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cinnamoncunt · 4 hours

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KITTY KAT — art donaldson + reader : art has a tendency to show up late to your lessons.

tags: mdni, tennis lessons, coach!art donaldson, p in v sex, fingering, art is kind of an asshole, cheating (not on reader)

a/n: sorry to tashi… this goes out to my dear @murdrdocs

thirty minutes ago.

art donaldson was supposed to be here thirty minutes ago, your teeth grit against each other, foot tapping impatiently against the concrete floor below you.

art was a sweet guy, sure, but his time management was beyond infuriating. it almost made you feel like he thought himself above you, like you weren��t worth his time.

“one to talk,” you mumble to yourself, dragging your racket on the ground, “rich from the guy who was coached by his wife.”

ahem.

you spin around, and of course, he’s standing right there, looking the same as he always does. his dirty blonde hair was messed up and falling over his eyebrows, blue eyes, with a mix of brown, staring directly at you with an almost amused expression.

you blink at him, once, twice.

a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips, “sorry for being late.”

it sounds condescending, like he would never actually mean it, especially not after what he heard, it felt like a sort of karma for what you were previously saying about him.

and he knows that, of course he does, so he masks it with a sense of sweetness, one that would typically gaslight people into thinking they’ve been forgiven, but you know better.

you’ve been coached by art for a while now, and his little habits became far too predictable. this was odd, though, you couldn’t make out the glint in his eye, especially when you mumble a, “sorry, i didn’t mean—“

“let’s get started, yeah?” art cuts in, bitter, yet his voice still sounded like it was dipped in honeysuckle.

he whisks right past you with that same, tugged up smirk, he reeked of rich cologne and mint.

your lips press together and you silently, albeit ashamed, nod in agreement.

maybe silence will earn points back from your coach.

𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚ 🎾

silence did not earn anything.

art served hard, hit the ball hard, it was as if he wanted to make the ball break through your racket and hit you square in the face. he clearly took your miniscule words personally, and he was testing you, trying to break you down, to see how much you could take until your bones turned soft and you felt like giving up.

the first time you called a pause, art smiled, “don’t tell me you’re giving up.”

“pause,” you repeat through heaved breaths, sweat sticking to your skin underneath the relentless sun. art had that same playful look in his eyes that he always did, he knew that what he was doing was working, he knew that he was getting under your skin, and as cruel as it sounds, he really did enjoy it.

if you ever were to ask him about it, he’d just shrug and say it’s all a part of the practice, it always happens in tennis, especially professional, he’s just preparing you. but deep down, he really just wanted to say that he was doing it for those reasons but for his own personal pleasures, karma comes in many forms, but art picks the harshest form first.

he watches you drink water with a desperate urgency, stifling his own chuckles, “you sure you’re okay?”

“‘m fine,” you speak after gulping down the last drop, finally satisfied, “let’s keep going.”

art’s brows furrow ever so slightly, but as soon as you’re back to being ready, he rolls the tennis ball in his hand a little, observing it, before throwing it up in the air and sending it your way. he’s so casual with every hit, despite his grunts and the way his nose scrunches whenever ball meets racket, he makes it look like it’s nothing.

to make it even worse, he starts trying to conversate between passes, “you know—“ smack! another grunt leaves his lips, “it’s really rude to—“ smack! “speak about people behind their—“ smack! “fuck.. backs.”

you’re so busy trying to decipher his words you almost miss the next hit, but thankfully you snap out of the trance quick enough to hit it last minute, which he chuckles at and quickly sends it back.

smack! “‘m sorry, art, really—“ your shoes scratch against the concrete below, smack! “i was being very—“ smack! “childish, i apologize.”

he hums, content with your apologies, but still not outwardly saying he forgives you, instead his hits start to soften, he’s less trying to kill you with the ball and now rather trying to actually play tennis. “you’re all good—“ he confirms, smack! “just make it up to me, yeah?”

ball meets floor, his words had completely caught you off guard, and you missed your hit on the ball he sent your way. you felt almost stupid, standing there, staring at him and trying to decipher what he meant by making it up to him.

and of course, he didn’t elaborate, he never did, he simply just picked up another ball, smiled at you, and said, “ready?”

𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚ 🎾

art said he forgave you, right?

ever since that day, he’s been acting.. off. he was more focused on your figure now, not in a crude way, but in a way where he wanted you to position yourself correctly when playing. he watches you serve the ball, then his tongue prods at the inside of his cheek and he stands, “hey, hey, wait a second— your uh… your stance is wrong.”

“it is?” it was the fifth time he’s corrected you, today, and it’s safe to say you were getting annoyed, he picked up on the bitterness of your tone as he approached you.

“‘ts not my fault, kitty cat,” he shrugged simply, noticing the way your eyes narrow in frustration at his nickname, he only smiles. he leans in behind you, “may i?” his hands are ghosting over your arms from behind.

“whatever helps,” you remark.

