#The Royce Code | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chlorinecake · 1 year ago

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The Jealous Type | P. JS

contains rich boy jay x female reader, heavily gossip girl coded, kissing, jealousy, angst, cunnilingus (⚠︎)

Jay has a temper, which meant you’d have to hold a movie-star smile whenever he stormed out of business meetings upon flipping a few chairs…

Jay has a high sex drive, and you still haven’t quite mastered the art of making yourself look half-decent after a quickie in his office…

Jay has a reputation, and you’ve known since day one that dating the son of a multimillionaire in a city of bright lights with even brighter personalities meant one thing for you:

That you’d have to learn to look clean while playing dirty at all times.

Picture the backseat of a sleek Rolls Royce, tinted windows, chilled drinks, and roughly three minutes away from your final destination.

“I live a fast life, ____,” Jay began while sitting beside you, almost in a manner of warning as he relaxed into his seat.

“Great. Running sounds like fun,” you said, trying to display confidence before him.

“Every once in a while, maybe, but only if you can keep up…”

You let his words sink in, “Then I'll practice for you.”

He shook his head, “I'm afraid there's not much time left for that, love...”

“Well I've always believed in this thing called beginners luck.”

Your voice trailed off, heart prepared for another one of his defeated responses until he reached a hand in his side to grab something.

“Hold my wallet,” he said plainly, handing the leather rectangle to you.

“Jay, l—”

"Open it...” he pressed, taking your hand in his to force your reluctant fist open, “like it's yours.”

Taking heed to his words, you let out a breath, thumb and index finger tugging at the zipper to reveal a line of bills and his infamous black credit card.

“Jay, what’re you getting at here?”

“Don't look so impressed, it might come off as common,” he interrupted, watching your fingers pause at the leather opening.

You scoffed, “What's that supposed to mean?”

“That we’re in a movie, ____,” he smiled, “Just act the role to win the part.”

Aww, how wise of him….

“Great, so you won't let me run with you but playing pretend is okay?”

His smile didn’t falter at your words, only morphing into a smolder as he peered closer to you.

“Now why would I ever make you run in these sexy five inch heels?”

Your eyes fell to his hand that caressed your thigh once again, “Because sometimes, beauty is pain...”

“Very true… but it doesn't have to be...,” his voice encouraged gently, “not yet... not tonight.”

You expressed agreement with a hum before speaking again, “So can you take your fancy wallet back now?”

“Keep it,” he answered almost immediately, “Let's see if beginner's luck will help you hold onto it…”

“I'd sew this wallet to my ribcage if I had to—”

The vehicle suddenly came to a stop, flashing lights barely visible through the tinted windows as the car doors unlocked in unison.

“This is your exit,” the chauffeur clarified with a strong European accent, Jay offering the driver a thankful wave and stepping out of the car.

He walked over to your side of the car and did the same, telling you to “watch your step” as your feet met the ground.

Jay was right about one thing…

There wasn’t much time for you to practice “running” now that you were just seconds from meeting his friends and family for the first time…

The event in question was Mr. Park’s annual dinner party, held at his newly renovated restaurant in The Palace Hotel.

As soon as you stepped through the automatic sliding doors, you were met with the sound of live classical music thrumming from the center stage.

It wasn’t long before you and Jay got to socializing, helping yourselves to a few hors d’oeuvres and swigs of sparkling champagne under the glass chandelier.

His parents apparently had to leave the event early due to an unexpected emergency, so gossipy topics surrounding his family were definitely on the table.

You made sure to stay beside Jay the entire night, not only to comfort him, but to protect yourself.

That’s when a certain woman who had her eyes stuck on you two since the night began made her way by with a seductive sway in her hips.

“Nice chain, handsome,” she started without hesitation, her unfamiliar face somehow telling of her familiar intentions:

Trouble and drama.

“Thank you, Jennifer,” Jay replied, jawline clenching slightly at her prior use of a nickname.

Saying that Jay looked annoyed right now would be an understatement.

This Jennifer person was obviously his ex, though she continued speaking as if you weren’t even there.

“Isn’t that the same one you used to let me wear?,” she asked, eyes falling to his collarbone where the chain necklace sat.

“No,” he answered, a feigned smile masking the bitterness in his heart, “I got rid of that one a long time ago…”

“Aww,” she pouted, poking her acrylic nail into his shoulder, “do you have any idea how sad that makes me feel?”

“Don't poke at my boyfriend like he's some kind of toy,” you defended, your sudden boldness startling her.

Her hand stop at his the hem of his sleeve, cold green eyes meeting yours with a glare strong enough to make your skill crawl.

Yep… you officially hated her.

“Please, darling... lighten up,” she chirped, “this is just how me and Jay like to play sometimes... isn't that right, handsome? Or do you need a reminder—”

“That'd be rather unnecessary, don't you think?,” Jay snapped at her, “Maybe even a little crass...”

“Well your new girl seems tough... a little story time wouldn't hurt her…”

“Too bad I'm feeling a bit talked-out for the evening,” you spoke against her shameless demeanor, “It was nice meeting you, Jennifer. Really...”

“You too,” she mouthed with a smile, too prideful to reply loud enough for you to hear.

Turning on a heel, you hooked your elbow with Jay's, leading him outside of the venue.

