow press against your clit, timed perfectly with the spoonful of salmon he slid between your lips. You bit back a moan, your body tensing as the sensation of being fed and fingered simultaneously washed over you. Your hips bucked up with each thrust.
“You look gorgeous when I’m feeding and fingering you.” Michael's eyes never left yours, his gaze intense, hungry, as if he could see the battle raging within you. “Do you like my fingers inside you? Tell me.”
“Y–yes, I do, Daddy.” You could hardly speak from the immense pleasure of his fingers and intoxicating voice.
"Almost there, babygirl," he murmured darkly as he fed you another bite, his fingers curling inside you, rubbing against that sweet spot. You could feel it building, the pressure coiling in your core, threatening to spill over. “You’re doing so well f’me.”
You tried to keep your eyes on him, as he'd commanded, but they fluttered closed as the pleasure became too intense. You heard sounds of chatter around you, Jaafar's family oblivious to the scandal unfolding right under their noses. The thought of being caught, of Jaafar discovering what was happening, sent a thrill of fear and exhilaration through you.
"Yes, ride my fingers." Michael's lips curled into a wicked smile as he leaned in, his breath hot on your ear. "Feels amazing, doesn't it, babygirl? A real man knows just how to please a woman," he murmured.
You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest, your eyes darting around the table. Jaafar's family was oblivious, lost in their own conversations, their laughter filling the air. Yet, here you were, being fingered by your fiancé’s uncle, your body betraying you with each thrust of his fingers. Michael's thumb circled your clit, his long fingers sliding in and out of you, each movement timed perfectly with the spoonfuls of food he fed you. You bit back a moan, your body tensing as you felt your orgasm building. You couldn't look at Jaafar, not with Michael's fingers inside you, not with the intense pleasure coursing through your veins. You kept your eyes on Michael, his gaze locked onto yours, a silent promise of the ecstasy to come.
"Keep your eyes on me, love," Michael growled, his fingers picking up speed, his thumb circling your clit with increasing pressure. You forced your eyes open, your gaze locked onto his as he fed you the final bite. His fingers curled one last time, pressing firmly against your clit, and you shattered, your orgasm ripping through you like a storm.
You bit back a cry, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Michael held you steady, his fingers gentle as he slowed his movements, drawing out your orgasm until you were left panting, your body spent.
"Good girl," he whispered as he pulled his fingers from you, bringing them to his mouth, licking your essence clean. You watched, your body still trembling, as he sucked your orgasm from his fingers, a wicked smile playing on his lips.
"Mmm, that was delicious," Michael purred, his gaze locked onto yours, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "Are you feelin’ okay, love?" His voice rumbled, seeming to echo in your mind, sending your thoughts spiraling into a world of confusion. You could've sworn you heard it reverberate, the words bouncing off the walls of your imagination.
"Babe, are you alright?" Jaafar's voice cut through the fog of your fantasy, his hands gripping your shoulders as he shook you gently. You blinked, your eyes slowly focusing on his concerned face.
"W-what…happened?" you stammered, your mind still hazy from the vivid fantasy that had played out. You looked down at your empty plate, the remnants of your imaginary feast scattered before you. You looked at Jaafar, confused and flustered, before your gaze shifted to Michael, sitting there with his legs spread apart, halfway facing you, casually handing you a glass of water.
"Thank you," you managed to say. You couldn't meet his gaze, the memory of his sensual touch still lingering in your mind. You grabbed a handkerchief, dabbing at the sweat on your chest and face, trying to regain some semblance of composure.
"You were just sitting there, mumbling and squirming," Jaafar explained, his voice laced with worry. "I couldn't get your attention. "
"Oh…I'm fine," you lied, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. You tried to push the fantasy to the back of your mind, but it was proving to be a stubborn intruder. You could still feel the dampness on the chair, the echo of pleasure from your fantasy coursing through your veins.
"Listen, babe…can we talk in private? Now?"
You had almost forgotten how upset you were with Jaafar earlier, but the moment he brought it up, all those feelings came rushing back.
You refused to look at him, crossing your arms over your chest. "No." You made sure your tone left no room for argument. "I just want to have dessert and go home. Oh, wait—you'll probably have me order a bowl of fruit for dessert instead."
Jaafar reached for your hand, but you quickly pulled it away. "Babe, please. I just want to talk about this," he pleaded.
He was starting to sound almost pathetic. He always sounded that way whenever he regretted something or knew he'd upset you.
"Jaafar, nephew, she said no," Michael interjected, giving him a pointed side-eye as he finished the champagne in his glass. "Let her have whatever dessert she wants, and this time, don't take it away from her. Don’t make me have to warn you again."
You glanced at Michael, and another wave of fantasy began to creep into your thoughts. His gentlemanly manner, his teasing remarks, and the way he effortlessly stood up for you were making it increasingly difficult to keep your thoughts innocent.
Jermajesty let out a hearty laugh. “Damn, Uncle Mike, you ain’t have to threaten him like that!”
Jermaine shook his head disapprovingly. “Son, you’ve been nothing but a mess and an instigator this entire time. Where do you get this from?”
“You and Uncle Randy,” Jermajesty replied, chuckling. Everyone at the table immediately threw their hands in the air and groaned in annoyance.
After the ruckus between Jermajesty, Jermaine, La Toya, and Marlon finally died down, everyone ordered dessert. Most of the table settled on fruit tarts, while the rest, except for Jaafar, opted for brownie à la mode. You ordered yours with an extra side of chocolate sauce, this time without any interference from Jaafar.
“You deserve it.” Michael proudly gave your lower back a gentle pat.
You smiled shyly at him, feeling another flirtatious fantasy begin to stir in your mind. A sudden warmth spread through you, and you quickly tried to compose yourself.
However, that warmth faded when you glanced over at Jaafar. He had nothing in front of him. Instead, he was watching you with those same pleading eyes, one arm resting along the back of your chair as his foot tapped impatiently against the floor. He nervously bit the inside of his lip.
You ignored him and focused on your dessert. For once, you wanted him to sit with his own discomfort and think about how he'd treated you for the rest of the evening.
You weren’t even halfway finished when you felt his other hand settle on your thigh, his fingers slowly rubbing small circles over the dimples in your skin. You stiffened.
A sigh escaped you, not entirely from anger, but from pity. You knew exactly what he was trying to do.
“JJ, stop looking at me like that,” you said firmly, keeping your eyes on your plate.
“No.” His voice was low but stubborn. “Not unless we talk.”
You slowly lowered your spoon. “Like I said, no. I just want to eat and go home.”
“The sooner we resolve this, the better.”
You finally looked at him. His expression was serious, almost pleading, but his stubbornness was beginning to wear down what little patience you had left. He wanted to settle things now.
Fine.
You placed your spoon neatly beside your plate and dabbed the corner of your mouth with your napkin. Then you turned toward him, raising one eyebrow. “Do you need a reminder from Michael?”
Jaafar's expression tightened. “No.” He paused, his voice becoming more deliberate. “Because you’re my fiancée, and I want to settle this the right way. Without my family interfering.”
You studied him for a moment, almost amused by his insistence. “Really?” You tilted your head. “The right way?”
“Yes.”
You glanced down at your dessert, then back at him. A thought suddenly crossed your mind.
You leaned back in your chair, folded your arms, and gave him a serious look. “Pick up my spoon.”
Jaafar blinked. “What?”
You held his gaze, refusing to look away. “I said, pick up my spoon.”
He stared at you for a moment, clearly confused by the sudden command. Slowly, his eyes dropped toward the spoon resting beside your plate.
Then he looked back at you. “Why?”
"Just pick it up," you said, watching Jaafar's hand close around the spoon. "Feed me."
"Feed you?" Jaafar repeated, a hint of uncertainty in his voice. "Alright," he said, his tone steadying as he scooped up some of the brownie and ice cream, raising it to your lips.
You opened your mouth, accepting the spoonful. Your lips slid off the spoon, and you hummed in satisfaction.
"Is it good?" Jaafar asked, and you nodded, motioning for him to continue. He fed you again, his movements gaining confidence. Little did he know, you were living out the fantasy you had earlier, now starring Jaafar instead.
Each time Jaafar fed you, your heart pounded in your chest, eager for his next move. You craved the possessive side he'd shown earlier, but as time passed, it seemed like a fleeting moment. You halted his hand, pushing it away.
"W-what's wrong, babe?" Jaafar asked, genuine concern in his eyes.
"I…I thought we had something here. But it's gone now."
"No, babe, it's not," he insisted, desperation in his voice. "Let me keep feeding you. Please."
You looked at him, his eyes pleading, and you made your decision. "Alright, Jaafar.”
As Jaafar fed you, his eyes darkened, pupils dilating as he watched your lips close around the spoon, a soft moan escaping you. His pants grew taut, and you noticed his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. His mouth agape, he seemed mesmerized by the sight, a side of him you'd never seen before.
“You like it, babe?” He whispered, his voice unsteady, as if trying to control himself. “You want more?” You nodded, a subtle smirk forming on your lips.
You took his free hand, guiding it to your inner thigh. He stiffened at first, but you held his gaze, and he yielded, his hand resting on your leg. His breath hitched, and he fed you again, his hand trembling slightly.
"Jaafar," you said, your voice firm yet gentle, "I want you to do something for me while you feed me."
He looked at you, his glossy eyes wide and eager. "Y-yes, Mommy. Anything."
You froze, surprised. "What did you call me?" You've just discovered your fiancé's new kink.
He blushed, his eyes darting away. "Oh shit, I–I'm sorry, babe. It just…slipped out. Do you not want me to call you that, babe?”
You studied him for a moment, then smiled. "It's okay, Jaafar. I…like it. Keep going." You guided his hand further up your thigh until it reached the hem of your dress.
“Do you want me to make you feel good, Mommy? Is it okay?” You nodded.
He hesitated for a moment, his hand slipping under your dress. He parted your thighs, lifting one leg onto his. Using the tablecloth, he hid his actions from the others, his eyes darting to Michael, then back to you.
He looked at you, his eyes wide with a mix of surprise and excitement. "Y-yes, Mommy," he stammered, his hand trembling slightly as you guided it up your thigh.
You could feel the heat radiating from him as he slipped his hand under your dress, his fingers brushing against your lace panties. He parted your thighs, lifting one leg onto his, the heel of your shoe digging into the muscle of his thigh. You could see the tension in his body, the strain in his voice as he asked, "Is this what you want, Mommy? Should I touch you here?"
You nodded, biting your lip as his fingers hooked into the side of your panties, pulling them aside. He ran a finger along your slit, and you gasped, your hips bucking slightly. “Mmhm."
He fed you another spoonful, his hand moving in sync with his fingers as they slipped inside you. Your back arched slightly, hand holding onto his wrist while the other on the edge of the table. You could feel him exploring you, his fingers curling slightly, finding that spot that made you moan. "Like this, Mommy?" he asked, his voice low, hoarse with desire.
"Yes," you panted, your grip tightening on his wrist. "Just like that. Don't stop."
He fed you another spoonful, his thumb circling your clit with a steady, maddening rhythm. Dipping his fingers into the extra chocolate sauce you'd ordered, he traced a path down to your center, painting your folds with the sweet, decadent syrup. His fingers plunged into you, your arousal mingling with the chocolate, creating a heady, intoxicating scent that filled the air. "I love it when you look like this. In pure ecstasy."
He withdrew his fingers, glistening with your desire and the chocolate, and brought them to his mouth. "Mmm," he hummed, licking them clean. "You taste fucking amazing, Mommy. Like the sweetest dessert I've ever had." His lips were smeared with chocolate and your arousal. He dipped his fingers back into the sauce, coating them thoroughly before driving them into you again. You could feel the pleasure building, your breath coming in short gasps. You looked at him, then at Michael, who was watching, jaws clenched, his eyes dark with jealousy and desire.
Oh, fuck, this is real, you thought. Your fantasy was being played out.
"Don't look at him, please," Jaafar begged, his voice barely a whisper. "Why are you looking at him and not me? I'm the one touching you, aren't I? I'm the one making you feel good, not him."
You smirked, turning your attention back to Jaafar. "I'm not looking at him," you said, your voice cold and teasing.
"Then look at me, please," he pleaded, his voice filled with desperation. "Only me. Not him. I don't want you to look at him. I don't want you to think about him. I want you to think about me. Only me."
He moved his fingers faster, his thumb pressing harder, his body shaking with effort. You could see the strain on his face, the sweat dripping down his temples as he tried to be quiet, to avoid drawing attention to himself. "Don't ever look at him," he begged, his voice filled with possessiveness. "You're mine. Only mine. Don't you dare look at him again."
His fingers danced, thumb pressing with fervent urgency, drawing your focus back to him. You felt the crescendo building, your body coiling tight, breath coming in ragged gasps. "Oh my—mmfff," your moan was smothered by the dessert spooned into your mouth by Jaafar.
"Am I doing good, Mommy?" he whispered, hot breath tickling your ear. "Please, tell me. Tell me I'm a good boy."
