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premature ejaculation | jason todd x gn!reader

"baby... s'okay" you coo at him, trying to speed up the process a bit.

he's on top of you, his eyes fluttering shut as he relishes in the sensation of you wrapped around his length, taking all of him. he's trying his absolute hardest not to bust right here, especially because he just bottomed out.

"i- i cant-" he takes strangled breaths, shaking his head and letting it fall down to rest on your bare chest. your hand instinctively comes up to meet him, running your fingers through his inky black hair. he leans into the contact.

"jay, im sure you won't cum if you just move a little" you try to bargain with him, the feeling of him just sitting inside you instead of pistoning in and out of you is becoming increasingly frustrating.

he wasn't even gone that long! maybe a month at most. some mission he was dragged away on. not a day went by that he didn't call or text you, going on and on about how much he missed you! how he wished it was your hand instead of his fucking his dick raw every night.

"y-you don't get it, baby..." he licks his lips, looking down at where the two of you are connected, then back up at your impatient face. "i jus- jus missed you so fucking much" he complains, leaning his head down to press soft, gentle kisses to your forehead, your eyelid, the tip of your nose, your cheek, and anywhere else he could reach.

you have to take your bottom lip in between your teeth in order to hold back a smirk. you've never seen him this pathetic.

you experimentally roll your hips against his. he lets out a loud groan, "fuck!" he reaches a hand down to grip your hip hard enough to bruise, his other hand staying at its position on the bed beside your head. "don't fucking- mfph!" he tries not to focus on just how tight and warm and wet you are compared to his hand.

you wince at his iron clutch on your hip. "jason!" you whine, "just move baby, please" you pout, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

he meets your gaze, "angel-" he whimpers, his head falling back down. you don't miss the feeling of wetness against your bare skin. is he seriously crying?

"honey..." you purr, "it's okay, i know you missed me" you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer, making his breath hitch. "you've been so neglected, huh?" you ask patronizingly. he nods.

your sweet, soothing words are enough to make his balls tighten, sending him over the edge. who knew all it took was just a few words to make jason todd cum?

he lets out a soft, muffled moan against your skin as his hips buck into you, spilling warm sticky release deeeep inside of you.

"f-fuck!" he whimpers. he feels overwhelming embarrassment, lifting his head to look at you, tears still falling down his flushed cheeks. "m'sorry honey, m'so sorry" he shakes his head, hand traveling to the back of your head to bring it to rest in his palm.

you can't help but huff a laugh, "don't be sorry..." you speak gently. "we can go again, yeah?"

choso walks out of the bedroom, rubbing his eyes and blinking away any sleepiness. it's late morning, and he can hear the sounds of sizzles and cracks in the kitchen.

he walks in and immediately takes notice of your appearace. messy hair and tired eyes, dressed in his shirt with nipples poking the fabric.

his breath hitches and he stands there watching you move around in the kitchen. you look so pretty, so arousing.

he walk up to you from behind, wrapping his arms around your waist. he presses his hips against your ass, whimpering softly.

"feel that?" he whispers against your ear. it didn't take long for him to grow hard once he saw you in the kitchen.

he shirt barely covered your thighs, as soon as you bend down he would be able to see everything. the thought drives him crazy and his hands inch closer to the hem.

"we just woke up, cho." you say, not bothering to stop him from touching you. he doesn't answer, rubbing his bugle against your plush.

his hands move under your shirt, going up to your sweet cunt. his hands brush your thighs and then he stops.

what he didn't know, was that you weren't wearing any panties. now, he can feel your pretty pussy. he slides a finger in without hesitation and you squeeze your eyes shut.

"cho, im trying to cook." yet, you still don't move to stop him.

"please? it'll be quick."

you roll your eyes and sigh. he takes that as a yes and slides another finger into your pussy. he feels you melt back against him as he fingers your wet hole. you moan softly, holding onto the counter.

"fuck, baby, doing so good." you whimper. your head is thrown back against his shoulder and he kisses your cheek.

he works his fingers faster, his other hand finding your clit. the sensation is so delicious, you whine. you hear him chuckle as he fingers you.

he pulls away, making you whine at the loss of touch. you're about to turn around to scold him, but he pushes you against the counter.

he rubs his bulge on your ass before pulling his boxers off and letting himself spring out. his tips is red, leaking all over. he pumps himself, spreading the precum on his tip.

he lifts your shirt, lining himself up with your hole.

"so gorgeous." he whispers softly, pushing his way through your soaked hole.

"mm—cho fuck!" you mewl out, cheek pressed against the cool countertop. he pushes deeper till his hips meet your ass.

"big, cho, so big." you mumble, already forgetting how to come up with a single thought.

he rests his hands on your hips and starts to roll his hips against yours. it feels good. his tip kisses your walls softly, making love to your insides. you whine, squeezing your eyes closed.

"that's it, baby." he whispers, starting to thrust slowly. it feels ecstatic.

you cry out softly when his index finger rubs your clit. he rubs soft circles on the sweet bud, making you shutter and whine. "cho! more—ngh—please!"

he takes your plea and thrusts faster, holding your hips with one hand and playing with your clit with the other. it feels overwhelming. his size is huge, not fitting the first time you both made love.

you still haven't gotten used to the size of him. all you need is his hot tip and he'll somehow send you off.

his hips catch a steady pace. its fast and agressive, causing you to clench around him.

"fuck, pretty!" he whimpers, fucking you faster and faster with each thrust. your mouth drops open, spit pooling at the corner of your mouth.