“____, I can explain,” Jay started, matching your walking pace as you circled to hotel parking lot.

You shook your head, “There's no need, Jay… Your ex is a bitch, I get it.”

“____...”

“Can we just go back home already?,” you proposed, just realizing that you’d been holding your breath.

You exhaled weakly, Jay finding your shoulders as he turned you to face him, just inches from the car.

“Yes, love, we can go home, just please calm down for me, okay?”

The pitch of his voice lowered with its volume, “This was just as hard for me as it was for you…”

With that, a silence swarmed between you, just as his hand went to grip the chain around his neck.

He gave it what looked like an effortless tug before each metal link broken apart, leaving the once beautiful necklace into shiny sprinkles of gold on the pavement.

You let out another breath, “You lied, Jay... why would you keep her necklace—”

“I'm not proud of it, ____...,” he interrupted, eyes facing the ground, “but I wasn't gonna sit there and feed into her games by telling the truth...”

“Yeah… that’s because you just stood there and let her touch you instead," you retorted, walking past him and getting into the car.

You’re glad the ride home wasn’t long, you two having arrived at his penthouse somewhere around ten minutes upon leaving.

Jay's boots clicked with each step as he held your hand, guiding you up the stoned path and past the front door.

Few words were exchanged between you both once you got to the master bedroom, plopping yourself on the bed as he stood with his hands at his hips.

“What a waste of good food today... my dad would’ve been pissed to find out the guests hardly ate anything…”

Jay spoke lowly, drawing your eyes to the red velvet stain on his still crisply ironed white sleeve.

“Speaking of food, you have a bit of cake on your blazer... here, let me help you...”

He sighed, “I've got it, ____. It's really no big deal...”

“No, i-it's in an awkward spot, just let me just wipe it for y—”

“I said I've got it, alright!?”

His sharp features faltered upon realizing that he'd just raised his voice at you, and for no good reason.

“I apologize, love—”

“Whatever, Jay,” you sighed, plopping yourself on the hotel mattress, “this was all just a bad idea to begin with…”

“What do you mean by that?” He asked, arching his back so his blazer to fall off his shoulders, noting in his mind to spot-clean the stain later.

“It's just... I don't fit in your world... not a single part of it…”

Jay joined you on the bed, just in his T-shirt and slacks now as he took your face in his right hand.

“There's not a single place in my heart where you don’t fit in perfectly… y'know that?”

“I do, Jay...,” you answered quietly, meeting his dark eyes, “thank you...”

“Of course,” he smiled, placing a tender kiss to the back of your hand, “now let's get out of these fancy clothes and into something more comfortable, yeah?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, Jay standing up now and leaning before you to untie the heel straps around your ankles.

“You looked beautiful tonight, by the way,” he smiled, hands reaching beneath your evening gown to pull down the thigh-high satin stockings you wore.

“So did you.... handsome,” you smiled, propping up on your elbows to wash him undress you, and cheeky look on his face at your words.

“I learned something about you thanks to tonight,” he started, standing back up and giving you a look, “didn’t know you were the jealous type…”

You scoffed, feeling his hand tap at your thigh as a cue to turn over on your stomach now.

And so you did, hips up as he crawled onto your back in a straddling position, moving your hair out the way while admiring your beauty.

Your eyes were still internally rolling at his comment up until you felt him massaging your shoulders gently.

Somehow, you could tell he smiled at the little hums that escaped your throat once he applied a bit of pressure.

In a strange way, Jennifer’s behavior had a way of pulling both anger and anticipation out of you…

No, you didn’t like how she got all handsy with your man right in front of you, but you somewhat enjoyed the effect your reaction had on Jay…

He felt bad about what happened. Terrible, even.

And you could see it all over his pouty face that he wanted to make things up to you…

You laid there face down on the mattress beneath him, not able to focus on anything other than the feeling of his bulge pressing into your thighs.

He was turned on right now, and so were you—

“I still think I behaved myself pretty well tonight considering, though,” you huffed quietly, letting your body melt beneath his weight.

Your eyelids fluttered shut as his touch trailed from your hips to your waist, “And I’m very proud of you for that, love,” he whispered adoringly.

His hands now found the necklace around your neck, unclasping it with a simple click before reaching over to place it on the mini bedside table.

“Want me to unzip your dress for you as well while I’m here?…”

All you did was nod lazily in response, the cold metal zipper of the matching white gown you wore sending shivers down your delicate spine.

He slowly followed the trail along the curve of your back, chill air hitting your skin once he fully unzipped it past your hips.

“You know I’d never leave you for someone else, right?”

You let out a hum, feeling a bit frisky now that you were half-naked beneath him…

“Can’t be sure… who knows, there might be another piece of jewelry attached to one of your ex’s lying around here somewhere…”

He made a face at you even though you couldn’t see him from your position, “Seriously ____?”

“Very…” you answered, “…and I’m sorry...”

“It's okay,” he chuckled, letting his hands knead your hips, “But I guess that just means I’ll have to prove you wrong now…”

Your eyes flew open, brows slightly furrowed, “And prove me wrong how, exactly?”

“By giving you something I’ve never given anyone else before…”

He shimmied the evening gown past your thighs, revealing the lace lingerie set you wore underneath, it’s elastic hem snug around your plush skin…

The sight alone was enough to make him feel needy, your round ass perched up perfectly for him.