"Yes, you're doing well, babe," you murmured, a satisfied grin spreading across your face. "You're a good boy." His chest puffed with pride, body trembling with renewed vigor as he fed you another spoonful, fingers driving you to the edge. With one final thrust, you tumbled over, your body convulsing in silent ecstasy, Jaafar's name on the tip of your tongue, muffled by the dessert in your mouth.
As your orgasm ebbed, you found yourself in a daze, your body damp with sweat, breath coming in slow, deep gulps. Jaafar sat beside you, his face glistening with a mix of relief and ecstasy, a smug smile playing on his lips. He thought he'd made you forgive him, that he'd pleased you enough to earn your grace. Little did he know, your mind had been elsewhere, lost in a fantasy that had something to do with him.
You looked around the table, your gaze flicking from face to face. No one seemed to have noticed your secret tryst, for which you were grateful. But as the realization of what you'd done sank in, a deep feeling of confusion washed over you. You felt a gentle touch on your face, hands cupping your cheeks, turning your head to face the owner. It was Jaafar, but the subordinate expression he wore was a facade.
“Babe, you hadn’t touched your dessert at all. You’ve been sitting there, mumbling again. Is everything ok?”
As you looked into his eyes, you knew. You hadn't forgotten the game you were playing, the fantasy you'd acted out in your head. Your dessert was barely touched, the ice cream now a liquid, melted by the heat of your desire, a desire that had something to do with the man sitting beside you. Your fiancé, Jaafar.
“I’m fine, JJ. I’m just not in the mood.” Inside, you were crushed. You hated that yet another fantasy had ended before it could become anything. You had hoped he would take the initiative, but he never did.
“Okay, babe. Let’s just go home.”
Dinner eventually came to an end. You both said your goodbyes to Jaafar’s family before leaving ahead of everyone else.
As you settled into the limousine, legs feeling like jelly, your thoughts returned to everything that had happened that evening, and especially Michael’s not-so-innocent offer. You knew you had some business of your own to take care of. For now, you decided to let Jaafar suffer with his guilt a little longer. When the time came, you would let him apologize, but on your terms.
Can you do one where plus size reader and Michael lose each other's virginitys to each other during off the wall and later on during wembley concert after human nature Michael wants to get rid of his adrenaline so he take it out on reader and she ends up nonstop squirting until almost the next day cause she couldn't sleep due to her body shaking and squirting each time she moves and Michael just smiles and tells her now I have breakfast and he goes between her legs and makes it worse for her and she finally stops midday and michael does after care for her.
Oooh this is a good one!! I’m almost speechless! Let me see what I can whip up after I fulfill last week’s requests. 😉 Be on the lookout for next week!✨
can you please do an enemies to lovers slowburn with reader and (an engaged) jaafar 😏
I'm making a part two for this because I refuse to rush a slow burn! Also, it will take me a while to figure out how to post a Masterlist because I'm still new to Tumblr. So most likely I'll post part two separately. Enjoy!
My Next-Door Neighbor, Jaafar.🔥
Warnings/Tags: 18+, Explicit language, use of Y/N, lots of arguing, Jaafar Jackson being a rude and overbearing neighbor, slow burn, romantic tensions, enemies-to-lovers, awkward moments. There's plenty more in part two.😏
Synopsis: After moving into your dream loft apartment in Glendale, you were excited for a fresh start. However, your new neighbor, Jaafar, and his fiancée, Maggie, quickly turned your peaceful home into a stressful living situation with their endless rules and complaints. Day after day, Jaafar found something to criticize, and the two of you struggled to see eye-to-eye. You were convinced you would never get along with him. That is, until the day Jaafar unexpectedly knocks on your door, needing your help.
"I can't believe I finally moved in," you said as you carried the last box into your new loft apartment.
"I can't believe it either," your coworker Sinclair replied, helping you set the box down in the middle of the empty living room.
You had dreamed about living in a loft for months. Ever since you started saving money, you pictured yourself in one of those cozy, café-style rom-com apartments with tall windows, exposed beams, and plenty of natural light. After working for six months as a restaurant order taker, both from home and in person, you had finally saved enough to leave your tiny studio apartment in Inglewood and move to Glendale.
Now that you were finally here, you couldn't help but feel proud of yourself.
Sinclair dusted off her hands, planted them on her hips, and slowly took in the spacious apartment. She nodded with approval, as though she'd picked the place out herself. "It's nice," she said. "Big enough for a family of eight."
You nearly choked. "Well, luckily it's just me, and I'd like to keep it that way."
"You better," Sinclair teased with a laugh. "So, what else does this place have?"
"Oh!" You perked up. "There's a gym, a little grocery market downstairs where you can grab things and use the self-checkout. It's open from six in the morning until one at night."
You glanced around, remembering the rest of the amenities.
"There's also a spa where you can book treatments, though some of the services cost extra, and there's a tennis court and a basketball court behind the building."
Sinclair let out a dramatic sigh. "I'm jealous. You definitely picked the right place." She pointed at you. "But I know your wallet is crying, girl."
You laughed. "It's been crying ever since I paid the move-in deposit. But honestly…" You smiled. "It's worth every penny. I couldn't stay in that cramped studio apartment any longer."
Carefully stepping around the scattered boxes and bags of clothes, you walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows. The view immediately made you smile. Below, the courtyard stretched out beneath the warm afternoon sun. A sparkling pool sat in the center, surrounded by rows of bright blue lounge chairs. Beyond it was a neatly landscaped lawn with walking paths and a small park where a few residents chatted beneath the trees. Only one person was leisurely swimming laps in the pool.
Sinclair joined you at the window and looked down. "Ooh, that's nice." She smiled. "Hopefully you'll get to use the pool when no one's around. I hate when people are out there…you know…people-ing."
You laughed. "I hope so too. But I have to remember it's a shared space." You smiled to yourself. "Although, the leasing office said residents can reserve the pool for private events."
Sinclair looked at you with a grin. "Oh, I already know you're going to book it just so you can float around in peace."
"Without a doubt." You smiled to yourself, already picturing quiet evenings spent floating in the pool beneath a sky full of stars.
"So…" Sinclair said, snapping you out of your daydream. "You wanna start unpacking or what?"
You let out an exaggerated sigh. "As much as I'd love to avoid it…I guess we should."
About fifteen minutes later, the moving truck arrived with the rest of your furniture and household belongings.
For the next hour and a half, you and Sinclair unpacked boxes, organized clothes, arranged kitchen supplies, and found homes for your valuables. The two of you even mounted the television and installed your whimsical fairy-shaped bookshelves. There were still plenty of boxes left unopened, but you finally called it quits.
"I'll finish the rest another day," you said, despite Sinclair insisting she stay and help. The truth was, you were both exhausted after spending the entire day packing, driving from Inglewood to Glendale, unloading the truck, and unpacking everything. You appreciated her more than words could say.
"Thanks for all your help, Sinclair," you said with a grateful smile. "I owe you one."
She slipped an arm around your shoulders for a quick side hug.
"Just let me stop by every now and then so I can take advantage of all these fancy amenities."
You laughed. "Deal."
"I know my way out."
"I'll walk you to the door anyway."
You followed her to the front entrance and pulled the door open. Standing in the hallway was a man you had never seen before. His dark curls were damp, as though he'd just gotten out of the pool, and a towel was wrapped low around his waist. Water still glistened on his sun-kissed skin, and he looked like he'd been about to knock on your door.
Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Sinclair's smitten expression.
Wow…he's good-looking, you thought.
"Oh…" you said, caught off guard. "Hi."
The man offered a polite smile. "Um, hi. Did you just move in next door?"
"Yes, I did. I'm—"
"Good," he interrupted before you could introduce yourself. "I just wanted to tell you a few important things about living here."
You exchanged a puzzled glance with Sinclair before looking back at him.
"Oh…sure. What is it?"
"I'm a busy man, and I value my peace when I'm working or simply enjoying my free time, so I hope you'll understand." His tone was calm and matter-of-fact. "No loud music or parties after seven in the evening. No moving furniture between five in the morning and one in the afternoon. The walls here are thinner than they should be, so I'd appreciate it if you wore house shoes instead of walking around barefoot. It carries more than you'd think. Please keep your cooking between 5:00 a.m. and 4:00 p.m. The sound of pots and pans, along with the dishwasher, travels easily through the walls, and we'd appreciate it if we could keep the noise to a minimum. And if you do laundry, please try to do it between five and eight on Friday mornings. My fiancée is especially sensitive to the sound of the washing machines."
You blinked. "Oh…well, that's a bit…harsh, don't you think?" you asked, trying to stay polite despite the irritation simmering inside you.
One of his eyebrows lifted. His expression barely changed, and he regarded you with a steady gaze. "It's not harsh," he replied. "It's simply being considerate."
You pressed your lips together before answering. "I'm sorry, but it does feel that way. I wasn't told there were specific hours for when I should or shouldn't do my laundry in my own apartment, and I just moved in." You folded your arms. "And, if I'm being honest, you assumed I'd be a loud neighbor before you even knew anything about me."
He let out a slow breath. "The last four tenants who lived next door moved out within a month because they constantly blasted music, dragged furniture across the floor, and threw parties. This is a quiet complex, and the people who live here respect that."
You understood where he was coming from. Still, it bothered you that he'd judged you before giving you a chance.
"I understand wanting a peaceful place to live," you said. "I really do. But some of those requests feel unfair…or at least a little inconvenient."
"Unfair?" he repeated, crossing his arms. The last droplets of pool water on his forearms glistened in the afternoon sun. "How so?"
"It sounds like everyone is expected to work around your schedule," you replied. "You don't know me, yet you've already decided I'm going to be a noisy neighbor. That's not exactly a great first impression."
"Excuse me?" he asked, his eyes widening slightly as he tilted his head.
Before either of you could continue, Sinclair stepped forward with an awkward smile.
"Um…I'm her coworker." She gave a small, nervous laugh. "And she's honestly one of the quietest people I know." You glanced at her gratefully. "She used to live in a really noisy apartment complex, and she hated it. Trust me, she's not the type to throw parties or blast music. We don't want any trouble." Sinclair looked as though she wanted to say more, but the growing impatience on the man's face made her stop herself.
He sighed. "All I'm asking is that you keep those things in mind. If you do, we'll get along just fine."
Just as you were about to say something else, a woman wearing a black sports bra, workout leggings, and her hair tied back in a ponytail approached. She carried a purple tumbler in one hand and was slightly out of breath, as though she'd just come from the gym.
"Hey, Jaafar." She kissed his cheek before turning to you. "Oh! You're the new neighbor next door, right?" Her ponytail swayed as she smiled warmly. "Hi, I'm Maggie."
You returned the smile. "Yes, I am. I'm y/n." You glanced at the man beside her. "Your fiancé—whose name I just learned- is telling me about the rules the two of you have. And I don't mean to be rude, but I feel like I haven't even had a chance to settle in, and I'm already being judged."
Maggie's expression softened with understanding. "Yeah…" she admitted with a sheepish laugh. "The rules can be a little much." Jaafar looked at her but said nothing. He just bit the lower corner of his lip.
"We're both pretty busy," Maggie continued. "When we get home, we just like to unwind after long days, so we try to keep things peaceful around here. I'm sure you're busy too, and you probably value your quiet time just as much."
So his name is Jaafar, you thought. He certainly carried himself like someone who expected everyone else to accommodate him.
You nodded politely. "I understand wanting a peaceful place to live. How about this?" You smiled. "We all mind our own business, avoid disturbing each other as much as we can, and just…be neighbors."
"That sounds fair to me," Maggie replied almost immediately. She was nothing like Jaafar. At least, you hoped she wasn't.
She leaned over and kissed Jaafar's cheek again. "I'm heading back to the gym. My AirPods died so I’m getting my headphones."
"All right, babe." He gave her a quick kiss on the lips. "I'll see you in a bit."
After Maggie walked away, Jaafar turned back to you. The irritation hadn't completely left his face.
"Nice meeting you…y/n." Without another word, he turned and walked back to his apartment.
You and Sinclair stood there in silence for a moment.
"Well," Sinclair finally said, tapping her foot against the floor, "looks like you've already made an enemy."
The next three months were nothing short of exhausting. Nearly every day, there was another knock at your door. If you washed dishes, Jaafar complained that the clinking could be heard through the walls. If you cooked dinner, he'd insist the sounds from your kitchen were too loud. He even complained about how long your showers lasted in the morning and late evenings, convinced the pipes made too much noise.
Every time you dared to use the washing machine outside of the designated Friday hours, Jaafar would materialize at your door like a specter, his face flushed with annoyance. The first time it happened, you were taken aback. The second time, you were irritated. By the third time, you were ready for him.
"Can you believe this guy, Sin?" you griped into your phone, pacing your living room. "I used the washing machine at 7 PM on a Tuesday, and he's at my fucking door, complaining about Maggie."
Sinclair's voice was a soothing balm over the phone. "Ignore him, babe. It's your apartment, and you have every right to use your own washing machine whenever you want. Fuck him and his fiance"
“Here he is again, at my fuckign door. Girl I’ll call you back.”