"cho—ahh—ngh good, cho!" he takes your praise and fucks you harder. his finger works faster circles on your clit, flicking and rubbing you to oblivion.

he feels you clench around him tightly, squirming and whining. "close! faster—mmph—faster c-cho!"

his hips drill into yours, finger working on your bud and then he feels you clench. you squeeze him so tightly, he cums with you. he whines, crying out how good you feel.

you stay pressed to the counter, while he stays buried inside. you both pant, pussy pulsing around his cock. he pulls out slowly, making you moan at the sensitivity.

it goes quiet in the kitchen, the only sounds are your breathing. he pulls you back up, twirling you around and kissing your forehead.

"what were you making for breakfast?"

“i can take these off for you, baby?” choso’s deep voice silks through your eardrums, your lips wetting with saliva as your eyes flutter to a close and you nod, mind melting into a puddle of fantasies while you yearn for all he’s going to do to you.

long fingers hook under the band of your soddened panties, his breath warm as his open mouth ghosts over the unblemished skin of your neck. It won’t last for long though, choso takes pride in garnishing your skin with endless examples of his love for you—examples anyone else who pines for you will be able to recognize with ease.

your hips lift for him. you’re silent in your compliance but immediate and it makes him groan, sharp canines grazing just below your jaw while the space in his sweats depletes with each passing second.

a knee wedges between your trembling legs to part them as he comes to hover over you, watching you writhe beneath him need, like you need his touch to be able to breathe.

choso remembers the first serious talk about intimacy you had. he specifically remembers you saying you wanted to be woken up with fingers buried deep inside you, why not make that reality now?

he wakes up from his slumber with a boner growing in his boxers. he assumed he had a wet dream even though he can't really remember. his skin is sticky in sweat as he sits up.

you're laying on your back, sleeping soundly. he watches you for a few minutes before remembering exactly what you said.

he lays back down next to you, kissing your cheek as he hand dips into your panties. he can feel your warmth and he nearly makes a sticky mess in his pants.

he slides a finger inside your pussy. it's not wet, you're asleep, not even close to being aroused. he doesn't want to hurt you so he pulls his finger out. he gathers spit on his fingers and dips them back into your panties.

he rolls two fingers around your clit and he feels you twitch. he stops for a second, making sure you're still asleep before continuing to roll circles on your pretty bud.

you twitch again but this time he doesn't stop. he can feel you getting wetter by the second, your body reacts to him so quickly. he watches your face, your chest heaving up and down.

he wonders if you think you're dreaming.

when you finally get wet enough, he slips one finger into your hole, reaching that one spongey spot. your chest heaves more but somehow you haven't woken up.

he slides another finger in. he can feel a stretch and he hears your breath hitch. he keeps going, thumb rubbing your clit as he fucks his fingers into you.

your pussy reacts to his every move even if you're not conscious. choso thinks it's sexy. he continues fingering your poor pussy till he feels you clench around his fingers.

you gasp, eyes opening, finally coming back to consciousness.

it takes you a few seconds to realize what was happening. choso fingering you while you slept.

a fantasy, one you wanted to experience for the longest.

you smile lazily at choso, pulling him close as he leaves his fingers in your soaked pussy.

he doesn't say anything, his thumb gently nudges your clit again and he feels you get wetter. he smirks, moving his fingers again, this time with you awake.

SUMMARY: You, wearing a summer dress, playing Twister, with Michael. Doesn't that sound so tempting?

PAIRING: Michael x fem!reader

ERA: Thriller

WORD COUNT: 1,6k.

WARNINGS: sub!Michael, soft dom!reader, oral (male receiving), fingering, girl on top, smut with feelings.

NOTHES FROM AUTHOR: Such a long time since I wrote smut, anyway enjoyyyy!

Part 1 ; Part 2 ; Part 3 ; Part 4

SUMMARY: Michael realizes he has feelings for his best friend.

CONTENT: inspired by the twister and pool scenes in ‘Michael’. Friends with feelings for each other. Fluff. This will probably be a small series! lmk what you guys think.

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it starts off as a coping mechanism after a long hard day. choso will pull your shirt down and suck on your nipple, softly, squeezing the other gently.

somehow over the months, it turns into an obsession. now, even after a good day, choso thinks he deserves to reward himself. his lips attach to your nipple, sucking and licking, rutting his bulge against your cunt.

if you're home all day with him, there's no point in putting on a bra, let alone a shirt. it will be stripped off you instantly. his lips will be attached to your chest in record time.

he loves sucking on them when he fucks you too. he pounds into you while licking your nipples, marking every single bare spot of skin. he thinks you look pretty like that. and when they all start to fade away, he fucks you again so he can mark them.

your tits will always be covered in his spit. he loves the way his spit shines when it catches a shimmer of light. he spits on your nipples before taking them into his mouth, admiring the wetness of him on your pretty buds.

he sucks your nipples while going to bed. you'll cradle his head in your chest while he sucks on your nipples like a baby with a pacifier. you've gotten used to feeling him falling asleep with your nipple in his mouth. his drool with slide on your skin as he sleeps with you in his mouth.

Beach day

There is a very specific, highly entertaining phenomenon that occurs whenever you take your husband out in public. You like to call it the “Terror and Thirst” effect.

Today, at the crowded public beach, it is in full swing.

You are currently lounging under the massive shade of a navy blue beach umbrella, a trashy romance novel resting on your lap, watching the spectacle unfold at the shoreline.

Ryomen Sukuna is, objectively, a masterpiece of a man. Standing at a towering 6’4”, he is built like a heavyweight champion—broad shoulders, a thick chest, and a torso carved out of solid granite. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung, black board shorts that sit dangerously low on his hips, putting the intricate, sprawling black tattoos that cover his chest, arms, and stomach on full, glorious display.