“Oh, so the whole wallet thing wasn’t a first-time trick either?” You joked, knowing he always liked it whenever you were sassy with him.

Jay smiled at your words once again, “On your back for me, princess.”

You sighed playfully before rolling over like he asked, his hands leaving the curve of your body as you got adjusted.

It didn’t take long for Jay to start teasing you back, letting a single finger circle your clothed breast but never touching your nipple.

You wanted him to grope your tits so badly, but instead his other free hand ghosted over your core, intentionally avoiding contact with your sweet spot.

“I have to ask this because I'm a gentleman, but do I have permission to make you cum more than once tonight?”

His question didn’t catch you off guard, but it definitely made you feel something in your stomach.

With dreamy eyes, you struggled to either focus on the spot between his legs or the smirk on his face…

“Only if you mean it...,” you finally uttered, giving him the cue he’d been waiting for so he could please you properly.

He let out a chuckle at your words, “Make sure you hold still for me, princess… you can pull on my hair if it gets too much...”

You watched as he nestled between your legs, looking up at you as a kitten waiting for head pats.

“But that'll hurt you, Jay...”

“I know,” he smirked, tugging your lingerie to the side and marveling at your swollen heat.

He immediately started lapping at your wetness, spitting on your clit despite how wet you already were.

“So fucking pretty,” he hummed in between making out with your sensitive cunt, foul sounds bouncing off the walls as your chest heaved with need.

Your hips subconsciously circled his face, the added movement heightening your pleasure.

You let your hands find his hair, not pulling yet but more so clawing at his scalp.

Jay groaned at your actions, looking up at you while his tongue still flicked against your clit.

The sight and sensation combined made your thighs tremble, Jay’s strong hands holding your hips down against the mattress.

“Baby, you’re supposed to stay still, remember?”

The words left his mouth in such a cooing manner, your mind going foggy because of his raspy bedroom voice.

You managed to squeak out a weak sentence, breathiness in your tone from all the action, “I-I’m trying, Jay…”

You cut yourself off when a loud whine slipped past your mouth, Jay’s hand reaching up to grope your tits while he kept sucking.

At this point, you couldn’t help but to tug at his locks, guiding his face against your folds for your own pleasure.

And he loved every bit of it… you using his face to help yourself climax.

You didn’t expect for a finger to enter you though, especially not a second one once he sped up his licking movements.

Another moan meddled from your body, eyes sealing shut as your hips rutted into his mouth, Jay’s little grunts acting as your breaking point.

The band in your stomach eventually popped, your clit throbbing with pleasure once Jay let his mouth ease your high with kitten licks and kisses.

He looked at you with such love in his eyes, “Are you convinced yet, princess?”

You couldn’t believe he was trying to talk to you in a state like this, but you still knew exactly what he was referring to with that question…

“Yes, but I think you could still do a little more,” you whispered back teasingly, caressing his face that was beaming with a subtle glow just from tasting you.

A smirk tugged at Jay’s lips once you stuck out a hand to pull him closer.

He sealed the contact with a kiss, resting a hand on your exposed thigh that still trembled slightly from your first climax.

“____,” he broke away breathlessly, clinging to your waist, “are you sure you can handle more? We can stop here…”

It’s not that he was concerned, as it was quite obvious in you haze stained eyes that you wanted more from him.

Though, given how tired you’d become after such a long day, he didn’t wanna risk overdoing it.

“But we just started kissing properly,” you protested lazily, leaving another peck to his puffy lips.

“I know, princess,” he smiled again, massaging the flesh of your thigh with his hand, “but we can always continue this another time…”

Another time when you two didn’t have to be at the airport around four in the morning the next day...

You understood him perfectly, and as his lady, you intended to respect him whenever he called the shots, even if it meant you’d have to wait.

“A better time, then,” you added, lips not being able to stay off of his as guided you back against the mattress.

In all honesty, it wasn’t easy for him to tell you no like this, especially not with the raging boner in his pants now, but he knew your rest was more important.

It didn’t take long for him to hang up all your clothes, hop in the shower with you.

He had even helped you wash your hair, massaging your scalp and washing you down before grabbing you both a clean set of pajamas to wear.

And of course, they were matching.

Finally, you took it upon yourself to prepare a set of fresh bedding linen for you two, starting a load on laundry to get back to whenever you could.

Letting out a yawn, Jay found the silk mattress first, still smelling of his potent lavender body wash by time you joined him.

Finding your waist, he pulled you against his toned chest, snuggling his member in between the natural shape of your hips, but not in a sexual way…

More so, it was a protective cuddling position, in essence…

He left a few kisses along your neck, helping you to get comfortable under the covers.

“Moving forward,” you started randomly, “let’s make sure there are no Jennifer’s on the guest lists for your private events…”

Jay let out a laugh that melted your lovesick heart all over again, “Aww, we have our first mutual enemy…”

“Can’t say she doesn’t deserve it, either…,” you returned, grazing the knuckles of the hand he held you with, “thanks for making me feel better, baby...”

He pressed another warm kiss to soft skin, “Of course, princess… Now let’s get some sleep now, hmm? We have another obligation tomorrow, you know….”