“Alright. Call me if it escalates. Cause I will knock someone ass.”
You hung up the call. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the confrontation. You opened the door, ready to face Jaafar's disapproval head-on. He stood there, his eyes flashing with irritation, his hands planted firmly on his hips. "What is it now, Jaafar?"
"Could you please do your laundry only on Fridays between 5:00 a.m. and 8:00 a.m., like we asked?" he said, his voice tight with barely contained irritation.
"How about no?" You folded your arms. "I need to wash my clothes just like everybody else in this building. Now, can I please get back to my phone call with my friend?"
You reached for the door, but before you could close it, Jaafar placed his hand against it, stopping you.
Your irritation immediately flared. "Get your hand off my door, please."
"Not until you promise you'll do your laundry only on Fridays between 5:00 and 8:00 a.m." He stood his ground. "Otherwise, I'm not moving."
You stared at him. "Move or I'll move you myself." You threatened.
He sucked his teeth and shook his head. "Why are you being so damn stubborn?"
You felt your hackles rise, your temper flaring. "The nerve of you to call me stubborn!" you snapped, your voice echoing in the hallway. "It's my apartment, and I'll do my laundry when I please. I didn't sign up for your ridiculous rules, and I certainly didn't agree to restrict my life to accommodate your cat's delicate sensibilities."
Jaafar's eyes widened at your outburst, taken aback by your vehemence. “Excuse me? Who do you think you are calling my fiancé a cat?”
But you were past caring. You were tired of his constant interference, of his holier-than-thou attitude.
"I said what I said. I have every right to use my own washing machine whenever I want," you continued, your voice rising. "And if Maggie is so sensitive, maybe you should invest in some earplugs or a white noise machine. Or better yet, move to an apartment with better soundproofing."
You could see the shock registering on Jaafar's face, but you didn't care. You were done tiptoeing around him, done catering to his demands.
"And another thing," you added, your voice dropping. "If you ever call me stubborn again, I swear, I'll…I'll report you to the leasing office for harassment."
With that, you slammed the door in his face, the sound echoing through your apartment like a gunshot. You leaned against the door, your heart pounding in your chest, your breath coming in short gasps. You had finally stood up to Jaafar, and it felt liberating.
You picked up your phone, your fingers flying over the screen as you recounted the entire exchange to Sinclair. You could hear her laughter, her pride in your stand against Jaafar. And for the first time in a long time, you felt like you were finally taking control of your own space, your own life.
But even with the new sense of control, no matter what you did, it seemed to bother him. Every knock left you feeling as though you were the worst neighbor in the building. The only victory you could claim was that you hadn't packed up and moved out within the first month. If anything, it almost felt like Jaafar had made it his personal mission to see if he could drive you away.
You signed off from work that Friday evening, the soft glow of your laptop fading as you closed it. Your desk, tucked away in the bedroom, was a sanctuary from the world, but tonight, the world was knocking loudly. Three sharp raps echoed through your apartment, and you knew who it was. Jaafar, your neighbor, with his signature impatient knock.
You hesitated, your hand hovering over your phone. The temptation to ignore him was strong, but so was the fear of what he might do if you didn't answer. Sinclair, your coworker and friend, had always advised against engaging with Jaafar, but the man's persistence was unyielding.
"Should I answer it, Sin?" you typed, seeking her advice.
"Fuck no! Don't let that man run you over. Ignore him," she replied promptly.
The knocks continued, each one resonating in your skull like a drumbeat. You could feel the tension building, the throbbing in your temples mirroring the insistent rhythm at your door.
"Sinclair, he's still knocking," you updated her, your voice a quiet plea for help.
"If he keeps knocking, call the leasing office. He's being entitled. You want me to come over and yell at his ass? Cause I will."
You took a deep breath, considering Sinclair's offer. But you didn't want to make a scene, not tonight. You just wanted peace and quiet, a chance to unwind after a long week. Jaafar, it seemed, had other plans.
"No, don't come over. I'll ignore him," you told Sinclair, more to convince yourself than her.
But as the minutes ticked by, the knocks showed no sign of stopping. They were relentless, a testament to Jaafar's determination. You found yourself rubbing your temples, the beginnings of a headache forming. You had just finished work, and all you desired was a quiet evening, a chance to recharge before the weekend was over.
Yet, Jaafar was at your door, his presence a storm cloud threatening to disrupt your plans. The knocks echoed through your apartment, a stubborn symphony that refused to be ignored. You sighed, your resolve crumbling under the onslaught. You couldn't ignore him, not tonight. You had to face him, even if it was the last thing you wanted to do.
"Sin, I'll talk to you later."
"Okay, let me know if you get into some trouble." You both end the call.
With a sense of resignation, you pushed away from your desk, the chair rolling silently across the carpet. You made your way out of the bedroom, through the living room, each step echoing the reluctant beat of your heart. You reached the front door, your hand hovering over the handle. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the confrontation.
"Alright, Jaafar," you muttered, your voice barely audible. "Let's see what you want this time." And with that, you opened the door, ready to face whatever storm awaited you on the other side.
Your eyes landed on Jaafar, and you were taken aback by the state he was in. His usually impeccable appearance was disheveled, sweat beading on his forehead, a casual T-shirt and jeans replacing his usual polished attire. The sound of a fire alarm blared from his apartment, and the smell of something burning wafted through the air.
"What do you want?" you asked, your voice blunt and unyielding, a remnant of your recent encounters with him.
"Um–sorry to disturb you, but my fire extinguisher isn't working, and there's a small fire happening in my kitchen. Do you think you could help me out?" he said, his eyes wide with anxiety.
You hesitated, your initial instinct to slam the door in his face warring with the realization that there was a fire in his apartment. You smelled the smoke, saw the desperation in his eyes, and against your better judgment, you found yourself saying, "Alright, fine."
You grabbed your keys from the key hook on your wall, locking your door behind you as you followed Jaafar to his apartment. The door was already open, and you followed him to the kitchen, where a small fire was indeed burning on the stove. You coughed, fanning the smoke from your face as you took the extinguisher from him.
"I tried to follow the directions, but nothing worked," he said, his voice barely audible over the blaring alarm.
You adjusted the extinguisher, aiming it at the fire. A few seconds later, the fire was out, the extinguisher hissing as it released its contents. Jaafar grabbed a towel and fanned the fire alarm until it stopped, the sudden silence deafening.
Jaafar panted, leaning against the counter. "Thanks, y/n," he said, his voice filled with gratitude.
You fanned the remaining smoke from your face, your eyes scanning the charred remains of what was once a meal. "What were you cooking?" you asked, stepping closer to the stove.
"Pan-seared chicken," Jaafar said, standing straight, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. "I was trying to make dinner for Maggie and me for Friday night."
"Oh, I see," you said, a small smile playing on your lips. "Yeah, that bird is dead," you joked, your eyes meeting Jaafar's.
He laughed, the sound foreign and surprisingly warm. "Shit. Maggie will be home in an hour, and I don't have anything to cook," he said, his eyes falling on the bouquet of pink and yellow flowers on the kitchen island.
You wanted to walk away, to leave him to his own devices, but something in his eyes, in the way he looked at those flowers, gave you pause. "Take her out to dinner," you suggested, your voice softening.
"How? It's Friday, and restaurants are fully booked this weekend?" he asked, his brows furrowing.
"I'm a restaurant order taker and make reservations. I can help you book a reservation for any restaurant in Los Angeles," you said, taking out your phone.
His eyes widened, hope shining in them. "Really? That would be amazing. I just wanted to treat her to a nice dinner. I even bought her favorite flowers," he said, gesturing to the bouquet.
"Sure, does McKensey's sound good?" you asked, your fingers already flying over the screen.
"Um–yeah. For 8:30," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Got it. All booked," you said, a sense of satisfaction filling you at the sight of his smile.
"That was…fast. Thanks," he said, his eyes meeting yours.
"No problem," you said, turning to leave. But his voice stopped you.
"Y/n?" he called out, his voice soft.
You turned, your eyes meeting his. "Yeah?" you asked, your voice guarded.
"Thanks for your help. Getting rid of the fire and making the reservations. I owe you one," he said, his cheeks flushing slightly.
You hesitated, then nodded. "Mmhm," you said, before turning and walking away, leaving him to his thoughts and his flowers. As you closed the door behind you, you couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. You had helped Jaafar, and in doing so, you had broken down a barrier between you. But you weren't sure if that was a good thing or not. Only time would tell.
It was Saturday evening, and you were exhausted. Not because you'd stayed up watching a comedy movie with pizza, but because of the argument that had erupted in Jaafar and Maggie's apartment the night before. The dinner reservations you'd made for them had turned into a complete disaster.
With walls as thin as these, it had been impossible not to overhear everything.
From what you gathered, Maggie was furious for several reasons. First, Jaafar had burned the dinner he'd insisted on making before their reservation. Second, instead of figuring out how to use the fire extinguisher himself, he'd come knocking on your door for help. Third, she'd been disappointed to learn he'd taken her to McKensey's—a four-star restaurant instead of the five-star restaurant she'd been hoping for. And finally, she didn't even like the bouquet he'd surprised her with.
Unfortunately, your name had come up during the argument too.
Maggie accused Jaafar of asking another woman, you, for help instead of handling things himself. She questioned why he'd trusted you before thinking of anyone else, and although Jaafar repeatedly insisted you were "just the neighbor," Maggie wasn't convinced.
You hadn't meant to become part of their disagreement. You'd simply answered the door when someone asked for help. Still, hearing your name shouted through the walls over and over made you feel incredibly awkward.
The arguments continued nearly every night for the next month and a half. Then, they stopped.
For another month and a half, the apartment next door remained blissfully quiet. No raised voices. No complaints about your cooking. No knocks on your door because the dishwasher was too loud. No lectures about when you should do your laundry. For the first time since moving in, you could work from home, clean your apartment, and listen to your favorite music without interruption. It was peaceful.
Wanting to enjoy the silence while it lasted, you reserved the apartment pool for Saturday evening. Summer was slowly coming to an end, but the weather was still warm enough for a swim.
You slipped into the pink-and-blue one-piece swimsuit you'd bought the month before. Stress eating over the past few months had caused you to gain a little weight, but thankfully it still fit comfortably.
After grabbing your towel, book, and water bottle, you headed downstairs.
The pool was exactly as you'd hoped. Empty. The city skyline shimmered in the distance beneath the fading evening sun. You placed your belongings on one of the lounge chairs before sitting at the edge of the pool, letting your feet drift through the cool water.
You closed your eyes. For the first time in weeks, you felt completely at peace.
"Oh…y/n?"
You opened your eyes and turned toward the gate. Jaafar stood there, fully dressed, carrying a towel over one shoulder.
"Jaafar?" you asked, surprised. "What are you doing here?"
"I reserved the pool for this evening."
You frowned. "So did I."
The two of you stared at each other for a second.
"That's…strange." He looked down at the reservation slip in his hand. "I guess management accidentally double-booked us."
He walked toward one of the lounge chairs before stopping. "You probably booked it first." He gave a small nod. "I'll leave and let you enjoy your evening."
You hesitated. "No… it's okay."
He looked back at you. "We can share? Are you sure?" he asked. "I only planned on swimming a few laps."
You nodded. "I wasn't planning to swim. I just wanted to sit here with my feet in the water."
"Alright. Thanks."
He slipped off his shirt and pants, revealing a pair of black swim trunks, and folded his clothes neatly onto the lounge chair. After a quick stretch, he eased himself into the pool with a smooth dive.
A moment later, he surfaced, brushing the water from his face. "I didn't splash you, did I?"
"No," you replied, rubbing your arms absentmindedly. "You're fine." You tried not to stare as he pushed off the wall and glided effortlessly through the water. There was something graceful about the way he swam.
Within a few minutes, he'd already completed two laps. He climbed out of the pool and sat at the edge a comfortable distance away from you, letting the water cascade down his body. His caramel-brown skin glistened beneath the evening light. Something was striking about him, both graceful and strong.
You caught yourself staring. The moment his eyes met yours, you quickly looked away, your cheeks warming with embarrassment.
"How have you been?" he asked unexpectedly.
"Me?" You blinked. "Oh…I've been fine, I guess. How about you?"
He gave a small chuckle and bit the corner of his lower lip. "About the same, I guess."
You studied him for a moment before asking gently, "Things okay over at your place?"
He let out a quiet sigh, his gaze drifting across the water. "We've just been going through a rough patch." He managed a faint smile as he turned to look at you. "But it's nothing."
"Oh… I'm sorry."
He gave a small shake of his head. "It's okay." He paused before adding, "And…I'm sorry about all the arguments you've had to listen to. I know they probably made living next door miserable."
You offered a small shrug. "Arguments happen. We're all human, right?"
"Right…" Silence settled between you.
The evening was peaceful, broken only by the soft chirping of crickets and the gentle ripple of the pool water.
"It's quiet now because…" He hesitated, his eyes fixed on the water. "Maggie and I ended our engagement about a month ago."
Your eyes widened. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry."