He is hot as fuck. It’s a fact that is currently not lost on the group of college girls sitting on a blanket about twenty yards away. They haven’t stopped staring, whispering behind their hands, and aggressively adjusting their bikini tops for the last half hour.

But here is the catch: Sukuna is also terrifying.

He has this natural, resting aura of absolute disdain for anyone who isn’t you or your son. He’s a snob, plain and simple. He doesn’t smile at strangers, he doesn’t make polite small talk, and if someone stares at him for too long, he gives them a dead-eyed, chilling glare that practically drops the surrounding temperature by ten degrees.

Case in point: one of the girls giggles a little too loudly, pointing in his direction. Sukuna, who is currently standing ankle-deep in the surf, slowly turns his head. He doesn’t say a word. He just narrows his crimson eyes, his face completely blank, and stares her down.

The girl visibly pales, her hand dropping instantly. She quickly turns around, suddenly very interested in the contents of her cooler.

Sukuna lets out a quiet, dismissive scoff, turning his attention back to the water.

“You’re going to give those poor girls a complex, babe,” you call out, unable to hide your amusement.

Sukuna looks over his shoulder at you, and the transformation is instantaneous. The cold, intimidating mask melts away, replaced by an expression so incredibly soft and devoted it makes your chest ache. The corners of his mouth twitch up into a small, fond smile.

“Not my problem that they are annoying,” he says, his voice carrying easily over the sound of the crashing waves. “Besides, I only want one woman looking at me.”

You roll your eyes, though your cheeks heat up. “Smooth, Ryomen. Very smooth.”

“Dada! Splash!”

A tiny, high-pitched voice interrupts the moment. Yuji, currently sporting a pair of tiny black swim trunks that perfectly match his dad’s, is waddling furiously through the shallow water. He’s got a pair of bright orange floaties strapped to his chubby arms, his pink hair plastered to his forehead from the ocean spray.

Sukuna’s attention snaps to his son. He doesn’t say anything, just calmly wades deeper into the water, his massive hands reaching down to scoop the toddler up under the armpits.

“You want to splash, little man?” Sukuna asks quietly, his tone a low, soothing rumble.

“Yeah! Big splash!” Yuji cheers, kicking his little legs.

You watch, completely mesmerized, as your terrifying, snobbish husband hoists your two-year-old high into the air. Sukuna tosses him up—just high enough to make Yuji squeal with delight—and catches him effortlessly, dipping him down so his little toes drag through the water.

It’s a beautiful, chaotic contrast. The giant, tattooed wall of muscle, gently playing in the waves with a giggling, chubby-cheeked toddler.

They play in the water for another twenty minutes. Sukuna is quiet, mostly just listening to Yuji babble about the “big fishes” and the “salty water,” occasionally offering a calm nod or a soft chuckle. He is completely in his element, entirely unbothered by the rest of the world.

Eventually, Sukuna wades out of the water, carrying Yuji on his hip. Water is dripping from Sukuna’s pink hair, running down the hard planes of his chest and tracing the lines of his tattoos. It is a sight that should be illegal.

He walks over to the umbrella, grabbing a towel with his free hand and tossing it over his shoulder. He sets Yuji down on the sand.

“Go to mama, buddy. Let her dry you off,” Sukuna murmurs, running a hand through his wet hair.

But Yuji has other plans.

He shakes himself off like a wet puppy, sending droplets of water flying everywhere. He takes two steps toward you, stops, and then his head snaps to the left.

You follow his gaze. A new group of girls—three of them, looking like they just stepped out of a swimsuit catalog—have set up their chairs near the shoreline.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you mutter, dropping your book. “Not again.”

Yuji’s eyes go wide. He completely ignores you, turning on his heel and marching straight toward the girls. His little chest is puffed out, his arms swinging with an unearned amount of swagger for a kid who still wears pull-ups at night.

“Sukuna,” you warn, pointing at your son. “Stop him.”

Sukuna doesn’t move. He just stands there, drying his chest with the towel, watching Yuji with a quiet, amused smirk. “Why? He’s on a mission.”

“He is two! He is literally a baby!” you hiss, standing up. “Why does he act like a frat boy on spring break?”

“Son't ask me,” Sukuna replies, clearly avoiding your eyes, he took a sip from the bottle of water. He doesn't say it, but you can hear the lingering amusement in his voicd. “Let the boy have fun, babe.”

You groan, watching helplessly as Yuji reaches the girls.

He stops right in front of their beach chairs. He puts his chubby little hands on his hips, tilts his head, and unleashes the weapon: your bright, disarming smile.

“Hi!” Yuji chirps loudly. “I Yuji!”

The girls immediately stop talking. They look down at the tiny, pink-haired toddler, and the collective swoon is almost audible.

“Oh my god, hi!” one of them coos, leaning forward. “Aren’t you just the cutest thing ever?”

“Pweety,” Yuji says, pointing a tiny finger at the girl’s sparkly bikini top. He then flexes his little arm, showing off a completely non-existent bicep. “Look! Strong like dada!”

“I can’t believe this,” you whisper, burying your face in your hands. Sukuna lets out a low, quiet chuckle next to you.

“You are a terrible influence,” you glare at him.

“Babe, I didn’t do anything,” Sukuna says, his voice completely deadpan, though his eyes are dancing with mirth. “I’m just standing here.”

Down by the water, the girls are eating it up. They are giggling, offering Yuji a plastic beach toy, which he graciously accepts. But then, one of the girls looks up. Her eyes scan the beach, looking for the parents, and she spots Sukuna.

You can practically see the cartoon hearts pop out of her eyes.

She stands up, brushing sand off her legs, and walks over to Yuji, taking his little hand. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s go find your dad.”