Ahhh, yes… The fast life of Jay Park.

“To tomorrow…” you agreed, feeling his warmth leave you for a second as he turned the night light off, “now hold me properly, you’re not close enough.”

✧ Thank you to everyone who’s reading this right now!! I meant to give this story a full smut ending, but for some reason, it’s always hard for me to write intense sexual stuff for Jay ;-; … Anyways though, this was also my first time writing a oneshot for our Mr. Jongsby, so let’s hope I did him justice and y’all liked this one :’3 …

✧ My masterlist for newbies and bored readers huhu ^^

✧ 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ( 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 💌 ) @squoxle @wonbinisbabygurl @ashgonedash @yourmomscuntis2tighy @watamotee33 @addictedtohobi @ot7sevenlvr

#enhypen #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen hard hours #enhypen smut #park jongseong #jay smut #jay ff #jay hard thoughts #jay hard hours #enhypen jay imagines #enha smut #enhypen jay

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chrisrashizushi · 2 months ago

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Deliver Us From Temptation (But Not Tonight)

Pairing (s): Michael Jackson (1989!Virgin Jehovah’s Witness Version) x 304!Reader/ OC

Words: I don’t know twin 😭

Warning (s): NOT EDITED! Power Imbalance (slightly), Mentions of sex work, Smut, Virgin!Michael, Breeding Kink, Praise Kink, Creampie, Possessive Behavior (later chapters), Toxic Love (later chapters), Obsession (later chapters), Overstimulation, Crying During Sex (Michael), Emotional Manipulation (light, loving kind), Religious Guilt, Domestic Delusions, Fluff & Filth, Dickmatized Reader, Unhinged Post-Virgin Michael, Cringe Male Fantasy Realized, Baby Fever.

Summary: What starts as a regular night on the stroll turns into a once-in-a-lifetime encounter with Michael Jackson himself—but not the polished icon you’d expect. Not, this is 31-year-old Jehovah’s Witness virgin, cruising the streets in a black Rolls Royce on a one-man mission to lose his innocence after one too many conversations with Eddie Murphy.

You?

A 304 just trying to get your money and dip.

🩷🖤🩷🖤🩷🖤🩷🖤🩷🖤🩷🖤🩷🖤🩷🖤🩷

The moon hung low over Los Angeles like a guilty secret. It bled silver across the cracked pavement, washing the city in a kind of quiet shame, as if the sky itself knew what was about to happen and couldn’t bring itself to stop it.

Chrissie’s boots hit the sidewalk like a war drum.

Nine inches of pink patent leather stomped a rhythm into the night, the heels clicking in sharp, sensual staccato with every step she took. She moved with a softness that begged for attention—hips swaying like a metronome tuned to a melody only she could hear. A cropped snow-white fur jacket clung to her arms, hanging open just enough to tease the glittering bra underneath—pink, rhinestoned, and holding her breasts like they were born to be worshipped.

Her thong peeked out from a low-slung miniskirt the color of bubblegum and sin. It wasn’t an outfit; it was a sermon in seduction. And her lip gloss shimmered with the kind of cherry shine that made men forget their morals.

She didn’t walk. She glided. Like a fantasy written in cursive.

Chrissie wasn’t thinking about much—just her room at the motel, the ache in her ankles, and how she needed to find a better hustle before the year flipped over. She was halfway through chewing a piece of grape gum when she felt it.

A gaze. Thick. Heavy. Slow.

She stopped.

Somewhere beside her, an engine purred.

The car crept like a panther. Black, glossy, with windows so tinted they reflected her back at herself. A Rolls Royce. Old money. Silent money. The kind of car that could belong to a drug lord, a politician, or somebody famous enough to be dangerous.

The passenger window hissed down like a whispered secret.

And there he was.

Hidden in the shadows, hoodie drawn low, curls spilling down his forehead like ink. But even under the poor motel lighting, his face glowed. Ethereal. Familiar in a way that made her throat close.

“Um… excuse me, miss,” he said, voice trembling like a hymn whispered in a confessional booth. “Do you… need a ride?”

Her lips parted. And then curved into a smirk slow and lethal.

“That depends, baby. You lookin’ to get saved or get lucky?”

He flinched. Visibly. As if her words had slapped his spirit.

Chrissie leaned closer. Her hand pressed against the glass, long almond nails glinting like daggers. The scent of vanilla body spray, cherry gloss, and heat curled inside the car like smoke.

The man coughed into his fist.

“I… I can take you somewhere safe. I mean, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure,” she said, voice sugared. “I know a place. Room 209. Pink door. You can park in the back, sugar.”

🖤🩷🖤🩷🖤🩷🖤🩷🖤🩷🖤🩷🖤🩷🖤🩷🖤

Michael

He should have kept driving.

He should have clutched his steering wheel tighter, turned the jazz up louder, prayed harder. But the moment he saw her—that girl, walking like lust had a zip code—Michael’s grip on righteousness began to slip.

She looked like something he’d once seen in a dream and spent the rest of his life pretending he hadn’t. A Bratz doll with goddess thighs. Eyes like melted brown sugar. A waist that curved like temptation in physical form.

He’d been fasting. Praying. He was trying to stay pure.

But Eddie said it.

“Mike, you need to get laid. All that pressure? You’re gonna snap one day.”