"It's all right." He gave a faint, bittersweet smile. "Honestly, it was inevitable. She packed her things and moved out. Things had been falling apart for almost a year."
He exhaled slowly. "And…there's something else I should tell you."
You looked at him, waiting.
"The tenants who lived in your apartment before you didn't move out because of me." His expression turned apologetic. "They left because of Maggie's constant complaints and demands. I just…wanted you to know that."
You sat quietly for a moment before nodding. "That actually explains a lot."
Everything suddenly made sense. All those rules. The complaints. The constant knocks on your door.
You had spent months believing Jaafar was the controlling one, when in reality, he'd been trying to keep the peace with someone who demanded far more than anyone could reasonably accommodate.
You let out a small sigh. "I guess I owe you an apology too."
He looked at you with surprise. He smiled faintly and climbed to his feet. Walking a few steps closer, he sat back down at the edge of the pool beside you, leaving just enough space between you to be respectful. The warmth radiating from his still-damp skin made you suddenly aware of how close he was.
He shook his head. "No." He rested his forearms on one knee, absentmindedly rocking his foot as he looked out over the water. "The apology should come from me."
He glanced over at you. "I expected you to rearrange your life around someone else's preferences. That wasn't fair. And after everything, you still helped me the night of the fire."
A sheepish smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Remember when I told you I owed you one?"
You let out a soft chuckle. "Yes, I remember."
You had no idea what he was about to suggest, but you waited patiently.
"I could…" He hesitated, a shy smile forming on his lips. "I could make you dinner."
He glanced at you. "That is, if you're okay with it."
You raised an eyebrow. "Hmm, I suppose." You smiled teasingly. "As long as you don't try to burn down the apartment again like last time."
He scratched the back of his head with a laugh. "I learned my lesson."
"Tomorrow night, then, at my place? Around 8:30?" You paused. That was the exact time you'd helped Jaafar make the reservation at McKensey's for Maggie. How ironic.
"Sounds good," you agreed.
"It’s a da—" He stopped himself. "I mean s–sounds good." You caught the blush spreading across his cheeks again. "I'll see you later, y/n."
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Can you do the tiktok trend with jaafar jackson x curvy reader where they are at a restaurant with the whole Jackson family including michael celebrating the release of Michael in theaters
My very first request! This is a long one, sorry! I hope this is to your liking. Let me know if I should make a part two! :D
A Jackson Family Affair 🔞🖤🎀👠
Warnings: 18+, MDNI, explicit sexual content, strong language and sexual themes, Jaafar x fem reader, Jaafar x curvy fem reader, heated family argument, Jaafar being possessive, Michael being a seducer and player, rough sex, bathroom sex, doing it in a public setting, choking, dirty talk, pet names such as JJ, sweetheart, darling, good girl, little slut, family rivalry, hidden secrets, oral, penetration, fingering, I don't what else to put because I was all over the place.
Synopsis: Jaafar, your fiancé, had a rough day after the release of "Michael," the movie he starred in, portraying his uncle. After the red carpet, he confides in you about his day and his dislike for people's comments about your curves. Your dress and figure, however, evoke a different response in him. When you both arrive for dinner, Michael is overly flirtatious with you, showering you with praise. After you leave the ladies' room, Michael corners you, offering to "show you how to be properly handled." Jaafar doesn't take kindly to this, deciding to take matters into his own hands.
"People keep bringing up the breakup with my ex-fiancée. It's getting old," Jaafar growled, his eyes darkening as he looked out the limousine window. You and Jaafar were on your way to celebrate the Michael Jackson biopic with his family, but the constant reminders of his past relationship had put him in a foul mood.
"It'll die down eventually," you said, trying to reassure him, squeezing his hand. "People are just curious, and they'll find something else to talk about soon enough."
"I just wish they'd leave you out of it," Jaafar muttered, his voice laced with frustration. "The things they say about you… it's disgusting."
You looked at him, a small smile playing on your lips. "You know I can handle it, JJ. I've been dealing with online trolls for years. But thank you for caring."
Jaafar turned to face you, his eyes intense under that soft and glowing skin. "I more than care, baby. I love every inch of you. And it kills me to see people disrespect you like that."
You felt a shiver run down your spine at the heat in his voice. "Jaafar…" you whispered, your heart starting to race. Maybe it was the way Jaafar's suit and vest hugged his lean frame, or how his hair was styled in a way that emphasized his youthful but masculine charm, but you found yourself looking at him with hunger. You'd been with Jaafar long enough to know that he had a tender, almost shy side when it came to expressing his feelings for you. But you'd also seen the other side of him; the fierce, protective side that would rear its head when he felt you or someone he cared about was being disrespected.
He leaned in closer, caging you with both hands at your side, his voice dropping to a low teasing growl. "You know it's not just your food that drives me wild, right? It's you. Your curves, your confidence, your fucking everything. I can't get enough of you." His eyes drifted down to your black dress, appreciatively taking in how it clung to your curves. "You look…really, really good in that dress," he said, a hint of innocent awe mixing with his low, husky tone. “So good I just wanna lick and taste the sweetest part of you. I just want to skip dinner and have—”
“Jaaf—” You felt your breath hitch, desire pooling low in your belly. "Jaafar, we're in the limo…" you whispered, even as you leaned into him, your body craving his touch. Your heart raced as you looked into his eyes, feeling the heat between your legs. You knew you should protest, should tell him to wait until after dinner.
"Oh my, did I just say that?" Jaafar exclaimed, his hand flying to his mouth, shock etched on his face. "I'm so sorry, that was…forward of me."
A soft laugh bubbled up from you. "It's okay, JJ. I'm just surprised to see this side of you. We should probably save that for later, though. I don't want to mess up my hair and makeup before dinner."
Jaafar let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. "Of course, you look amazing, and I don't want to ruin that. What's gotten into me?"
You both made your way into the elegant restaurant, Jaafar's hand resting lightly on the small of your back. The restaurant was a favorite of the Jacksons, offering a sophisticated yet cozy atmosphere with its red, black, and cream color scheme, black velvet curtains, and gleaming golden chandeliers. As you were led to your table, you couldn't help but feel anticipation for the evening ahead.
As you approached the table, Latoya's face lit up with a wide smile. "Oh, there you two are!" she exclaimed, getting up to greet you with a warm hug. "Don't you look stunning? I love that dress on you."
You leaned in to kiss her cheeks. "Thank you, Latoya. I had it tailored just for tonight. You look amazing as well." You turned to the rest of the table, greeting everyone with a smile. "Hi, everyone."
Michael stood up from his seat at the head of the table, a warm smile on his face. "Ah, Jaafar's better half has arrived. I was beginning to think he was trying to keep you all to himself," he said, his tone light and teasing as he took your hand, kissing the back of it gently. His hands felt strong and warm, like Jaafar's. He was wearing a sharp, clean dark blue suit with a crisp white shirt underneath, a dark blue tie that made his already beautiful jawline sharp, and a black hat. "It's good to see you again, my dear. I've heard nothing but praise for you from my nephew."
"I can say the same for you, Mr. Jackson. Jaafar spoke highly of you throughout the red carpet," you said, a soft smile playing on your lips.
Michael chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I'm sure he did. You look absolutely stunning. It's a pleasure to see you again," he said, his voice warm and genuine. He reached out, gently squeezing your arm in a slow, reassuring motion.
You felt a blush creeping up your cheeks. "Thank you, Mr. Jackson. You always know how to make a lady feel special.”
“And please, call me Michael. Mr. Jackson makes me feel like I'm back in school," he said, laughing softly.
"Of course, Michael," you replied, the name feeling both strange and intimate on your tongue.
Michael laughed, a rich sound that filled the air. "Sounds better when you say my name. Have a seat," he said, pulling out the chair beside him. You sank into the plush seat as he helped push you towards the table, the soft fabric caressing your skin, as Jaafar took his seat next to you.
The table buzzed with conversation as everyone perused their menus. The aroma of delicious food wafted through the air, making your mouth water in anticipation. Michael had poured a glass of wine for you. Jaafar opted to drink water.
Latoya leaned in, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "I hear the Chilean sea bass is amazing. Have you had it before?”
You shook your head, smiling. "I haven't, but I've heard great things about it. I think I might give it a try."
Jackie chimed in, "The Cajun shrimp and grits is a personal favorite of mine. It's so good, I could eat it every day. Mmf!” He grunted with satisfaction. “You should try it."
"Ion know," Jermajesty said, leaning his back against the chair. "Give me some fried chicken and mac and cheese and I'm straight."
“Nah, the butter-poached salmon with the mashed cauliflower is to die for; whatchy’all talkin about?” Jermaine said.
Rebbie leaned in, her eyes scanning the menu. "I've been craving the shrimp and grits, but the Cajun chicken sounds amazing too. What do you think, Jaafar?"
Jaafar's dimples deepened as he smiled, his eyes scanning the menu. "Everything sounds so good, I can't decide. I might need to come back a few times to try it all."
Michael leaned back in his seat, turning towards you slightly. "We should’ve had Jaafar's fiancée whip us up something special. After all, she's an amazing chef," he said, his voice filled with admiration.
You felt your cheeks grow warm, your eyes cast downwards. "Oh, Mr. Jackson, you flatter me too much. I'm sure the food here will be more than enough to satisfy us all."
Michael raised an eyebrow, a playful smile on his lips. "It's not flattery if it's the truth, now is it? Besides, I've tasted your cooking, and I know just how talented you are."
You felt your cheeks flush with each compliment Michael bestowed upon you, his voice as smooth and enticing as the scent of his vanilla and spice cologne that filled the air. You had always admired him, and now, sitting beside him, you couldn't help but feel a sense of nostalgia and…something more. Internally, you acknowledge the guilty secret you've kept hidden even from yourself: the fantasies that have played out in the privacy of your own mind, fueled by loneliness and curiosity.
In the privacy of your own mind, you can't help but imagine Michael's big, warm hands roaming your body, tracing the curves that Jaafar has always appreciated but never quite mastered. You picture his strong, calloused fingers, gently yet firmly exploring every inch of you. His hands are confident, knowing, as if they've memorized every contour of your curvy body. You can almost feel the rough pads of his fingers brushing against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. In your fantasies, Michael's voice is a low, sultry purr, a symphony of sweet nothings and commands that leave you breathless. When your fantasies finally faded, your fingers ached with exhaustion, and all you could do was mentally scold yourself for letting your imagination run wild.
Jaafar took your hand in his, gently rubbing circles on your palm with his thumb. It was a comforting gesture, but also one that felt almost possessive. "Uncle Mike, it's her day off," he said, his voice soft yet firm. "She needs a break."
Michael's gaze shifted to Jaafar, a hint of challenge in his eyes. "She still deserves praise, nephew. I'm merely giving her the recognition she deserves."
Jaafar, sensing your discomfort, squeezed your hand, his voice steady. "Of course she does, Uncle Mike. We're all here to celebrate the film dedicated to you. But let's not forget that she is here to enjoy herself as well, not to be put on the spot." You weren’t discomforted; you were slightly aroused seeing them fighting over you.
You heard a mix of gasps and oohs from Jermaine, Jermajesty, Tito, Marlon, and Janet as they sipped their wine, their eyes wide with entertainment as they took in the exchange between you, Jaafar, and Michael.
"Shits getting good," Jermajesty snickered.
"Boy, shut up!" Jermaine exclaimed.
Michael raised an eyebrow, a playful smile on his lips. "Can't I be generous and give my future niece-in-law some well-deserved compliments while celebrating the success of the film, nephew?"
"You can…just remember that she's my fiancée."
"And just remember…" Michael replied, his tone edged with passive aggression. "You got the role because of me." Everyone at the table let out a series of oohs and winces. Before Jaafar could respond, you quickly jumped in.
"You know what?" You forced a smile and looked down at your menu. "I think the butter-poached salmon sounds good. I'll have that."
"I told y'all," Jermaine exclaimed, shaking his head as he tapped the menu dramatically. “I told y’all, didn’t I?”
The tension around the table lingered. "Excuse me," you said, pushing your chair back. "I need to use the restroom."
Grabbing your purse, you stood and slipped away from the table, heels clacking, eager to escape the awkwardness for a few minutes. You slipped into the ladies' restroom, the door clicking softly shut behind you. Two women exiting as you entered left the space feeling empty, save for the distant hum of the overhead lights. You approached the sink, the cold porcelain a stark contrast to your warm fingertips as you turned the faucet on. The water gushed out, and you cupped your hands, letting the liquid cascade over your skin before splashing some onto your face and neck. Your makeup, waterproof and resilient, remained intact, a testament to its quality.
You leaned in towards the mirror, examining your reflection. Your eyes, bright and eager, held a hint of the turmoil within. With deft fingers, you smoothed out the small wrinkles on your dress, the fabric cool and smooth beneath your touch. Your mind drifted back to the scene in the other room, the tension between Jaafar and Michael palpable.
Jaafar's grip on your hand had been almost possessive, his thumb tracing circles on your skin, claiming you in a silent language only the two of you understood. His voice, low and steady, had held an edge as he defended you, his words a shield against Michael's praise, which, while genuine, held an undercurrent of flirtation. The dynamic between the two men was intoxicating, each vying for your attention, honoring you in their own ways.