She leads Yuji back toward your umbrella, her eyes locked entirely on Sukuna. She has that look—the look of a woman who thinks she’s about to shoot her shot with a single dad.

“Excuse me,” the girl says, her voice dropping into a sultry purr as she approaches. She completely ignores you, standing right in front of Sukuna. “Is this little guy yours? He wandered over to us.”

Sukuna stops drying his hair. His smilr vanishes, instantly replaced by that cold snobbery. He looks down at the girl, his expression completely blank, his eyes devoid of any warmth.

He doesn’t say a word to her.

Instead, he steps forward, completely invading her personal space with his massive frame, forcing her to take a nervous step back. He reaches down and scoops Yuji up into his arms.

“Dada! Pweety girl!” Yuji babbles, pointing at the woman.

Sukuna looks at the girl for one more second. It’s a look that clearly says, You are entirely beneath my notice.

“Thanks,” Sukuna says. His voice is quiet, but it carries a heavy, chilling finality that makes the girl flinch. “Come here buddy lets go to mama”

He turns his back on her without another word, walking the two steps over to you. The girl stands there for a second, her face flushed bright red with embarrassment, before she quickly turns and scurries back to her friends.

You are trying very hard not to laugh. “You didn’t have to be so mean to her.”

“I wasn’t,” Sukuna scoffs, setting Yuji down on your beach chair. “I just didn’t care to speak to her.”

“She was totally hitting on you.”

Sukuna finally looks at you, and the ice in his eyes melts completely. He steps into your space, his large hands coming up to cup your face. His thumbs gently stroke your cheekbones.

“Whatever,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a soft, intimate register. “I'm married”

Your breath hitches, your heart doing a familiar, stupid little flip in your chest. Even after all these years, he still knows exactly how to render you speechless.

“You’re such a sap,” you whisper, leaning into his touch.

“Only for my wife,” he replies, leaning down to press a slow, deep kiss to your lips. It’s a possessive kiss, one that clearly communicates to anyone watching exactly who he belongs to.

When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Mama!”

You both look down. Yuji is standing on the beach chair, holding up a slightly crushed, sandy seashell. He shoves it toward you, his big golden eyes shining.

“For mama!” Yuji announces proudly. “Mama pweetiest!”

You melt. You absolutely melt. You take the sandy shell, pulling Yuji into a tight hug and kissing his salty, sun-warmed cheek. “Thank you, baby. It’s beautiful.”

Sukuna watches the two of you, his hands resting casually on his hips. “See?” Sukuna says quietly, reaching out to ruffle Yuji’s pink hair. “The kid might have my charm, but he knows the truth.”

At the end of the day, despite the playboy genes and the endless chaos, they were yours. And you were theirs.

And mom was, undeniably, still the best.

warnings: 18+ minors dni, cunnilingus, pussy drunk, yearning, coochie warming(lmao), sub!michael, whining, begging, hints of oral fixation, your own personal rose, thriller era!michael, somnophilia, overstimulation if you squint, absolutely no plot.

pairing: michael jackson x fem!reader

wc: 1k+

how could you resist him when he says things like this, while looking up at you like that?

“lay back in my tenderness, lemme taste you girl.”

“ i want to touch you all over, all over baby please I’ll be good for you”

“ i just wanna make you feel good, I’ll be good f’ you”

“lemme just feel it girl, need you on my tongue”

“It’s so cold in here baby, lemme keep her warm for you”

“what the hell are you doing?”

“softenin' it,” your husband replied, his voice completely deadpan. he didn’t look up, his face carved into an expression of such absolute, scholarly focus you might have thought he was doing open-heart surgery rather than kneading your ass.

you’d been trying to get some rare peace and quiet, lying face down on the bed half-asleep, when the attack started. toji had the massive, beefy build of a pro athlete, a guy made wholly of dense muscle who had absolutely zero concept of "personal space"

yet, for the last ten minutes, those huge, scarred hands—hands that literally killed people for a living??—had been thoroughly squashing and massaging your ass with the obsessive devotion of a baker molding a piece of sourdough.

“softening it?” you repeated, the mere insanity of it wiping away the last of your drowsiness. “toji, it’s an ass, not a cheap steak. you’ve been doing this for ten minutes. let go.”

he was lying on his stomach right next to your thighs, his nose hovering close over your asscheeks. feeling suddenly frustrated, you planted your forearms on the sheets, trying to crawl away from... whatever he was doing.

and you couldn't even make it an inch.

a heavy, coarse palm slapped down on the small of your back, securing you to the mattress like a literal ton of bricks. when you twisted your neck to glare at him, his stunning profile was pulled into a focused, childish pout. his emerald eyes stayed glued to his work while his other hand went right back to its aggressive squeezing, paying no attention to your feeble protests.

“keep still,” he grumbled, voice getting petulant like a boy refused candy “you’re messin' up the texture.”

“the texture?” a sudden rush of heat hit your cheeks—the result of your annoyance and being vividly aware of how his face was glued to your backside. “i am trying to sleep, you psycho. your hands feel like sandpaper.”

“then don't move and it won't scratch,” he reasoned in a plain tone as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

and yet, there was something weirdly mesmerizing about how engaged he was. he looked almost peaceful sitting there, if you ignored the thick fingers poking at your crack.

finally comprehending it was useless to fight a fatty bitch with two hundred pounds on his body, you collapsed face-first into the pillow, letting out a defeated groan.

“...if i see any bruises, you're gonna pay for it.”

that lazy, almost boyish grin finally shattered his straight face. toji didn't bother lifting his chest or moving back. he just rested his heavy jaw in his free hand, watching your clothed butt devotedly.

“can’t charge a guy who's broke,” he reminded, his deft fingers continuing their task. “now shut it. 'm not done tenderizing.”