Michael didn’t mean to turn down that street. Didn’t mean to roll down his window.

But he did.

And now she was in his car, legs crossed like a temptation he couldn’t unsee, licking her thumb and smoothing out her baby hairs like it was a damn ritual. He could barely breathe.

“New to this?” she asked, voice dipped in flirt.

“Y-yeah,” he mumbled. “First time, actually.”

“Aw, that’s cute,” she said, grinning like the devil’s favorite daughter.

❤️😘🤣💕

The Motel

She led him up the stairs like she was guiding him to slaughter. Her perfume lingered in the air like an afterthought he couldn’t stop inhaling. His hoodie clung to him, soaked with sweat, socks sticking in his loafers. He didn’t know what he was doing. He just knew he had to follow her.

Room 209 creaked open.

The light flickered. The sheets were ugly. The air was stale. But Chrissie’s presence made it feel like a palace.

She tossed her purse on the bed, turned around, and slid the jacket off her shoulders like she was born for slow-motion. Her bra sparkled in the lamplight. Her piercings caught the glow like jewelry crafted by God Himself.

And then she looked at him.

Really looked at him.

Her brows pinched.

Her eyes widened.

And suddenly, her mouth dropped open in cartoon disbelief.

“WAIT A MINUTE—”

She took a step closer.

“OH MY GOD—NO, NO, THIS CAN’T BE—”

Michael froze.

“YOU’RE MICHAEL FUCKING JACKSON!!!”

He winced like the truth was a gunshot.

“I-I didn’t mean to—it’s not what it looks like—please don’t scream—”

“You’re THEE Michael Jackson. Thriller. Smooth Criminal. You invented the moonwalk and now you walkin’ up into my room?!”

Her voice pitched into a laugh—half shocked, half delighted. She plopped down on the bed and crossed her legs.

She looked him up and down like a client, a mystery, and a check she was about to cash.

“So…” she said, tongue flicking over her front teeth. “How much we talkin’? ’Cause tonight? You about to get the deluxe experience.”

Michael stared at her.

At her eyes.

At her smile.

At her body.

At the edge of sin.

And all he could say was:

“I… I think I love you.”

❤️😘💕 😩

The air in the room was thick now.

Heavy with something that clung to the walls, something almost physical. Lust? Fear? Divine punishment? Maybe all three. The cheap motel A/C buzzed somewhere behind them, but neither of them moved.

Michael sat on the edge of the bed like he was waiting to be judged.

Back straight, hands in his lap, fingers laced tight like he was in prayer. His hoodie was off now, revealing a clingy white undershirt that stretched over his narrow shoulders. He was breathing shallow, like the oxygen in the room didn’t belong to him.

Chrissie lay across the bed behind him, one arm draped lazily over her stomach, the other twirling a strand of hair as she watched him squirm.

“Soooo… is this what we’re doing?” she asked, voice sweet but mocking, like a cherry-laced tease. “We just gon’ sit here all night? You wanna play Uno or somethin’?”

Michael flinched, blinking fast, like he was trying to wake up from a dream he wasn’t ready to leave.

“N-no! I mean… I didn’t know how to—how it usually starts. I, um. I’ve never…” he trailed off, swallowing hard.

Chrissie smirked.

She already knew.

It was written all over him.

The nervous ticks. The too-careful eye contact. The way he kept adjusting his pants like his dick was trying to leap into destiny without him.

She pushed herself up onto her knees and slid behind him, straddling her thighs on either side of his body without even touching. Yet.

“You’re tense, baby,” she cooed, lowering her voice to a honey-thick whisper.

Her hands came to rest on his shoulders. Gently. She kneaded his tight muscles through the thin cotton shirt, thumbs pressing just hard enough to make him gasp.

Michael jolted.

“Oh—um—th-that feels… good.”

“Mmm, I know it does. You’re all stiff. Poor thing… haven’t even been touched like this, huh?”

She leaned in closer, lips grazing the shell of his ear, warm breath curling against his skin. Her nose brushed his curls, and she inhaled deeply.

“You smell like lavender and stress.”

He whimpered. Whimpered. Like a kicked puppy in a pew.

Chrissie kissed the curve of his neck—once, then again, softer, slower, lips lingering—and Michael’s knees actually buckled. He reached for the sheets to steady himself. But that only made things worse.

Because now he could feel her body behind him. Warm. Pressed close. Her thighs against his back. Her breath against his skin.

“I—I shouldn’t—” he began, voice paper-thin.

“Then leave,” she challenged, voice flat and sharp.

Silence.

He stood up like he might actually do it.

Chrissie just watched.

And then—

She grabbed him by the collar and yanked him backwards.

He gasped as he fell, landing flat on his back against the pillows, curls fanning out like a halo, eyes wide and helpless. She climbed on top of him with feline grace, not rushed, not reckless—just in control. Like a lioness lowering her weight onto fresh prey.

“You ain’t goin’ nowhere,” she murmured, hands sliding down his trembling body.

She reached for the waistband of his black pants, slow and teasing, her nails dragging against his skin.

Michael trembled beneath her. His fists clenched the sheets, and he turned his head like he couldn’t bear to watch.

But she could.

And baby—what she saw had her jaw dropping.

This man’s dick was insane.