“good,” it’s softly spoken at the shell of your ear, making you swallow thick, his fingers wrap around your wrist, other one holding your fingers grip on the racket’s handle. his grip is tight, yet gentle at the same time, veins flexing against his flesh with every movement as he helps you move into the right position. “just gotta.. do it like this,” he’s still whispering against your ear, nearly making your knees buckle.

once he’s satisfied with your position, which is far too quick for your liking, he backs off and lets you serve the ball again. he smiles once he’s gotten what he’s wanted, “perfect.”

eventually, after a while of hitting the ball, you decided to take a break. there was a silence between you and art, a tension you couldn’t place, you had nothing to blame it on, nothing to apologize for, and he constantly looked like he was trying to say something indescribable.

“hey,” he starts, before tugging his bottom lip under his tongue for a mere second before continuing, “remember when i said you had to make it up to me?”

you stare at him, curious, “yeah, of course.”

“you know,” his hands smooth over each other, skin underneath his right eye twitching as his pupils dilate in thought, “i’ve been having a.. problem, lately.”

“with tennis?”

“nono,” he laughs nervously, moving to scratch the back of his neck, “it’s personal, y’know? well— not entirely, since ‘m telling you, but uh— actually, nevermind.”

𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚ 🎾

you and art hadn’t discussed much after the last meet, you found yourself standing in the court yet again, whilst he was no short of an hour late at this point. you wanted to ask him what his deal is lately, what his problem is, but he wasn’t even here to be questioned. it was almost ridiculous, like he was toying with you.

“i like your skirt,” it comes out of nowhere, but it’s the same, smooth voice that art holds.

yet again, you find yourself spinning around to meet him, he’s closer, now, clearly eyeing you— but that’s.. weird, is it not? he has a wife, he shouldn’t be complimenting your obviously short skirt, or eyeing you like that, or wishing to tell you things that he had apparently not told anyone else because it’s personal. but who are you to question his relationship? maybe he’s just.. being nice, really.

“thank you,” you offer, nice, short, sweet.

he rolls his shoulder, meeting your eyes, flickering his gaze to your lips for a mere second, then saying nothing and walking by. rich cologne and mint. that’s what wafts into your senses immediately, as if it was some sort of distraction from his odd behaviors.

“do you always call people kitty cat?” you eventually ask him, it was something you’d been wondering, truly, especially since you’ve never been called that before.

“to pretty girls with an attitude, yeah,” art says it so casually.

“like your wife?”

“like you.”

art corrected you.

he corrected you, and his correction didn’t annoy you like how they always did, it made your stomach churn in a way you couldn’t decipher, you couldn’t tell if it was good or bad. you liked it, maybe, but isn’t that so sickening? art seems to think no big deal of his own words, as he doesn’t even react, so you try to be nonchalant about it as well.

the whole entire test match you play with him, he has a certain glint in his eye, his grunts are louder, his shorts look tighter, he looks like he’s having some sort of reaction to playing tennis, to playing tennis with you. your tongue runs along your lips between breaks, noticing the way his eyes linger on it, the way his pupils widen at the shine of saliva over your lips with each swipe.

at the third break, art was convinced you were doing this on purpose.

“why do you keep doing that?” he asks as he’s walking over to grab his water bottle, right where you’re sitting on the concrete floor. you blink up at him, watching him hover the bottle near his lips and squirt the water into his mouth. did he always look this good when sweaty?

gosh, maybe you’re just tired, maybe your mind is just foggy.

“what?” you frown, confused.

“licking your lips,” he speaks after swallowing the water, towering over you. his muscles were nearly bursting out of his white t-shirt with every movement, especially when he puts his water bottle down and crosses his arm, head cocking to the side. sweat causes some of his hair strands to stick to his forehead, lips puffy from how much he bites them when playing.

“my lips are dry,” you explain, so simple.

“yeah?” again, another smile, he had to be toying with you, “do you need some other help with that?”

“what do you mean?”

art hums, not explaining anything when he opens his mouth and swipes his thumb along his tongue, moving down to rub the saliva from his tongue onto your lips, memorizing the pillowy soft touch. your eyes widen, slightly, “art, this is—“

“not helping?” art tuts in faux disappointment, mumbling a small, ‘why don’t i..’ before he leans down further, licking his own lips and getting closer and closer until his lips are brushing against yours.

“wrong,” you mumble out, but you sound unsure, like you don’t really believe what you just said, you don’t think this is wrong, you’ve always thought art was attractive, it was his wife that kept your crush on him at bay. you mumble against his lips, “you have a wife, art..”

“do i?” he smirks against your lips, a near chuckle slipping out, “i must’ve forgotten.”

“art,” it sounds like a warning, but again, you wanted nothing less than for his lips to fall against yours right now.