Nanami was fast asleep, back towards you the only sound being his soft snores that feel up the empty and dark room. Well, almost dark. Your screen was dimly lit as you doom scrolled.

Instagram, TikTok, Pinterest—repeat. You weren’t tired although you promised your husband you’d atleast try to start getting some proper sleep.

You also complain about how unfair it is, how easy he can fall asleep. But you guess that’s just the perks of old age. You turn your sound up a bit as you scroll through reels. Not even five minutes later, Nanami’s up.

His eyebrows furrow as he adjusts his eyesight. “Honey.” His tired voice rings in your ear, you discard your phone elsewhere on the bed. “I tried, I can’t it’s hard for me to fall asleep quickly.” He lets out a huff before pulling you into his chest where you can his heartbeat.

“Maybe, if you reduced the time you spend on your phone before bed—“ he kisses the top of your head. “Then maybe you might be able to go to sleep.”

You let out a weary sigh, “I’ve tried that.” You can hear him scoff. “baby love, you tried it for two minutes and you went back on your phone. “Yeah.” You nod, “still effort.” You feel him shake from the vibration of his laughter. “A for effort.” He teases.

Nanami drapes the blanket over the two of you, His fingers find your cheeks and just your face in general. “Relax them, relax your face muscles.” Once he feels you relax, he then takes his hands off. “Now drop your shoulders.” You do as he says. “Why are you so tense, hm?” He asks through the process.

You let out a deep breath, “Am I tense?” he nods, “Relax your arms and exhale.” You obey, “good, look honey, you’re doing so good.” he whispers into your ear.

You smile against him. “Now this is gonna sound a little silly—“ his hands find your waist. “Imagine some peaceful scenery, where you’re at. Could be the beach, mountains, anywhere”

Your breath comes warm against his chest, “my girl.” he murmurs pressing one more kiss to your head. “my sleepy girl.”

ever since asking simon for help on your car, it's like a floodgate has opened up. first you're asking him for help on your car, and the next thing you know, he's in your house every few days with a new repair you've roped him into. he doesn't talk much. actually, you haven't been able to get another word out of him since he was on his back, under your car.

you've tried, you really have, but the bastard won't give in. you think he's just closed off—in reality, simon's heart is beating a mile a minute, and his mind is repeating over and over again not to make himself a fool in front of his pretty neighbor.

so you figured that asked him to help around your house would do the trick, luring him into your space in order to open him up. it's not like you'd get around to these tasks yourself. they just weren't your area of expertise.

and for a decently new house, you sure had a lot to be repaired.

first, it was those squeaky hinges on some of your doors. now, in the beginning, you were still hesitant to wander over to his front door to get his help, but after his eagerness the first time, it gave you the confidence to return. simon was in your house faster than you were, already taking a guess as to which door it was—since he knew his way around from bringing in groceries and such. armed with a lubricant and a few other tools, he got to work. within a few minutes, they were good as new. you couldn't thank the man before he was out the door.

it was off-putting, but you were still determined. it was unlucky that the first thing you asked him to do took only a few minutes of his time, and even less for cleanup.

with every day that passed, you were grasping at straws. how could you get this man over here? your house was in perfect condition, and you barely saw the recluse of a man, as he remained in his house most of the time. save for the times he takes in your groceries or takes your bins out, you don't see him.

until you notice something odd.

coming home from work—this time, your car light remains off—you get out of your car and notice a bit of chopped grass that's been left behind. with furrowed brows, you took a moment to look at your lawn.

what are the chances that, after living here for a few months, the grass doesn't decide to grow?

yeah, none. the bastard has been doing it for you, and you never noticed. he never mentioned or made a big deal out of it, and somehow, it got missed on your motion activated doorbell cameras that has a perfect view of the lawn. even the hedges are trimmed.

so what do you do? take the opportunity to stop over to his doorstep, rapping your fist on his door until he opens. eyebrows raised, ready to take on the next task at your house, he steps out and shuts the door behind him. with a nod, he gestures you to lead the way.

except you don't have a repair for him. "have you been mowing my lawn?" the words spill from your lips before you have a chance to reign yourself in. the absurdity of the situation is making you loose-lipped.

his eyes widen, and you swear you see a faint blush on the pale skin behind his balaclava. he just nods, gaze softening as he stares down at you.

"thank you." you sputter out, in shock at his brazen admission. he just nods again, and you're at a loss for words. how do you keep his attention, keep his eyes on you? "well, I'm gonna need your help planting flowers."

planting flowers? that's all you could come up with? your face flushes with embarrassment, bracing yourself for his reaction. the man could easily say no because mowing the lawn and changing your lightbulb and fixing your squeaky door hinges is considered masculine. you could've insulted his masculinity by suggesting he plants flowers.

but he just stares at you some more. "let m'know when," and he shuts the door in your face.

but you turn around with the goofiest smile on your face and pump your fist with a soft "yes" before skipping back down the path and road towards your house just next door. little do you know, simon's face wears a smile just like yours as he watches the dorky display.

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ synopsis : imagines of young!black!fem reader, and mature!michael (set in 2000’s ofc.

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ contains : reader is considered wild, “young ho” in a sense. Some fluff, kind of comedy?? a tad little smiddge bit of smut. Age gap (reader is early / mid 20’s.)

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ a/n : black fem reader and mature Michael have been on my mind HEAVILY, plus some other fics have been fueling this inside of me, I HAD to get this off my chest 😖

Waking up in the morning and Price is buried between your legs. It's not his usual frantic or hungry pace, he's not eating you out to make you cum, he's just enjoying your taste, savouring you.