Thick. Heavy. A subtle hook to the left, pointing like it had a destination in mind. Already leaking. Like it was desperate. Like it had never been inside anything before, and it knew what it was missing.

She stared at it like it owed her rent money.

“…Oh,” she said finally. “So you really never had no pussy before.”

Michael’s face flushed red, ears burning.

“I haven’t… um. N-no. Never. I was waiting… I am waiting. For marriage, I mean. But…” He gulped. “I think if we get married after this it’s okay, right?”

Chrissie blinked.

Then snorted. Loud.

“Boy, what?”

Michael sat up slightly, big brown eyes hopeful, breath hitching like a skipped record.

“If you’re my wife, then it’s not a sin. I think. I mean—I don’t know, I could talk to my pastor but I feel like—”

“Oh my god,” she groaned, dropping her head onto his chest. “This ain’t the first time a client caught feelings, but you? You really different.”

“I—I’m not like the others,” he whispered, one hand trembling as he brushed her arm. “I love you.”

Chrissie just sighed, eyes rolling to the ceiling like:

“Lord, why do you give the biggest dick to the dumbest men?”

Chrissie straddled him loosely now, eyes heavy, body still, watching him with a kind of measured patience that only came from experience. She had already lubed him up—carefully, tenderly, with slow circular motions that made Michael’s stomach clench and his toes curl inside his socks. She could feel how he pulsed under her touch. How he trembled when her fingers brushed the tip. She had even shown him where to go—guided his cock with her soft hand, fingers slick and glistening, parting her folds with her other hand like she was opening a temple.

“Right here, baby,” she whispered, voice breathy. “That’s the spot. You feel that? That’s all you.”

Michael nodded, jaw tight, lashes fluttering. He gripped her thighs like he was praying for strength.

He was sweating now. Tears prickled in his eyes and he hadn’t even entered her yet.

“Chrissie…” His voice cracked. “I-I’m scared.”

“You’ll be fine,” she cooed, brushing a kiss against his cheek. “Just go slow, baby. You ain’t gotta go too deep…”

She didn’t mean it.

She should have meant it.

But she didn’t know what she was dealing with.

Michael adjusted his hips, the head of his dick pressing right against her entrance. Chrissie tensed. It was warm. Hot. Bulging. Her breath hitched and her eyes darted up to his face—but he was already looking down at her like a boy seeing color for the first time.

He pushed forward. Just the head.

Chrissie’s entire body jolted.

“AH—hold on—hold on baby—OH MY GOD—” she groaned, her voice pitchy, raw. “Th-that’s just the head?!”

Her nails dug into his arms. Her legs kicked once, instinctively trying to shut closed, but Michael caught them—held them down, firm and wide, muscles flexed like he’d been possessed by something holy and carnal at the same time.

“Don’t close ‘em,” he whispered hoarsely. “I—I wanna see you take it.”

Chrissie whimpered.

Her toes curled. Her back arched.

Eyes twitching closed. Lips trembling.

That shit BURNED. It stretched. It split. It filled. And yet… he still hadn’t moved.

Michael hovered above her, panting, tears in his lashes, his jaw clenched tight as he froze, refusing to thrust any further.

“You okay?” he asked, voice breaking. “D-does it hurt?”

“YES,” she hissed, trying to breathe through it. “But don’t stop. Just—don’t move yet.”

He didn’t. He stayed right there. Just the head inside. Throbbing. Huge. His whole body trembling like a candle in wind.

“Oh, Jehovah…” he sobbed, voice warbling. “It feels so—so good. Is that a sin too? Feeling good like this? It feels warm and—and wet and… oh, God forgive me—”

Chrissie blinked up at him through tears of her own, half-laughing, half-groaning.

“Baby… if that’s just the tip… I don’t know if I’m makin’ it through the rest.”

Michael looked down at her like she was the second coming. His eyes were glassy, mouth parted, flushed cheeks glowing under the motel lamplight. And then something shifted in him.

His hips twitched. The faintest forward thrust.

“You sure?” he whispered.

She blinked up at him. “Do it.”

Then he moved.

Not rough—but deep. Slow. Deliberate. Like he was pouring years of starvation into her all at once. Like his body remembered something his mind had no words for. Like he was being guided by some ancient instinct to claim.

Chrissie screamed.

Her thighs shook, and her voice went raw.

“FUCK—MICHAEL, YOU’RE—TOO MUCH!”

But he didn’t stop.

He grunted—low, deep, from the gut—“I don’t care.”

Her legs trembled as he buried himself inch by inch, watching her crumble beneath him. His cock throbbed inside her like it had never known peace before. His tears rolled down freely now, but his body kept going. Sliding deeper. Holding her down.

“I’m sorry—I’m sorry I love you—I’m sorry I love you so much—I know this is wrong—but you feel so… so right—”

Chrissie could barely breathe. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t think.

All she knew was that he was huge. Hot. Pulsing. And deep.

And that somewhere between his head and his soul, Michael Jackson had just lost his virginity… and his whole damn mind. Michael’s grip on her thighs was unrelenting. Fingers digging deep, spreading her wide open like he was searching for meaning between her legs. His breath came in fast little gasps, sweat slicking his curls to his temples. And he was trembling—shaking, really—like her pussy had unlocked some forgotten code in his spine and his whole body was trying to reboot.