You felt your body respond to the memory, your heart pounding in your chest, your breath coming in shallow gasps. The sensation between your legs was undeniable, a physical manifestation of your desire. You wished, not for the first time, that the moment had lasted longer. You yearned to hear more of their words, to see how far they would go in their quest to win you over. But for now, you took a deep breath, steadying yourself, and prepared to rejoin the party, your mind a whirlwind of thoughts and desires.
You approached the door, your hand reaching for the handle, but paused as you heard a muffled sound from the other side. You opened it cautiously, revealing Michael standing beside a tall plant vase, his legs crossed at the ankle, leaning against the wall with a casual elegance that belied the tension in his stance. His eyes, barely visible beneath the brim of his hat, were fixed on you.
You gasped, a hand flying to your chest. "Oh–Michael. You surprised me."
He pushed off from the wall, his smile lazy yet predatory. "My apologies. I wanted to ensure you were all right after…the exchange between Jaafar and me." His gaze swept over you, lingering in a way that made you acutely aware of your body.
"I appreciate your concern," you began, but your words were cut off as he suddenly crowded you against the wall, his arms caging you in. You could feel the heat of his body, his breath a whisper against your neck.
"But I have to say this. You're extraordinary," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "Successful, intelligent, and incredibly beautiful. Here you are, within my reach, like a dream come to life. That red lipstick on your thick, juicy lips. I can feel the heat coming off you." His words were a physical touch, each one a caress that left you breathless. "I can show you things, teach you things that Jaafar, charming as he may be, can only imagine. I can please you in ways he wishes he could, ways he dreams of but lacks the courage to attempt. He's soft with you, holding back, not giving you what you truly deserve. Don't you crave more than that?" His voice was a low, seductive purr, each word designed to stoke the fire within you, to make you yearn for the promises he offered.
You gulped, his intensity holding you captive. "Michael, I…I can't. Jaafar treats me right. His love is enough. This is wrong." Yet, your heart pounded, your body betraying you. You craved Jaafar's sweetness, but Michael's ferocity stirred something primal within you. You yearned for more, and Michael's knowing smirk said he saw right through you.
A deep clearing of the throat interrupted you. Jaafar stood there, his jaw clenched, eyes flashing with barely suppressed anger. "Is there a problem here?" he asked, his voice deceptively calm.
Michael stepped back, allowing you to breathe again. He turned, a smirk playing on his lips. "No, nephew. Just a…friendly conversation." He glanced at you, a wink promising more than it should. "Think about my offer, darling." With that, he walked past Jaafar, leaving an awkward silence in his wake.
Before you could speak, Jaafar gently took your forearm, guiding you back into the ladies' room and locking the door behind you. He turned to you, his eyes blazing with a fire that was both frightening and exhilarating. "What the hell was that?" he demanded. "What did he say to you?"
"Nothing. He just wanted to offer a gig," You said.
"A gig? What gig?” Jaafar asked, his eyes narrowing as he studied your face. “Something that involves you and him?" He accused, taking a step closer.
"No!" You lied, your tongue feeling heavy in your mouth. "Just another friend of his wanting to use my cooking service."
Jaafar's hands found his hips, and he began to pace, shaking his head. "I know that tone, babe. It's not going to work. Tell me the truth. What did he say?"
You slumped, crossing your arms. "Fine. Michael said…he thinks he can please me better than you can. He said your charming, soft ways don't do me justice. That you don't give me what I...deserve." Those words felt awful on your tongue.
Jaafar stopped, his gaze locked onto yours. For a moment, he said nothing, simply nodding to himself, rubbing his chin. Then, he took slow, measured steps towards you, lifting your chin with his fingers. "You think I'm being soft with you?"
"No, you're wonderful," you managed to say, your throat suddenly dry.
"Wonderful?" He chuckled, a low, dangerous sound. "Do you think that how I touch you, how I take you, is too soft for you? Is that why your fingers are always exhausted, like you've just been pleasing yourself to fantasies of my uncle?"
Your heart pounded in your chest. How did he know? You thought, panic rising. "I…I don't know what you're talking about."
He leaned in closer, his voice a low growl. "Don't lie to me, sweetheart. I know. I hear you moan out his name in your sleep. And I promise you, there's nothing soft about what I'm going to do to you now."
Jaafar's fingers still gripped your chin, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw, his gaze intense. "You're mine. Every inch of you. And I know you've been thinking about him, about what he could do to you when I’m not home. But you're wrong. You have no idea what I'm capable of."
His hand dropped from your chin, trailing down your neck, over your collarbone, until it reached the neckline of your dress. His fingers dipped beneath the fabric, tracing the swell of your breast, making you gasp. "This dress," he murmured against your neck, "it hugs you in all the right places. It shows off every thick, delicious, luscious curve of your body. I've been hard all night, just looking at you."
You bit your lip, your cheeks flushing at his words. "Jaafar, I didn't mean to…"
He shushed you, his finger pressing against your lips. "I know you didn't. But I'm going to make sure it doesn't happen again. I'm going to make sure you only think about me and not my uncle."
His hand slid down further, over your ribs, feeling each one. "You have no idea how many times I've imagined peeling this dress off you, slowly, revealing every inch of your skin to my hungry eyes. That ride to the restaurant was nothing but pure torture."
You squirmed under his touch, your breath coming in short gasps. "Jaafar, please…"
He sucked his teeth. "Please what, sweetheart? Please stop? Or please keep going?" His hand reached your hip, his fingers splaying out, gripping you possessively. "You're mine. And I'm going to show you just how much I can please you."
You moaned, your head falling back, your eyes closed. "Jaafar, I…I can't think when you touch me like that."
He spun you around, your back pressing against his chest, his strong arms caging you in. His hands found your hips again, grinding you against him, letting you feel the hard length of him. "You feel that? You feel how hard I am, babe? That's what you do to me. That's what you've been doing to me all fucking night."
You gasped, your hands gripping his arms for support. "Jaafar, we we shouldn't. We’re at a restaurant, and people are waiting fo—."
He silenced you with a growl, his hands sliding up your sides, over your ribs, until they reached your breasts. He cupped them, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, making you moan. "These are mine," he whispered in your ear, his voice ragged with desire. "Every part of you is mine. And I'm going to worship and destroy every inch of you, until you're screaming my name and not his."
You turned your head, your eyes meeting his, your breath coming in short pants. "JJ, I want you. But we can't do this here. Not like this."
"Oh, we can, babe. And we will, and I don’t fucking care. I'm going to make you forget all about my uncle and his empty promises."
He turned you back around, his hands gripping your thighs, lifting you. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, your dress riding up, leaving you exposed. He carried you to the counter, setting you down on the cool marble. His hands found the hem of your dress, pushing it up, up, until it was bunched around your waist.
He stepped back, his gaze raking over you, taking in every inch of your exposed skin. "Fuck," he groaned, "you're so beautiful. I can't wait to taste you, to feel you come apart on my tongue."
You blushed, your hands covering your face, your eyes wide. "Jaafar, people could hear us.”
He gripped your wrists, pulling your hands away from your face, his gaze intense. "Let them. Let them hear who you belong to. Let them hear how I worship you."
You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. "I don't know if I can."
He stepped closer, his hands gripping your thighs, pushing them apart. His gaze locked onto yours, intense, possessive. "You can, sweetheart.”
Jaafar's grip on your thighs tightened, his fingers digging into your soft flesh as he pushed your legs further apart, leaving you completely exposed to him. His gaze dropped to your glistening thighs, and he licked his lips, a hungry growl escaping him. "Damn, you're already so wet for me. You want this, don't you? You want me to devour you, to make you come so hard you forget your own name."
You whimpered, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment and arousal. "Stop, Jaafar. This isn’t you."
He silenced you with a dark chuckle, lips cascading over yours, his hands sliding up your thighs, his thumbs brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, making you shiver. "It’s too late, sweetheart. He unleashed a side of me that needed to come out. This is what he gets for pissing me off.”
His hands reached the edge of your panties, his fingers tracing the lace, making you squirm. "These are in my way!" he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "Lift your hips. Let me take them off."
You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest. But the look in his eyes, the raw, primal hunger, made you comply. You lifted your hips, allowing him to slide your panties down your legs and off, leaving you completely bare to him.
He tossed your panties aside, his gaze never leaving your center. He dropped to his knees, his big, veiny hands gripping your thighs, pushing them further apart. He leaned in, his breath hot against your core, making you gasp. "Jaafar, what are you…oh god."
He chuckled, his fingers digging into your thighs as he held you in place. He leaned in closer, his tongue flicking out, tracing the length of your slit, making you moan. "Oh god, mmm, Jaafar, that feels…that feels so good." Your eyes rolled back.
“Good, that’s what I like to hear.” His tongue delved deeper, tasting you, exploring you, making you squirm and moan. "You taste so fucking good. I could eat you all day."
His tongue found your clit, circling it, teasing it, making you gasp and moan. "Yes, just like that. Just like that.” Your hands dug into his hair.
“Good girl. Let my tongue torture and pleasure you.” He cooed. Jaafar massaged and twisted your nipples, making you whimper.
He sucked your clit into his mouth, his tongue flicking against it, making you scream. "Jaafar, I'm going to…I'm going to cum. Please let me cum."
He groaned, his fingers sliding inside you, pumping in and out, making you moan and squirm. "That's it, sweetheart. My little slut. Cum for me. Cum all over my fingers."
“Thank you. Thank you!” You felt the pleasure building, the pressure inside you growing, until it was too much. You screamed his name, your body convulsing as you came, your release washing over you in waves.
But Jaafar wasn't done with you yet. He stood up, his fingers still inside you, pumping in and out, drawing out your orgasm. "That's it, sweetheart. Cum for me again. Cum all over my fingers."
You gasped, your body sensitive and overstimulated. "Wait, no, please, I can't come again. I’can’t."
“Aww, yes, the fuck you will.” He chuckled, his fingers curling inside you, finding that spot that made you see stars. He continued, pumping his fingers in and out, his thumb circling your clit, never letting you go. His fingers picked up speed, his thumb pressing down on your clit.
“Oh, shit, I feel like I’m gonna c—”
“Yes, do it. Do it again, babe. I need it.” He praised, kissing your neck, his hand wrapping around your throat. You gasp, air constricting.
You felt the pleasure building again, the pressure inside you growing, until it was too much. You screamed his name, your body convulsing as you came again, your release washing over you in waves.
But Jaafar still wasn't done with you. He withdrew his fingers, licking them clean, a satisfied smirk on his face. “I’m already having dessert before dinner. Spoiling my appetite." He teased, releasing your throat.
He closed the distance, his hands like iron on your hips, hauling you to the counter's edge. "I want more than a fucking taste. I want to feel your pussy squeezing my cock. I want to hear you gasp and scream as I take you hard and rough when I tell you to forget my uncle, and only think of me. I want to fuck you until you can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything but take every inch of me. Got it?"
You gasped, your eyes wide with shock and arousal. "Yes, JJ, I hear you. Please, Jaafar, prove me wrong. Prove him wrong.”
“Indeed, I will.” He chuckled, his hands sliding up your body, cupping your breasts, making you moan. He unbuckled his belt, unzipped his pants, letting them fall to the floor. His 8-inch cock sprang free, hard and ready, making you lick your lips in anticipation. Jaafar stood between your legs, his hands gripping your thighs, his gaze locked onto your center.
He rubbed the head of his cock against your soaked entrance, causing you to gasp and squirm. "Jaafar, please," you begged, your voice ragged with desire. "I need you inside me."
He let out a dark, dangerous chuckle. "Not yet. I want to make you beg for it." He teased your clit with the head of his cock, making you whimper and moan. "You like that, don't you? You like feeling me so close, but not inside you?"
You squirmed, your hands gripping his arms, your nails digging into his skin. "Jaafar, please. I can't take it. I need you now."
“That’s my girl.” He groaned, his hands gripping your hair, thrusting into you in one swift motion. You instantly arched your back and let out a cry. “Oh fuck, Jaafar!”
“Yes, babe! Scream out my name.” He began thrusting hard and fast. "Fuck, you feel so good. Take me deeper, baby. Show me how much you can take me."
You took him deeper, feeling him hit all the right spots, making you arch. “You’re splitting me in half, JJ. I’m losing vision.”
“Losing visions of him?” He bellowed, his hands tightening in your hair. "You better be. I don’t want him in your thoughts. Just me fucking you. Only me.”
You felt tears streaming down your face, your eyes watering as you took him deeper, feeling him hit that sweet spot. "That's it, baby. You're doing so good. You're taking me so well. You pussy clenching me like it doesn’t want to let me go, huh?"
Jaafar's hips pistoned, slamming into you with such force that the sink counter shook, the wet sounds of your bodies coming together echoing through the restroom like thunderous claps. You could feel the pleasure building again, the pressure inside you growing until it was too much. You came with a scream, your body convulsing as your release washed over you in waves.