Price is the type to hold a hand over your stomach, keeping you from squirming too much, keeping you from taking away his breakfast. Price is the type to look at you through his lashes, tongue swirling over your clit, watching you as you throw your head back, whining, it's still too early for this even when you're shivering everytime his moustache and beard brushes against the tender skin of your inner thighs. But Price isn't the type to move away from your folds when he needs to murmur his scold; his words sending the softest of vibrations through your core “Don't start the day by complaining too much, doll”

Although he won't give you the chance to complain, or even utter a word, because when Price starts his morning with his head buried between your legs, there's a high chance you won't be getting out of bed at all that day.

DOMESTIC BLISS. 𝗺𝗶𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗲𝗹 𝗷𝗮𝗰𝗸𝘀𝗼𝗻

❛  mature era!michael jackson  𝑥  𝑓 nanny!reader  ❜     ╱   summary. some instances in which michael and you function as a couple . . . which you guys aren't. just a really, really good team.

warnings. no real warnings, it's just mainly fluff. and tbh i can't tell if this is actually domestic or not, but oh well i just really wanted to write the following scenarios. prince being prince. hints at michael's obsession for you. age gap - twenty years. not proofread. series m.list main m.list

michael who made an extreme emphasis on his desire to be present in his children's lives and not have them be raised by nannie's. but soon after blanket's birth he knew he needed a little extra help with a newborn and two little ones running around.

the interview process was long and tedious and happened over a few weeks as michael personally reviewed over applications, made the phone calls to let which applicants will be getting interviewed where and when, and conducted the interviews process with various questions;

"during times of stress how do you handle the chaos of the children?"

"what was the reason for leaving the last family you works for, and what made you interested in caring for my family?"

"do you have any formal education in child care, child education, or child development?"

"are you ready to take on not just my children's schedules but my own, and what that entails?"

he wants the best for his children and you just happen to be that. you're one of two of the last applicant who progressed to the very last interview, and watching the other applicant go first and leave with an unreadable expression only worsened your worries. and when you think everything is going good your nerves are on edge and heart pounding against your chest when michael rose from his seat across from you and extending his hand out to you. placing trembling hands on the edge of the conference desk to push your seat out and away so you can also stand, wiping your sweaty hand on your slacks before extending it to meet michael's firm grip, "congratulations, you're hired."

you didn't formally meet the children until your second day, you're first day was just you getting acclimated. already having signed every form of paper possible upon getting hired, all michael requested of you for your first day was to show up to neverland ranch at 7 a.m sharp. giving you a proper tour of neverland ranch before returning back to the house and to his office to go over the kids routine.

michael's eyes follow where your body bends to reach inside of the bag you brought with you, eyes widening just a bit when you pull out a dark green journal and pen. flipping the journal open and clicking the pen to jot down the small bit of what he had said about their schedules before he went silent, only the sounds of pen on paper filling the office.

when there's nothing more left to write down you peer your gaze up just a bit, but michael's eyes are trained on the journal in your lap, mouth slightly agape. "you can continue, mr. jackson."

the sound of your voice pulls his eyes back up to meet your own, licking his lips, "right," he continues, coughing lightly, "'nd it's michael, no formalities."

and he gets amused when you give him a curt nod before moving your pen to the very top of the page and write something down, probably something along the lines of no use of formalities.

only further getting amused by you when just before you leave you pull a container full of various cookies out, "i don't know what they're favorite is so i just made small batches of chocolate chip, snickerdoodle, and sugar cookies with sprinkles," you explain, fingers gripped around the nice container you bought specifically for this, not wanting to hand michael jackson a tupperware container.

hand it over, feeling uneasy when all he does is start at the container now in his hands, "you and the other staff can have some too of course, they're not just for the children," rambling on.

when michael looks up there's a small smile on his face, "thank you, we 'ppreciate it. they're are going t'love them for dessert."

introductions with the children go well, michael makes them thank you for the cookies, and it really doesn't take too long for them to warm up to you. it only took prince a few hours to approach you to ask if you would play with him, and if there's one thing about childcare that you will never get over is their small voices when they're still a little shy, which didn't last long with prince once he got comfortable with you.

and with blanket it took no time. the five of you sat around the dinning table as the kids ate their breakfast, with prince and paris sat next to each other, paris next to michael who is at the head of the table, you were in the seat right in front of paris while blanket was in his father arms, already having had a bottle. when michael was nursing his glass of orange juice that's when you feel it, a chubby hand lightly against your forearm.

taking blanket's smaller hand in yours, the natural movement he's making seem like the two of you are shaking hands. "hi, blanket," you muse, grinning when the infant begins to coo and show off his gummy smile. his arms now fully trying to reach you.

"he's tryin' t'escspe my arms, d'you wan' him?" the question has you thinking for a second, but you do agree.

"yeah, i'll take him." opening your arms and reaching out to grab the infant. blanket instantly settling within your arms, resting his head onto your shoulder, his cheek squishing adorably against it that has michael bringing a finger to sooth at his other chubby cheek.

however, it's paris that takes some time to fully warm up to you. she still interacted with you, but she never sought you out like how prince would take your hand in his and guide you off somewhere, most likely somewhere with an elaborate toy set up or the makeshift fort he built. or how blanket started to naturally cling to you whenever you were around. but paris seemed to always longingly stare at you whenever you interacted with her brothers. you always tried to include her, making the space for her to join in welcome as you remember michael telling you that paris is interested in whatever prince has.

you didn't take it personally, you figured it would take time since during the first meeting she had clung to michael's leg, using it to hide and peek from as she'd like. and you related to her, being a shy yourself during childhood, knowing that within time and gentleness that she will hopefully get more comfortable around you.

and that she did. a few weeks into caring for them it was quiet time. blanket was down for afternoon nap and this was the time where you'd put on a movie for the kids, usually a disney one and they could choose from watching the movie, a quiet activity, or to take a nap as well. prince had insisted on watching tarzan just end up curled asleep on the couch before jane and tarzan even meet, while paris chose to do a quiet activity of coloring.

taking this time you'd often journal in the very same dark green journal about anything and everything, a habit you carried for middle school, through high school, through college, and now through adulthood. you used to journal right before bed when you were younger, but the hours of being a nanny are from the start of the morning to the end of night, so you often opt for any free time you have to do so.