“S-slow, Michael—slow!” Chrissie groaned, arching beneath him. “You too big to be doing all that—just give me a sec to breathe—”

But he couldn’t.

He couldn’t stop.

It wasn’t even about control anymore.

It was instinct.

Michael’s body had taken over, and he was thrusting in short, messy, needy strokes—deeper and deeper like his soul was trying to crawl inside her and stay there. His hips jerked forward again, and he let out the softest little cry—“O-ohhh, Chrissie…”

His voice was high and breathless, a little whimper mixed with prayer.

She tried to push at his chest, tried to say something like “Wait, baby, you not gon’ last if you keep—” but it was too late.

Michael’s entire body seized.

His eyes rolled up. Lips parted. He slammed his hips forward one last time and froze, buried to the base inside her. Chrissie’s jaw dropped open, legs twitching as her pussy stretched around him like it was trying to learn him by heart.

And then—

“Hnnnng—!”

He let out the weakest, softest, most heavenly busted-nut whimper ever released on God’s green Earth and CAME. HARD.

Hot, thick ropes of cum spilled inside her, deep, fast, messy.

His hips jerked again—once, twice—like his body didn’t know whether to flee or burrow. He moaned into her neck, tears rolling down his cheeks as his cock throbbed with every pulse.

“Oh… oh God… I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to—I couldn’t stop—Chrissie I love you—ohhh it feels too good…”

She blinked up at the ceiling, stunned.

“You just… came in me?”

Michael didn’t even hear her. He was trembling, forehead pressed to her shoulder, breathing like he just ran through Armageddon barefoot.

“I’m yours now,” he mumbled, already sounding sleepy.

“Michael—baby—this ain’t how this supposed to go. You weren’t even in for two minutes!”

But he wasn’t listening.

Because this man had just given up his virginity, broken his vows, nutted deep in a baddie’s tight little coochie and fallen in love all in one stroke.

He nuzzled against her chest like a newborn, breathing in her perfume like it was oxygen.

“You smell like heaven. I wanna wake up here. We should get a dog. We should get married tomorrow.”

Chrissie just stared at the ceiling, lips parted.

“Ain’t no way,” she whispered. “You already asleep?”

And he was.

Michael Jackson, King of Pop, just nutted in a motel room, confessed his love, and passed out like a baby, dick still twitching inside her.

🖤🩷🖤🩷🖤🩷🖤🩷🖤🩷🖤🩷🖤🩷🖤🩷🖤

To be continued…

#michael jackson #michael jackson fanfic #michael jackson x reader #michael jackson fluff #michael jackson smut #michael joseph jackson #you’re a hoe #but that’s okay

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luvv1anime · 4 months ago

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Sero thoughts!

Masterlist!

In my mind Sero can play the guitar and the ukulele so beautifully and he can also sing, I feel like he would actually have that scratchy raspy singing voice that's so pretty and relaxing loll!! and its a plus he also can sing in Spanish because again in my mind Sero is half Mexican half Japanese. Sero one time stayed up to 3am to write a song for you and when he played it for you you literally started tearing up because is was so beautiful and full of love. Sero is such a love struck boy like seriously you do something to that boy he is absolutely OBSESSED with you to the point it's so adorable. Most of the time he doesn't really sing in Spanish because he feels like his voice isn't as good as it is when he sings normally (which is such bs) but if you beg him (ask once) he'll do it for you because ur his sweet little baby! If you ask him so sing you too sleep he usually always sings in Spanish then because you mentioned one time before y'all were dating that weirdly Spanish music helps you fall asleep so now every time you ask him to he sings in Spanish. He's so lover boy coded guys like idk what it is about him but something abt him just gives off such lover vibes and its so cute SIGHHH I wish he was real :(

Songs he would sing to you:

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hinge · 27 days ago

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Hinge presents an anthology of love stories almost never told. Read more on https://no-ordinary-love.co

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dxwjj · 18 days ago

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enhypen dr ⸒⸒ 露 intro ﹗

No one can do it for me.

Can I be better now?

Taps on the mic — is this on?? yes? ok, here we go...

"Isn't she lovely."

Rosée, or may known profesionally as Iseul, born in Argentina, summer 2005. The sweetest smile. Soft eyes, the kind of gaze that could bring you comfort or kill a man depending on the day. Previously known for being the coldest during the I-LAND competition... yeah, that was survival mode. Owner of the softest heart —oh! did she... she wrote this herself, right? ... Okay— Ummh and a quiet voice having to mask her kind nature behind the toughest expression to calculate survival odds in a testosterone battle dome at the young age of fifteen.

"What's is this little girl doing in a boy competition??" People were asking the same question— and by people I mean everyone. Contestants, audience, judges, janitors. She looked twelve and walked in like she owned the place. Quiet, polite, alone, determinated. Even she was confused. Everyone expected her to cry and give up, go home. But Bang Sihyuk, he had a vision... he SAW potential —or trauma, honestly hard to tell with that guy—

Raking #5 in the final lineup by public vote, she showed a huge versatility, diverse facets that helped her position herself on the top after almost every performance, along with a dicipline and iciness that scared some of the contestants. She knew kindness would get her eaten alive so she shut it off. Smiled less, spoke less. Nobody could tell if she hated everyone or was just realy, really tired. Turns out it was both, and low iron.