Jaafar growled, his hips moving faster, until he was coming too, his cock pulsing inside you, filling you with his hot seed. He withdrew from you, panting and sweaty, his hands cupping your face, his thumbs brushing away your tears. "Fuck, you took me so well," he murmured, his voice filled with awe and possession.
But then, reality seemed to hit him. He stepped back, his eyes widening in shock as he took in your disheveled state. "Oh, my god. What did I do? I'm so sorry." He reached out, his fingers gentle as he tried to smooth your hair, anything to make you presentable again.
You placed your hand over his, stopping him. "It's okay, Jaafar. It's okay," you soothed, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "We got carried away. It's not the end of the world."
He looked at you, his eyes filled with concern and regret. "But everyone…they must have heard us."
You shrugged, a small smile playing on your lips. "Let them. We're adults, Jaafar. We can do what we want."
He took a deep breath, nodded, and helped you off the counter. Together, you fixed your clothes and hair, making sure you looked presentable before leaving the restroom.
As you both walked back to the table, you could feel the weight of everyone's stares. Michael, in particular, looked like he had tasted something sour, his gaze flicking between you and Jaafar.
"Everything alright, you two?" Marlon asked, a smirk playing on his lips as he took a sip of his wine.
Jaafar placed a possessive hand on the small of your back, guiding you to your seat. "Just a… heated discussion," he said, his voice steady and calm, despite the turmoil you knew he was feeling inside. “We’re fine now.” He smiled.
"Yeah, you were in there clapping cheeks," Jermajesty muttered, laughing as he bit into a piece of bread.
Jermaine, his father, slapped him on the head. "Boy, shut your mouth."
"Ouch! What? I heard them as I was coming out of the bathroom!" Jermajesty said, rubbing his head.
As you both took your seats, Jaafar's hand remained on your waist, a silent claim, a silent warning to anyone who might think to challenge him. Michael's gaze lingered on you, a hint of a challenge still in his eyes, but you ignored him, focusing on Jaafar, on the feel of his hand on your body, on the memory of what had just happened between the two of you in the restroom.
Warnings/Tags: Extreme smut, explicit sexual content, 18+, MDNI, Michael x F reader, Michael being a rough dom, F sub, orgasm denial, rough sex, use of sex toys, spanking, kink, dirty talk, angst, P to V, pet names such as mama, love, princess, bad girl, penetration, Michael being an intimidating dom, cream pie.
~ Requests are open! ~
Synopsis: While Michael is away on tour, you fill your days with solitude and reckless shopping sprees. However, your extravagant spending has severe repercussions, and Michael returns home less than pleased. In response, he implements strict, sensual consequences to teach you a lesson.
"Umm… don’t you think you’re going a little overboard with the shopping sprees?" Bill asked, watching you eat your bowl of cereal in the kitchen. You were all cozy in your pink fuzzy robe and slippers.
"Maybe, but it's for my mental health. You know how lonely it's been, Bill. With Michael being away on tour for the past two months," you replied, your voice soft. Bill was assigned to watch over you while Michael was on tour, and you knew he understood your situation.
"But you took his credit cards without his permission," Bill pointed out.
"Yeah, but I'm his wife. He did say to treat myself when I needed to," you grimaced. Bill's shoulders stiffened, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Um—let's not talk about it," he said, nervously chuckling.
You slipped out your phone from your robe and opened your messages. You tapped Michael's name. No new texts. His last concert had been in Tokyo, and according to his schedule, he was already on his way to Manila for the next stop on the tour. You wouldn't see him for at least another month. Which meant you had plenty of time to plan exactly how you wanted to welcome him home.
Three days had passed, yet the loneliness still lingered. Michael's busy tour schedule left little time for phone calls or texts, and the lack of attention from him had begun to wear on you.
Needing a change of scenery, you decided to spend the evening treating yourself to a little self-care.
"Bill, can we go out to the plaza?" you asked, looking up from your book. You'd been cooped up in the house for what felt like an eternity, and you desperately needed a change of scenery.
Bill shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his gaze flickering to you before darting away. "I don't know, I think you should, uh, slow down a bit," he said, his voice hesitant.
You sighed, closing your book and setting it down on the coffee table. You knew what he was thinking, what he was worried about. But you also knew that you needed this, needed to get out of the house and clear your head.
"Bill, please," you said, pleading with him, your hands clasped together in a gesture of supplication. "I just need to get out of the house for a little while. I promise, I won't do anything crazy. I just need some fresh air, some sunlight."
Bill's gaze softened, and you could see the internal struggle playing out on his face. He knew how hard this had been for you, how much you'd been struggling with Michael's absence. And he also knew that you were a grown woman, capable of making your own decisions.
"Fine," he said finally, his voice resigned. "But just this once, and only to the plaza. And we won't stay long, okay?"
You beamed at him, your heart swelling with gratitude. "Thank you, Bill," you said, your voice filled with sincerity. "I promise, I won't let you down."
One of your stops was a local lingerie boutique, where you browsed through rows of colorful lace and satin. With the help of the sales associates, you picked out an adorable bubblegum-pink lingerie set decorated with tiny cupcake details on the nipples and a playful whipped cream design on the back. The perks of the lingeries was that it was lickable. Before checking out, they also recommended a perfume whose sweet, sugary scent paired perfectly with it.
As you stepped out of the boutique, you uncapped the perfume and gave it a light spritz onto your wrist before taking a small sniff. It was sweet, creamy, and just a little fruity. Exactly what you had hoped for.
You wandered around the plaza for a few more minutes, considering whether to do a little more shopping. After glancing into a few storefronts, you decided you'd bought enough for one evening and headed toward the limousine waiting in the parking lot.
Bill stood beside the car, smiling as he opened the rear door for you. "You seem happier," he observed.
"I am." You climbed into the back seat with a grin. "Shouldn't I be, Bill?"
He chuckled as he adjusted his hat. "I suppose so. Earlier you said you needed to get out of the house because you weren't feeling like yourself."
"I still miss Michael," you admitted, setting the shopping bag beside you. "But…I do feel a little better." You lifted the bag with a mischievous smile. "Wanna see what I bought?"
Bill immediately took a step back and held up both hands. "Nope." He laughed, already shaking his head. "I'm good."
You burst into laughter. "Come on, Bill. You're no fun."
"I know enough not to look inside a lady's shopping bag." He smiled as he closed the door. "Let's get you home. It's getting late." You caught the faint blush creeping across his cheeks, making you laugh even harder.
The ride home passed quietly. You rested your hand on the shopping bag, already looking forward to trying everything on.
As soon as you stepped out of the car, you dashed towards the house, leaving Bill chuckling in your wake. "Whoa, there now. What's the rush?" he called after you, but you were already gone, your heart pounding with anticipation.
You bounded up the stairs, your heels clicking against the marble steps, and hurried into your bedroom. The bag containing your surprise lay on the bed, waiting for you. You picked it up, a small smile playing on your lips as you carried it into the en suite bathroom for a warm, scented bath.
Back in your bedroom, you slipped into the lingerie, admiring yourself in the standing mirror. It fit perfectly, accentuating your curves in all the right places. The cupcakes on the nipple part were adorable, and you could smell the sweet scent of them. You smiled, your hands tracing the lace, imagining Michael's reaction.
You closed your eyes, letting your imagination run wild. You pictured Michael's hands on your body, his breath hot on your neck as he whispered filthy things in your ear. Your fingers found their way to your clit, circling it as you lost yourself in the fantasy. But then you stopped, a sudden thought striking you. You bit your lip, a mischievous glint in your eye as you decided to do something spontaneous.
You sauntered out of the bedroom, the soft fabric of your lingerie caressing your skin with each step. You felt a thrill of excitement, a sense of rebellion bubbling within you. You weren't going to hide in your room like a shy little mouse. No, you were going to explore, to claim your space.
You walked down the grand staircase, your heels clicking against the polished marble. You could feel the cool air against your skin, but you didn't mind. You felt alive, invigorated. You wandered through the large house, your fingers trailing along the ornate furniture, the rich textures beneath your touch.
In every room, you imagined Michael doing unimaginable things to you. Fucking you on his desk in his study, the kitchen floor, the in-home theater - everywhere. Your imagination ran wild, your heart pounding with excitement. You were about to go to the back patio of the mansion to take in the welcoming night air when Michael's shadow emerged at the door.
“M–Michael?” You whispered to yourself, heart thumping. “He’s…why is he here? He’s supposed to be in Asia.” The knob jingled, and you quickly went to lock it, ready to play with him.
"Baby, I know you're there. Don't play with me," Michael warned, his voice low and dangerous. He sounded unlike himself, but it was undeniably him. You locked the door again, a smirk playing on your lips. “Stop messing with the door. I’m not in the mood.” The jingling stopped, and you stepped back, your heart pounding in your chest.
Michael's shadow disappeared, and you froze, wondering if he was going to the front of the mansion. You turned to run for the front door when you heard the patio door swing open, and Michael stood there, tall and imposing. His black pants were wrinkled, his white shirt untucked, and his blue jacket hung loosely on his shoulders. His curly black hair was disheveled, and his eyes burned with anger.
"You have some fucking explaining to do," he growled, slamming the door behind him. He crossed his arms over his rising chest, his jaw clenched.
"Oh…do I?" you replied innocently, taking a slow step back. “You’re back home so…soon.” You said, changing the subject.
"Don't fucking act stupid with me," he spat out. "I'm very upset with you. I had to leave the tour early because of you. Now talk."
"Well…I don't want to talk…" you said, taking another step back.
“Oh, we’re gonna talk!” He boomed, shedding off his jacket and tossing it on the floor.
“You’re gonna have to catch me first!” You then turned and ran for the stairs, Michael hot on your heels.
“Come here! I’m not playing with you!” He was fast, his footsteps echoing behind you as he chased you up the stairs. You could hear his angry grunts, feel his presence right behind you. Your heart raced with excitement and fear as you led him to your bedroom. You reached for the door handle, but Michael caught you just in time, forcefully entering the room and slamming the door shut.
"Okay, okay, you win!" you squealed, your wrist caught in his firm grip. He spun you around, his face inches from yours, his breath hot on your face.
He backed you against the wall. "Why in the fuck did you spend over $12,000 on lingerie and sex toys?" he demanded, his voice thunderous. "And don't you dare lie to me."
"Well, I just wanted to treat myself, that's all. Bill knew; he was the one who took me shopping these past few weeks."
Michael's eyes flashed with anger. "I fucking know because Bill texted me about it three days ago. I didn’t know my credit card was gone until three weeks ago when I got a notification from the bank about suspicious purchases. I was too busy to reach out, but I figured you’d be smart enough to tell me about it!"
You bit your lip, looking down at the floor. "I…I'm sorry, Michael. I didn't mean to hide it from you."
Michael's hands clenched into fists at his sides. "Sorry? You're sorry? That's all you have to say for yourself? You spent over $12,000 on lingerie and sex toys, and you're sorry?"
You looked up at him, tears welling in your eyes. "No, that's not… that's not what I meant. I meant I'm sorry for hiding it from you. I just…I wanted you to react, to notice me. You've been so distant, and I felt alone while you were gone."
Michael's expression softened slightly, but his voice remained firm. "So you spent all that money to get my attention? To make me angry at you?"
You nodded, looking down at your hands. "Yes, I guess I did. I just wanted you to care, to react. To spice things up a bit. I didn't mean to hide it from you, though. I should have told you. But you never responded to my calls or texts."
Michael sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I care, babe. I just…I have a lot on my plate right now. But that's no excuse for you to hide things from me. We're a team, remember? We're supposed to communicate, to support each other."
You looked up at him, a small smile playing on your lips. "I know. I'm sorry, Michael. I just…I missed you. I wanted you to miss me too."
Michael walked over to you, pulling you into a tight hug. "I do miss you, honey. And I'm here now. And I’m sorry for not communicating with you. Let's just…let's put this behind us, okay? And next time, just talk to me. Don't hide things from me."
You nodded, burying your face in his chest. "Okay, Michael. I promise." As you pulled away, you noticed his gaze flicking down to your body. His eyes widened, and you realized he was just now noticing what you were wearing.
"Oh… I um - wanted to try it," you said, feeling a blush spread across your cheeks as Michael's gaze swept over your body. “It’s lickable.”
He licked and bit his lower lip, a habit he had when he was turned on or trying to hide his emotions. "I see," he said, his voice low and husky. "Let me get a good look at you," he continued, pushing you gently to the center of the room. He leaned on his left leg, his hands in his pockets, his head tilted to the side as he scrutinized you.
You suddenly felt shy, covering yourself with your hands. Michael scoffed, a smirk playing on his lips. "You acting all shy with me now?" he teased, his Indiana accent slipping. "After all that you did? Nah, baby, show me. And do it slowly."
You took a deep breath, turning around slowly, your heart pounding in your chest. You felt vulnerable, exposed, but also incredibly turned on by his hungry gaze. You could feel his eyes on you, roaming over every inch of your body, and you grew wetter with each passing second.