"wha's that?" a small voice asks.

feeling startled you look you see paris standing in front of you, trying to peer into the journal on your lap, "oh, it's just my journal," you respond, showing her the outside of the cover that's a little worn at the edges and the inside of the lined pages where you write.

her eyes sparkle with curiosity as you show the journal off, "is it for coloring?"

you're eyebrows furrow as you look at it, flipping through its ages, "it can be," you don't see why it couldn't be, "but i use it to write."

it's then that paris moves from in front of you to now sit squished against your side, "'nd write what?"

the question makes you smile, remembering how michael and her were sat at the dinning table just being dinner with sheets of blank paper and different colored crayons as she practiced writing her name. "i write anything," you begin, moving the journal from your lap into hers and allowing her to flip through the pages, "mainly about how i'm feeling."

"oh," it comes out quiet, like she's thinking about something.

and as you watch her an idea comes to mind, "y'know, i could get you a journal like mine."

your words instantly has paris's head turning to look at you, eyes wide like saucers, "really?" she exclaims.

chuckling at her excitement and the fact that she's still at the age where r's still sound like w's as you nod, "really, and we could practice your writing in it too," you solidify.

that's when paris's arms shoot and wrap around your torso, hugging you and squeezing her eyes shut, "than' you."

the moment tugs at your heart, wrapping your arms around to embrace her, "you're welcome, sweet girl."

and when you left that night you returned the next morning with baby pink journal, a few pack of stickers, and a glitter pen set.

it's truly fate on how well you and michael work together. falling into an easy rhythm within no time between the two of you and the children. you'd arrive at neverland every morning at 6, which gives you just enough time to say your hello's to the rest of the staff around the house before the children need to be woken up. you've developed routine of swigging by the kitchen to see what the chef is cooking for breakfast and snag a small bite of whatever is available, usually fruit when the chef's back is turned. and more times than not it leaves you and michael enough time to do a debrief of what the day entails, which is something that isn't really needed since you stay a little later on sunday nights to go over the next week, but still happens regardless. and through time it developed from that, figuring which one was going to wake which child up to random small talk, you're often the person who catches michael up on whatever sitcom show is airing on tv while he's tells you something from the news.

just outside the kid's bedrooms michael and you play rock paper scissors, the both of you hitting your open palms with your first as you whisper the words. and when you go for your safety, the reliable rock, while michael just had to go for paper you groan, throwing your head back.

looking back at him he's grinning at the way your shoulders are slightly slouched, "out of three?" you attempt, wiggling your eyebrows at the father.

an airy chuckle passes from his lips, "i've woken the lil' dragon everyday this week, by time i've gotten to wake the princess."

you and michael started referring to prince as little dragon when it comes to waking him up in the morning. he's stubborn, and it's hard to get the boy up and out of bed without persistent gentle pats and rubs to the head or back and encouraging words. you two try to hold off on turning the lights on in the kids room to get the up, finding it too abrupt, so more times than not the only light is either from the hallway or the raising sun through the curtains. while little miss paris is a dream to wake up, all it takes is a warm hand circling her back that gets her up and stretching in bed.

everyone knows that michael captures everything when it comes to his kids. from home videos, sports events, recital, anything, he finds it worthy of being caught on film.

and that includes the hard days. blanket had come down with cold that had only made abnormally fussy, and you would be lying if you said you weren't relieved when michael returned home. because entertaining prince and paris while maintaining blanket's symptoms and staying on top of his doses and still making sure that the two old kids don't get too close to blanket as siblings do so they don't fall sick as well.

michael took over for the evening essentially, he was with blanket for a little bit before you thought about how if anyone can get sick from being in close proximity to blanket it should probably be you, so you two swapped while he wore down the older kids and got them settled for the night.

while he was handling bath and bed time you were able to give blanket some purée that michael request the chef to make in batches and a bottle along with a night dose of medication. and instead of retreating back to couch that you've been on for most of the day, you retreated to blanket's nursery. sighing when you're tired body hits the rocking chair, instantly getting into the subconscious movement of rocking the infant to sleep. and in doing so you're own eyelids get heavy with each blink.

unknowingly michael had been looking for you after putting both prince and paris to bed. it takes him returning to the hallway where the kid's rooms reside to notice you and blanket in the rocker, watching the gentle movements of the rubs you're giving blanket's back. he doesn't fully know how to process how or what he's thinking, and to be honest michael hasn't been able to form a full solid opinion on you since the day you met. not that that's bad, you just seem too good to be true, and the way at which you deeply care for his children only confuses him more. knowing what it means for them to reach their development milestones along with ensuring that they are healthily expressing themselves both identity wise and emotionally. and it doesn't help that you're smart, one of the old family you nannied for during high school being generous enough to fund you going to school for psychology, and beautiful, your go to outfit being jeans with either a loose t-shirt or sweater it's effortless but pull it off too well and often more times than not you opt to have your curls up and away from blanket's strong grip.