Fortunately, someone else also found her lovely back then. It was Jungkook, when BTS made a visit— he thought she was the cutest thing ever and spiritually adopted her on the spot ! Claimed himself as her "cool older brother", which granted her full permission to borrow his stuff —the girl doesn't return anything—

UPDATE! He just wanted free babysitting for Bam, that's it. So clever of him to pick a cat person... right? With the build of someone you can easily presume would get dragged around by that big-ass dog, and be proven right — but the dog is happy, she is too. Kind of—

Now? Curly hair, rosy cheeks, cotton candy scent, giggles machine. One of the strongest vocalists in the industry, adored for her warmth, praised for her hard work, iconic we could say, the idol of idols —and occasionally caught pleading and crawling on her knees for a girl group sub-unit just to escape men's chaos for a day— Who said that? not me.

"Aloof? Coldhearted? Who are you talking about??"

The "i-land cold one"? Not a newflash but she does not domain that behaviour anymore. Debut day came, the cameras turned on and suddenly... she wasn't cold anymore. No, now she was clinging to Heeseung her members like she'd grown out of their ribcage. Shy, awkward, koala-coded. Again, everyone was confused.

No one saw that coming. One second she's cold and mysterious, next second she's practically suction-cupped to the members like a human leech. With the exception that Hee clings back, so now it's mutual parasitic friendship. Jay's also one of the main victims, trying to drag her off his arm. And that's the key word: he tries... and fails everytime.

"she's not a brat! ... Just a little spoiled."

Nepo baby?? Wait— an heiress! : well, kinda. Grandpa's a CEO, dad's a michelin star's collector, mom's Miuccia's favorite. So yeah, she might have a vault of archival Prada, one-of-one heels made just for her alone. Even her own rolls-royce, at 17, we gotta say thanks to grandpa for that one¡! With two bodyguard who she still thinks are just "family friends who really like driving".

I'm positive you might wonder if she's an ungrateful brat! Well —let me tell you something that is not in the script— she's spoiled... a little rotten, but-but WAIT! Is she evil? Nah, she's a sweatheart. Bakes cookies with love, cries over baby animals, just... don't ask her to carry her own bag.

"Moonwalking since diapers."

Here's the thing— she didn't train for long. BELIFT saw her and said "yeah, she's cooked enough." But why? Apparently it starts with being God's favorite, and obviously, her parents being obsessed with MJ helped (along with a few ballet years). Full dischography, full interview archive, tour dvds. Even that moonwalker movie she squints at now that she grew up. And baby Rosée? She ate it all UP. Copying everything, his dancing, his singing, his talking. She didn't know she was learning— she was just vibing in her living room while using footie pajamas, still not able to spell 'hee-hee'.

"Who's using JK's studio??"

And then she started producing, at 17. The company saw the potential, sure— but even they were like "not yet." Plot twist: yes yet! She got mentored by Slow Rabbit, one of HYBE's best. And while other teens were crying over finals, Rosée was in the studio absorbing knowledge like a sponge wearing Dior's lipgloss. She learned directly, fast, smart. Took notes, made beats. Everyone blinked and suddenly she was in Jungkook's a "borrowed" studio adjustig vocal layers like she wasn't also trying to steal Jungwon's hoodie 5 mintes ago.

Now she's 18 with credits. Producer credits. Making the most of her poetry to create heart-wrenching lyrics and make everyone obsessed. While still being enhypen's certified baby, the dorm's gremlin, and that one boy's soulmate— you know the one. Yes, him. Don't ask me more.

"Face card: never declined. BUT ... at what cost?"

Let's get this straight. She's shy, introverted— used to hide behind her members during interviews, considers "standing near a staff" a social event and is terrified of that MC offer.

YET! global fashion darling, ads princess. MiuMiu and Dior's precious muse. Like be for real, who scripted this? (spoiler: she did. And inmediately regretted it). The girl is emotionally attached to everyone, scared of solo cameras and still got booked for every high-end brand deal in existence. —teehee she's just twee smol >.< shy lil hug baby and NARRATOR WANTS A RAISE¡!—

Why would a literal awkward-hug parasite ask the universe to make her the face of half global fashion scene?? No one knows, not even her.

So she begged HYBE to leave her alone. Threatened to delete her demos, would've sabotaged the comeback for real if her mom hadn't shown up. Like "You're my daughter, you're flawless. Get in the car".

After all she was born as Bellucci's daughter. A genetically blessed, shy luxury gremlin with no escape due her mom being the brand's co-founder. So now she's crying in MiuMiu and serving face in silence— and yes, she's her mom's muse, and somehow poster girl of the year. Somebody help her.

Narrator didn't get the raise, so he quit. That's it, we're wrapping up here. This was Rosée's intro, attempt of.

Final note¡! I've been frying my brain for days, but this might have grammar mistakes anyway... i'm not a pro at english (yet, at least).

#shifting blog #shiftblr #shifting community #露 ୭ ˚. boludeces ᵎᵎ #reality shifting #shifting antis dni #shifting #kpop shifting #kpop dr #dr intro #dr scrapbook #enhypen shifter #shifting consciousness #shifting diary

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