Michael nodded, a low hmm of approval escaping his lips. "Good. I like what I see. You picked out something…cute, sweet, and delicious," he murmured, walking around you like a predator circling its prey. He leaned in close, his hot breath tickling your ear. "We’re keeping this on. And now, I want to taste it."
You gasped, your heart pounding in your chest. "I'm yours, Michael. You can do whatever you want."
He chuckled, a dark, menacing sound that sent shivers down your spine. "That's exactly what I'm gonna do, mama. But I can't have dessert first." His hand slid to your ass, giving it a sharp smack. You gasped, your body jerking at the sudden contact. Your pussy throbbed, growing wetter with each passing second.
"Michael, what are—" you started, but he cut you off.
"Uh-uh, don't question it. Bend your ass over the vanity over there, for me, princess." He said, pointing at the rosy pink vanity with its lit vanity lights. You walked over, taking your time, your heart pounding in your chest.
"Hurry up, princess. Don't want Daddy to get impatient," he said, his voice low and authoritative. You bent over the vanity, your palms pressing into the cool surface. Michael approached from behind, his hands roaming up and down your legs, making you shiver.
He leaned in close, his breath hot on your ear. "Spread your legs for me, princess." You hesitated, and he gave your ass another sharp smack. "Ugh!" you cried out. Your pussy was dripping, your clit throbbing with need.
"Spread them more," he said, his voice firm. You complied, spreading your legs wider. "Good, my princess. Now look in the mirror and tell yourself that you've been a very bad girl every time I spank you. Understood, mama?"
You nodded, your eyes locked onto the mirror as you braced yourself for Michael's next blow. His hand came down, and you recited, "I've been a very bad girl." The sting of the slap sent a jolt through you, but you kept your eyes on the mirror, watching your reflection.
"Mmhmm, that's right. That's what you are, a bad girl," Michael growled, his hand coming down again. You repeated the phrase, struggling to maintain your composure. Your ass was on fire, the skin tender and swollen, but you refused to break eye contact with your reflection.
By the tenth slap, your eyes were welling with tears, and your voice was barely a whisper. "I can't…I can't say it again."
Michael tilted his head, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. "Aww, you're all cried out? Too bad, I'm just getting started." He grabbed you by the hair, pulling you up and forcing you to face him through the mirror. He leaned in, his breath hot on your neck as he licked and nipped at your skin. “Fuck, I want to taste you so bad. But this is a punishment for you and a reward for me.”
You shivered, your body betraying you with a surge of desire. Michael chuckled, pushing you down onto the carpet floor, face down and ass up. "Don't move," he ordered, walking into the closet. He returned with a bag, digging inside to pull out a cupcake-shaped vibrator and a pink paddle."Oh, it smells so good. You really did treat yourself," Michael said, setting the vibrator down on the floor. He smacked the paddle in his hand a few times, a dark smirk playing on his lips as he bent down slightly.
"Wait, what are you gonna do with those?" you asked, panic rising in your voice. You tried to crane your neck to see what he was doing, but your position on the vanity made it difficult.
"I'll do what I please," Michael replied, his voice low and dangerous. He ran the paddle along your ass, making you shiver. " I’m gonna be rough with you tonight. Have you used any of them?"
You hesitated, then shook your head. "No…I haven't used any of the toys."
"Then we might as well test one of them, hmm?" Michael mused, a wicked glint in his eye. He ran the vibrator over your clit, making you gasp. "Let me just remind you what your reward would feel like first, if I ever do want to reward you. Shall we?"
You nodded, your body arching into his touch. For just less than five seconds, you felt like you were about to come, and he knew. He pulled back, leaving you bereft. "Not so fast, mama," he teased, setting the vibrator aside. “Already about to come, I see.”
"Please, let me. I want it so bad," You pleaded.
"Begging me to let you cum, huh? That's cute. I like it when you beg, but it's not working just yet." He held both your hands with one hand behind your back while the other raised the paddle, ready to deliver another round of punishment. "Now, tell me again, what are you?"
"I–um…Mich–" you started, but he cut you off.
"No, princess. It's Daddy. So, what are you?" He sucked his teeth, a habit that always made you shiver.
"I'm a bad girl," you whispered, your voice quivering with a mix of fear and excitement. You bit your lip, trying to suppress a smile.
Michael grunted in approval. "Music to my fucking ears," he growled. He raised the paddle, and with a swift, sharp motion, he brought it down on your ass. The sound of the impact echoed through the room, followed by your cries of pain and pleasure. Tears welled up in your eyes, streaming down your cheeks as you reveled in the sensation.
"More! More, Daddy," you cried out, your face pressed into the carpeted floor.
Michael chuckled darkly. "That's my girl," he growled, bringing the paddle down on your ass again and again. Each time you cried out, reciting your lines, until he decided you'd had enough. You were a mess, your legs shaking, but you were far from satisfied.
He leaned down, kissing the back of your neck, before turning you over and hovering above you. Sweat dripped from his face as he wiped it away, a satisfied grin on his lips. "Look at you. You're a beautiful mess," he murmured, kissing you roughly before pulling away.
His eyes locked onto the cupcake-shaped cups of your lingerie, and he licked his lips. "Finally, a taste of something sweet," he growled, his tongue swirling around the tips of the cupcake, tasting the vanilla flavor. He lavished the same attention on your nipples, squeezing and kneading them, licking them like a starving man.
You wrapped your legs around his waist, feeling his tongue swirl through the lingerie. "Is this it, Daddy? Is this my reward?" you asked, your voice breathless with anticipation.
Michael shook his head, a wicked glint in his eye. "No, princess, this is mine. This is still a punishment." He stood up, tossing the paddle and vibrator onto the bed. In a slow, agonizing motion, he unbuckled his belt, his eyes never leaving yours. His pants and boxers hit the floor, and with a casual flick of his foot, he sent them sailing aside. Standing there, his manhood jutted out, a testament to his arousal and a sight that made your mouth go dry. You'd been fortunate enough to call this man yours, and every time, it felt like the first. Your legs, seemingly with a mind of their own, parted, your lacy underwear doing little to hide your readiness.
"Look at you, wife," he murmured, a smirk playing on his lips as he wrapped a hand around his length, stroking slowly. "Always so ready for me. All wet and ready for me." He bent, scooping you up as if you weighed nothing, and deposited you on the bed. A nudge of his knee between your legs had you scooting back until you hit the headboard. He pinned your wrists above you, his eyes never leaving yours as he nudged your legs apart with his own.
The first touch of his cock against your slick heat made you gasp, "Oh–oh shit."
"Don't tell me you're shy now, love," he chuckled, a dark promise in his voice. "We both know you're no stranger to this." He pushed in slightly, just enough to make you squirm. "Remember our wedding night? The way I fucked you against that pretty marbled floor of our honeymoon suite in Cancun? You were insatiable."
"I want to touch you," you panted, wriggling beneath him. "I want your mouth on me. You won’t let me cum."
"Ah, but that's the fun part, isn't it?" He leaned in, his breath hot on your ear. "Tonight is about me, my love. You've been a naughty girl, and this is your punishment. Now, be a good girl and take it."
He didn't bother with words; instead, he plunged into you with a single, powerful thrust. Your body bowed, a cry echoing off the walls as you struggled to take him all. "Eyes on me, love," he growled, setting a relentless pace that had the bed groaning in protest. You could barely think, barely breathe, as he filled you, his thickness stretching you deliciously.
"Fuck, you feel incredible," he grunted, his hips thrusting with brutal efficiency. "Your cunt is clenching into me. You don't want to let me go."
You squeezed your eyes shut, overwhelmed by the sensation, your legs trying to close around him. But Michael was having none of it. He caught your thighs, pried them apart, and held them there with a strength that brooked no argument. A sharp slap on your thigh had your eyes flying open.
"Look at me," he demanded, his voice a low rumble. His forehead was pressed to yours, his eyes burning into yours. "See how I disappear inside you, love. See how my cock stretches you, fills you up. It’s so beautiful." He chuckled darkly, thrusting hard to emphasize his point. "Keep looking, princess. I want you to watch."
You complied, your voice breathy with desire. "Yes, you're filling me up. It's so beautiful. I love it." He paused, releasing your hands to retrieve a cupcake-shaped vibrator from the bedside drawer. He tore open the packaging, turned it on, and pressed it to your clit without missing a beat.
"Do you think my naughty girl deserves a reward, princess?" he asked, his voice laced with lust.
"Yes, daddy," you panted, nodding eagerly. "I do deserve it. Please, I've learned my lesson."
He didn't bother restraining your hands this time, instead, guiding the vibrator to your throbbing clit as he continued to thrust into you. You let out a tearful cry, your body arching off the bed. "Oh my god, yes. Fuck, this feels so good."
"Does it, love?" he growled, his eyes locked onto yours. "You're taking my cock like a good girl. Look at you, writhing on my cock, chasing your pleasure."
Your hands reached for the vibrator, feeling him guide it, your orgasm building with each thrust and vibration. "I'm gonna c–cum."
"No, not yet, princess. Not until you ask."
"Can I please cum, daddy?"
A smirk spread on his lips. "Asking so nicely," he chuckled, his thrusts becoming more urgent. "Good girl. Yes, you may, love. Cum all over my cock. Look at me while you do it. Do you hear me?"
You nodded, your body tensing as your orgasm crashed over you. You looked into his eyes, as instructed, your body convulsing as you rode out your high. Michael followed soon after, his body shuddering as he groaned your name.
Before fully releasing inside you, he withdrew, allowing his essence to coat your stomach. He observed, captivated, as it slowly leaked from your center. Bending down, he collected your arousal with his fingers, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. "Clean up daddy's mess," he commanded, gesturing to your stomach. You eagerly complied, licking the remnants of his pleasure from your skin.
He collapsed onto you, both of you gasping for breath, spent and sated.
"Shit, that was intense," you gasped, kissing Michael's sweat-dampened forehead. He chuckled, nuzzling into your chest. "It was love. And there's more where that came from." He pushed himself up, his hair falling in disarray around his face as he stood. You watched, confused, as he strode into the walk-in closet.
"Michael?" you called out, sitting up on the bed. He returned a moment later, carrying three large bags, a sinister grin spreading across his face. "Don't think we're done yet, princess. We've got all night, and I've got plenty of…teaching aids." He dumped the bags on the bed, revealing an array of sex toys. "Tonight, we're going to explore every lesson there is to learn."
Author's note: Hi! This took me two days to write and edit, and I'm exhausted. I'm honestly shocked by what I've created.
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Warnings/Tags: Michael Jackson in his Mature Era, Strong sexual content, smut, 18+, MDNI, sensitive topics about body image/insecurities, self-harm (skin picking), childhood trauma, oral (F receiving, Michael giving), penetration, fingering, making love, lots of touching and licking, passionate sex, words of affirmation, crying, orgasms, unprotected sex. Please do not read if the topics trigger you. Self-care is your priority!
Author's note: This was inspired by my traumatic childhood. I've had body image issues since I was five years old, and skin picking became a serious problem once I entered my preteens. I still struggled with skin picking and body image issues as a woman in my 30s. If you're struggling too, you're not alone. You are loved! <3
Synopsis: It's your and Michael's third wedding anniversary, and you've decided to spend it indoors. As you look in the mirror that morning, you can't help but notice the changes in your body; the stretch marks, the lingering scars from years of skin picking. Your self-esteem takes a hit, casting a shadow over what should be a joyous day. Michael notices your withdrawal, your attempts to hide your appearance. When you both finally sit down that night to celebrate the rest of your anniversary, he gently confronts you. He vows to worship you and every flaw you possess.
Word Count: 2859
Time period and ages: November 4, 2007. You, the reader is 33 years old, and Michael Jackson is 48 years old.
"Happy anniversary!" Michael exclaimed cheerfully, waking you with a warm hug and a flurry of kisses. You stirred, sleep slowly receding as your eyes fluttered open to meet your husband's smiling face. He was dressed in red and black checkered pajamas, a gift from last year's anniversary. His hair was damp from showering an hour ago. Today marked your third wedding anniversary, and you both had planned an intimate celebration at home.
"Happy anniversary, Mikey," you murmured, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. You could taste the faint hint of orange juice, and the aroma of cooked breakfast wafted into the room, rousing your senses. Though still groggy, you reluctantly began to rise from the bed.
"Come on, baby," Michael urged, taking your hand and helping you up like an excited child. "I made breakfast! Your favorite, creme brulee french toast, scrambled eggs, and cheddar sausages."
You rubbed the sleep from your eyes, a smile spreading across your face. "Mmm, that sounds divine. I can't wait to taste it."
Michael chuckled, leading you towards the bedroom door. "Let's hurry before it gets cold," he said, but you paused.
"Let me brush my teeth first, honey," you requested, your hand slipping from his. You heard him let out a playful groan at the loss of your touch.
"Okay, fine," he pouted, though his eyes sparkled with amusement. "I'll meet you downstairs."