and he knows it isn't right to develop a crush? or a deep admiration for his nanny, it gets in the way of you being able to do you job and it gets in the way of michael being able to form coherent thoughts around you, not to mention that he's twenty years your senior. he's kept it at bay since you started working, but he can't help but have the reason of why you split with your previous family you worked for loom over her head, the reason being that the kids you cared for just got too old for a nanny, entering adolescence. and although it was a mutual decision between you and the family, he doesn't think he could ever come to the conclusion that him and his children won't need you.

pulling himself out of his thoughts he retreats and returns with his camcorder. catching the sweet moment as a forever memory, just in case there is every a time you decide to leave, maybe to leave to pursue further education (although michael would happily fund it and keep you employed at the same time) or to start your own family (which he secretly dreads), for the kids to have moments they can look back on with you in them.

you who start staying later than you need to. masking it in the disguise of wanting to help michael with whatever chore is left, which is true, but you also selfishly enjoy the alone time with michael. the nights where you stay and help pick up toys and put them back and arrange them, which sometimes turn into small fights between you and michael when either one of you throw a stuffed animal at each other and quickly turn your backs before the other turns around. or the quieter nights spent listening to the jazz station on the radio as michael washes the dishes while you dry them. it's chores that you and michael really don't have to do, he has cleaners.

prince can pursued anyone, including his father and you. which is exactly how sleepovers became a special occasion.

the hard bargaining wasn't even getting his father to say yes, it was michael having to tell blanket that you may have something you'd want to do for yourself or with friends instead of having a sleepover with them.

which was a hard pill to swallow for both, but prince still being young ran from his father and straight to you. collapsing into you arms with tears brimming in his eyes, "please have a sleepover with us," his small voice messing up the pronouncement of a few words from pushing his face into your sweater, smoothing a gentle hand through the boy's hair to regulate him.

upon looking up to search for michael, he's already there, a hand on his hip, "he wan's y'to stay 'nd have a sleepover, but i told him that y'may have plans," he explains, walking over and trying to pull the boy from off of you, but he clings to your waist.

looking down at only the peek of blonde hair, you frown then smile, looking back at michael, "'m free friday night so i really don't mind."

"you really don-"

"'s alright, michael. and besides, haven't you been wanting to build that jumbo fort, prince?"

the mention of a fort and his name has prince pulling himself back from where he hides his face against your stomach, hands still crumpled in the material of your sweater. "yeah," it's quiet and meek as he nods his head.

you hand falls from his head down to his rosy cheek to wipe his tears streaks, "then no more cryin', we've get to look forward to friday."

which is exactly how you spent a friday night building the biggest fort you have every built with michael and the kids, the night entailing movies and ice cream and books and flashlight shows.

michael who has selfish thoughts whenever you're around. often during mealtimes when the five of you intertwine hands to bless the food.

he knows it's wrong to fantasize about the five of you being a real family whenever you arrive extra early just because you promised the kids special pancakes.

michael shuffles into the kitchen, expected to see the chef, which he does, but they're off to the side chopping fruits while you're the one at the stove. the sound of your name falling softly from michael's tongue has you looking up.

and he knows he's beyond gone when the wide smile that spreads across your face gives him butterflies, because it shouldn't.

"want a pancake?" you ask, as michael moves closer, turning your head back to pan to pay attention.

"wha' are you doin' this for?" he's close enough to you for you to feel his breath on your neck and for him to smell the faint scent of your perfume mixing with the scent of your hair products.

"for the kids," of course it is he thinks, peering down into the pan to see various sizes of pancake shapes, "gonna turn them into designs, like a monkey or somethin'" you explain, flipping the pancakes once their tops get all bubbly.

and when that's done you turn your head again, as best you can with michael close in your proximity, he might as well be glued to your back. "d'you want a pancake?" asking the father again as the two of you lock eyes.

"yeah, i'll take a pancake."

your head swiftly nods and once again focuses back on the pancakes. hearing shuffles of michael's feet and no longer feeling the presence of his body close to yours, "gonna go wake up the kids for breakfas'."

michael who secretly refers to paris and you as his girls.

all three of his children are blessings, but there was nothing more exciting than to find out he was having a daughter. and now with you in their lives he's thankful to have such a positive and strong woman figure in their lives.

lingering around in the mornings, body pressed against the bathroom doorframe as he watches you do paris's hair for the day as she sits on the bathroom counter. he can do his daughter's hair, but mostly just in simple plates and ponytails, while you can do the more detailed hairstyles.

and he loves nothing more than to come home and notice that the two of you has a dress up day. either by the colorful marks on your face and the precise blends of color on paris's or by paris running into her father's arms right when he steps through the door to show off her nails that you painted while he later notices the messy marks of nail polish on your nails and the surrounding skin at dinner.

michael who keeps a polaroid of you and the kids in his wallet. one taken on blanket's first birthday that he cherishes whenever he's away. often tracing a too large finger over your faces, missing the cheerful chaos of the kids and you no matter he's at a buzzing event or a quiet hotel.

the four of you are all wearing tiny birthday hats for blanket's birthday party. the birthday sits calmly in your lap while michael attempts to direct the old two around.

"no, prince, on her other side," his voice already defeated as the young boy keeps wanting to pose his own way.

"i wanna d'it like this though," prince pouts, moving to stand right behind where you sit on the floor and throw his small arms over your neck and hook his chin over your shoulder.

"let him be," you muse through a small grin that you shoot michael, the two of you know that prince is going to win the battle either way.

"okay, paris," just when he starts paris settles against your side, removing a secure hand around blanket's belly and using it to wrap around paris and pull he snug under your arm, "good, good," clicking his fingers together to get blanket's attention facing forward.

"everyone say happy first birthday, blanket."

and when it's said and the four of you are all smiling at the end, there's a click, that encases the memory forever.