You entered the bathroom, turning on the whimsical teacup light that hung by the door, casting a soft glow over the room. It was a birthday gift from Michael, a testament to your shared love for enchanted and magical things. Gazing into the mirror, you took in the dark circles under your eyes, your dry skin, the uneven skin tones that you’ve hated since you were thirteen years old, the acne scars and healing wounds from picking at your skin that still marred your skin despite your best efforts, and the fine lines that had begun to appear around your neck.
You hesitated, covering the lines with your hands, a pang of self-consciousness striking you. Every flaw on your face and body you tried to cherish, but with the trauma from childhood bullying, it made it impossible. Even when Michael had shown you many times how much he loved your flaws, inside you were loathing. You hid it every time you two made love.
But you took a deep breath, reminding yourself that today was about celebrating your love with Michael, and nothing else mattered. After a quick toothbrushing session and acne face wash, you joined your husband downstairs, ready to embrace the joy of the day.
As you entered the dining room, a burst of lavender filled your nostrils, and you couldn't help but sniff the air in appreciation. The room was a vision, with Michael pouring you a cup of warm tea into a mug adorned with a small mermaid handle. He had decorated it with leaves, pink and green vines, and pastel flowers he had hand-painted two days ago. The curtains, white with little sparks of golden glitter, let the sunrays dance on the table, casting a warm, enchanting glow.
"It's beautiful," you whispered in awe, turning to Michael. "You did all this?"
He walked over to you, planting a soft kiss on your cheek. "Every bit of it," he said proudly, pulling out a chair for you. "I wanted our anniversary to be magical, just like our love."
You sat down, your heart fluttering with warmth. "It feels like a fairytale, Michael. Thank you for making today so special." You gazed at the steaming breakfast on the table, a smile playing on your lips.
Michael blushed as he sat next to you. "I wanted us to have an enchanted anniversary, an enchanted marriage," he said, his voice filled with love. "I married a queen," he added, leaning in to kiss your forehead.
You closed your eyes briefly, a small wince escaping as you remembered your earlier anxiety about your appearance. Michael noticed your slight tension.
"What's wrong, baby?" he asked gently.
You pecked him on the cheek, forcing a smile. "It's nothing, really. Just…still waking up, that's all." You took a deep breath and started eating, pushing the unwanted thoughts aside.
The two of you spent most of the day indoors, simply enjoying each other's company. You watched romantic movies, crocheted scarves and coaster mats for one another, and spent the afternoon painting and sketching side by side. Later, you ventured out for a leisurely walk in the town, window shopping as you admired the crisp mid-autumn weather. Before heading home, you stopped at a toy store to pick out gifts for children in foster care.
It had been a beautiful day filled with laughter, affection, and sweet moments together.
Yet every time you caught your reflection in a shop window or a mirror, your smile faded. You would quickly look away, feeling anything but beautiful. You did your best to hide those moments from Michael, hoping he hadn't noticed.
As you drove home that evening, Michael rested one hand gently on your thigh while the other remained on the steering wheel. Soft jazz drifted through the speakers, filling the silence between you. Outside, the city lights blurred past the windows.
You caught another glimpse of yourself in the side mirror and instinctively turned your head away.
"You've gotten awfully quiet, babe," Michael said, stealing a glance in your direction.
"I'm just a little tired," you replied, forcing a small smile. "I'm okay."
It was a lie.
All you could think about was how imperfect you felt. You wished you looked like the flawless women in magazines, on social media, or strolling through the streets of Beverly Hills.
To you, Michael was beautiful in every sense of the word. From his jet-black hair that moved with every step he took to his sharp jawline and dark brown eyes. Even with his vitiligo, you loved every part of him without hesitation. You only wished you could show yourself the same kindness.
When you both arrived home that evening, you quietly headed upstairs before Michael could ask another question about your sudden change in mood. He watched you go, sensing something was wrong, but chose to give you the space you seemed to need.
You stepped into the shower, hoping the hot water would wash away the thoughts that had been clinging to you all day. Instead, you scrubbed. And scrubbed.
Nearly an hour passed as you worked through bottle after bottle of body wash, cleanser, and exfoliator, convinced that if you just tried a little harder, you might finally feel comfortable in your own skin. When you finally stepped out and dried yourself off, your reflection made your heart sink. Your skin was flushed and irritated. Some of your acne had become inflamed from scrubbing too hard, leaving your face, legs, and shoulders tender.
A wave of shame settled over you. "Fuck, I'm doing it again," you whispered to yourself. "I'm sabotaging myself…again."
You slipped into your black satin nightgown and took a deep breath before reaching for the bedroom door to step out. The moment you opened it, you froze.
Michael stood just outside, his hand halfway raised as though he'd been about to knock. The worry in his eyes was impossible to miss.
"M-Michael, you nearly scared me," you stammered, instinctively raising a hand to cover part of your face as you took a step back.
"Babe…" he said softly, stepping inside and gently closing the bedroom door behind him. "You're starting to scare me." His voice wasn't angry; it was filled with concern.
"I know something's wrong." He tilted his head, trying to catch your eyes, but you quickly turned your face away.
"I'm fine, Mike," you insisted. "I'm just…tired."
He sighed. "You've said that at least three times today.” You remained silent. "Don't think I didn't notice." He stepped closer and gently took your hand in his.
"Notice what?" you asked, avoiding his gaze.
"The way you've been hiding your face." His voice remained calm and gentle. "Every time you caught your reflection today, you looked away. You kept pulling your hoodie over that beautiful blouse you were so excited to wear this morning."
His thumb brushed softly over your hand. "You didn't really think I wouldn't notice…did you, babe?"
You held back the tears all day, not wanting to spoil your anniversary. But as Michael pulled you close and whispered, "Babe, talk to me," the floodgates opened.
"I'm sorry, Michael," you choked out, pressing your head against his chest. "I tried so hard to be strong today. I didn't want to ruin our special day. But when I looked in the mirror this morning… it was like I was looking at a stranger. Every flaw stared back at me: the dark circles, the fine lines, the acne scars that never seemed to fade. It was like I was transported back to my teenage years, feeling ugly and insecure. I hate myself so fucking much!"
Michael held you tightly, his hand stroking your hair gently. "Shh, it's okay, my love. Don't ever hate yourself. I hate that you feel the way you feel. It pains me to hear you like this. You're beautiful, inside and out. Your imperfections are what make you, you. They're not flaws; they're stories carved onto your skin by time and experience.”
You took a deep breath as your eyes searched Michael’s. “Michael, what you don’t know is that all those times we’ve…made love, I secretly hated my appearance. All those times you’ve touched me; I was screaming on the inside about how horrible I looked. I didn’t feel like a woman; I still felt like that traumatized teenage girl.”
Michael brushed your cheek with the back of his hand. “But you’re not that teenage girl anymore. You’re a woman. My woman. I've always noticed your beautiful imperfections; you just never let me be vocal about it when we did make love."
"Oh my..." You pushed back slightly, shocked, wiping your tears. "But Michael, look at you. You're handsome, perfect. I'm just…ordinary. I can't compete with the women you see every day."
He caught your hand, his tone serious yet soft. "Hey, look at me. I married you, and only you, because I love you. Every scar, every line, every 'imperfection'; they're all part of what makes you uniquely, beautifully you. I love them all, and I'm going to spend the rest of our lives showing you just how much."
He guided you to the edge of the bed, his hands gentle yet firm on your waist. He reached for the straps of your satin nightgown, his fingers tracing the delicate fabric as he slowly began to slip it off your shoulders. You trembled slightly, a mix of anticipation and nerves coursing through you. As the nightgown slid down your body, you instinctively went to cover yourself, your hands hiding the dark spots on your arms, neck, and chest.
"Let me see you, love," Michael murmured, his voice soft and encouraging. He gently grasped your wrists, his thumbs brushing against your pulse. You shook your head, your eyes filled with fear and self-doubt. "Love, please," he whispered, his gaze locked onto yours. "I want to see all of you. Every part of you is beautiful to me."
He could see the struggle in your eyes, but he held your gaze, willing you to trust him. After a moment, you hesitantly dropped your arms, revealing your body to him. Michael's breath hitched as he took you in, his eyes darkening with desire. He leaned in, pressing soft kisses to your arms, chest, and neck, his hands trailing along your skin.
"Beautiful," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Just absolutely beautiful." He could feel you trembling beneath his touch, and he wanted nothing more than to erase the doubts and insecurities that plagued you. He kissed your neck, sucking gently on the sensitive skin, and you let out a moan, your head tilting to the side to give him better access. He did the same to your breasts, fingers twisting gently at your nipples. You bit your lip, savoring his touch.
His mouth popped, releasing your nipple. "Mmm, feel my big hands worshiping your beautiful breasts."
His hands roamed your body, tracing the curves and valleys, exploring every inch of you. When his fingers brushed over the irritated, red spots on the back of your thighs, you flinched, your body tensing. You wanted to push him away, to hide the imperfections on your skin. You unfortunately reached for his hands to move them from your thighs.
"Please don't push me away. It's alright, baby," he soothed. "Let me love every part of you." He laid you down on the bed, his hands never leaving your body. He reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it off in one fluid motion, revealing his slightly hairy chest and stomach pudge. He unbuttoned his pants, letting them fall to the floor, leaving him bare.
He was already hard, his cock standing proud and erect. He spread your legs, positioning himself between them. "Move closer for me, baby," he instructed, his voice husky with desire. You scooted closer, your breath hitching as you felt his cock touch your inner thigh, hot and heavy. His lips ghosted between your legs, his breath warm and tantalizing.
"These scars, these dark spots," he murmured, his gaze locked onto yours. "These stretch marks. They're beautiful, baby. Every part of you is beautiful." He leaned in, his tongue flicking out to taste you, finding your clit and circling it.
"Oh fuck, Michael, your...tongue." You arched your back, a moan escaping your lips as pleasure coursed through you.
Michael held your legs steady, his strong hands keeping you in place. "That's it, baby," he growled, his voice vibrating against your sensitive flesh. "Let me taste you. Let me savor every inch of you."
You writhed beneath him, your fingers tangling in his hair, holding him close. Your mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions: the urge to push him away again, to hide your imperfections, and the desperate need for him to prove his love, to worship you despite them.
Michael pushed two fingers inside you, gasping at your tightness. He continued to lick and suck, his tongue dancing over your clit, driving you closer to the edge. He lifted his head, his mouth glistening with your arousal. "Look at me, love," he commanded, his voice hoarse with desire. "Watch me worship you. Watch me love every part of you."
You looked down at him, your breath coming in ragged gasps. He dove back in, his tongue flicking and licking, bringing you closer and closer to the brink. Your fingers curled into his hair, your body tensing as your climax neared. You felt like a volcano ready to erupt, and with a final cry, you came undone on his tongue, your body shuddering with release.
“That’s it, baby. Let me drink you up. Let me taste that sweetness.” He slurped, his thirst for you quenched.
You rode the wave of your high, your body tingling and alive. Michael positioned himself at your entrance, his hands tracing the lines of your scars, now seen through a lens of desire and love. "Your scars are so beautiful here," he murmured, his voice low and husky. "I've always loved them."
He leaned down, pressing soft kisses along your lower belly, then moved up to worship your breasts, his tongue flicking against your nipples. Your eyes rolled back, feeling his hot tongue all over them.
"Will you let me fill you with my love, babe? All of my love?" he asked, his eyes locked onto yours, filled with raw emotion.
You nodded, your insecurities melting away in the face of his devotion. "Yes, Michael, please," you begged, your voice breathy with desire. He buried his head in your neck, his lips finding that sensitive spot as he plunged into you. You both moaned in unison, your eyes filling with tears of pleasure, not pain. You no longer felt sad or hated yourself for your scars; instead, you felt loved, desired, and whole.
He thrust into you slowly at first, allowing you to feel every inch of him. After a few slow thrusts, he picked up the pace, his hips moving in sync with yours.
"Yes, Michael. Just like that," you panted, your fingers digging into his flesh, urging him on. "Don't stop," you begged, your voice breathy with desire.
He grunted, his hips moving in sync with yours. "Don’t worry, babe. I'm not gonna stop," he promised, his voice low and husky. "Feel me inside you, baby. All of me," he groaned, his body tensing as his release neared.
He lifted his head, his eyes locked onto yours. "Look at you, so fucking beautiful. I can't stop looking at you. Fuck, I'm gonna cum," he growled, his voice ragged with desire.
"Me too, Michael!" you cried out, your own climax building, ready to tumble over the edge with him. You held on tighter, your nails digging into his flesh, your body tensing in anticipation.
Michael groaned loudly against your neck as he released his hot seed inside you, his hips bucking wildly. "Fuck, yes!" he roared, your name on his lips. As your own climax hit, you clung to him, gasping and crying, tears of joy streaming down your cheeks.
"Baby, don't cry," Michael murmured, kissing away your tears. "Oh no, please don't cry."
"I'm not crying because I'm sad," you whispered, your voice filled with emotion. "I'm crying because… I'm happy. These are tears of love and happiness, and I have you, my husband, to thank."
Michael smiled softly, his eyes filled with love. "And I'll always worship every part of you. I'll remind you every day, whether you like it or not."