“make it up to me, yeah? remember that?” his hand moves to hold your cheek, tipping your head up at him, eyes meeting yours in such close proximity, “i’ve got some marriage problems right now, so why don’t you play wife for me, hm?”

you nod at him, ever so slightly, he clocks it immediately, and that’s his que. his eyes flutter shut, and he’s leaning in only a mere centimeter before his lips fall against yours. the kiss is soft at first, sweet, new, but then art starts taking the lead, and it quickly becomes something on the faint lines of cannibalism, he kissed you like he wanted to eat you, like he loved you.

when he said he wanted you to play wife, he wasn’t lying.

he pries your lips open with his own before his tongue makes it’s way inside your mouth, tasting the peppermint of your gum on your own tongue, memorizing the noisy breaths that leave your mouth and move into his. your nails are quick to run along his arms, making him pull back to speak, “hold on, kitty cat.”

“you call your wife kitty cat?” you watch him peel off his sweaty shirt from his skin.

he tosses the shirt to the side, exhaling a breath that showed he hated the feeling of the wet fabric on his skin, “mm, i call you kitty cat, ‘nd you’re playing my wife, so.”

“right,” you agree, letting his cold hands brush against your skin when he takes your clothes off of you, of course looking at you for approval beforehand, which you nod to.

“did you start wearing shorter skirts on purpose?” art questions when his fingers reach the waistband of your skirt, ever so slowly dipping underneath.

“no, ‘course not,” you speak breathlessly, feeling his fingers move under your underwear as well until his fingertips meet your clit. you swallow thick, lashes fluttering as he starts moving his fingers in an almost cruel slowness.

“look at me,” he whispers a simple command, free hand holding your chin and forcing you to look at him. his fingers move further down, immediately feeling how wet you are, he chuckles in surprise, “god, you’re this wet for a married man, huh?”

“for my husband,” you mumble out, playing the part.

“that’s right,” his middle finger circles your entrance for a second before ever so slowly dipping it inside. he watches your lips fall apart, the way your eyes get glossed over, the way your hips push up against his finger. “needy.”

he doesn’t take long to push another finger in, letting go of your chin so he could guide your hand to his clothed cock, hard and pushing against his flimsy shorts. as soon as you start rubbing his dick through the fabric, his breath shudders slightly, as if he’s been waiting too long for like, as if he hasn’t had sexual pleasure in weeks.

soon enough, only a mere minute or two in of foreplay, art gets antsy and he has to have his dick inside of you, he pries his fingers from your cunt and takes your skirt off next. “lay down for me, yeah?” he smiles at the fact that you do it immediately, even spreading your legs for him.

he hisses at the feeling when his bare knees meet the concrete floor below, harsh on his skin, he tugs his shorts and boxers down ever so slightly until his cock is finally freed. you inhale sharply upon seeing it, he had a big dick. he spits in his hand, coating his dick with a grunt before he finally lines himself up with your entrance.

“ready?” he hushes out.

“yeah, yeah,” you’re barely able to finish the last yeah before his dick is moving into you, his nose scrunching from the tightness of your walls around him, it’s like you were purposefully squeezing his cock with an attempt to milk him dry already.

“fuck,” he grunts out, pulling back, then moving back in, earning a pathetic moan from your lips. it sounds like music to his ears, so he keeps going, his thrusting was slow at first, gentle, kind— but just like the test matches, or the kiss, he gets hungry, and he wants more.

his thrusts turn relentless almost immediately, maybe even like he was taking out some sorts of sexual frustrations out on your poor cunt. whimpers, whines, moans, all of those leave your lips, matching up with the grunts and the occasional whimper from his own mouth as well.

sex was intoxicating for art, and there was something so dangerous, so forbidden about this, you weren’t really his wife, he was married to another woman, he was solely your coach. some sick part of art loves that, maybe that’s why he leans down and starts nipping at your neck, sucking at the delicate skin until maroon and blackberry starts blooming on the blank canvas.

“art, oh my god,” you moan out, hands moving to scratch at his bare back, and maybe art should be smart enough to tell you not to leave marks, but he lets your nails dig in as his thrusts get harsher, surely drawing blood, or at least noticeable scratches.

in fact, the feeling of you tearing into his skin only makes his orgasm come on faster, soon enough wracking his body and making his hips stutter. he keeps going though, despite the overstimulation that makes him pathetically whine softly, just until you’ve reached your own orgasm.

he pulls out, panting, smirking down at you, “thanks, kitty cat.”

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cinnamoncunt · 4 hours

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🍒🍦 ⸺ ᳂ cherry vanilla dr. pepper !!!

cw: afab reader, voyeurism, tashi and you make out while you get pounded, weird amalgamation of dehumanization/objectification/pet play, subby!art coded, spit roasting at the end, slight overstimulation, bizarre orgy vibes, mean dom!tashi to everyone but you <3, implied breeding/creampie kink, canon typical mind games, tashi sits in the cuck chair /j, implied romantic feelings but no mention of established romantic relationships, slight mxm, clit stimulation, one use of “mommy”

happy challengers day 🎾💚

consider commissioning me or leaving me a tip !

“Round 4 will be the last one, alright? Get ready, baby.”

You take deep breaths, clutching onto Patrick’s wrist. You lock eyes with Tashi, feeling syrupy sweet deep in your gut. She grins and unbuttons the top buttons of her shirt, leaving you three to your own devices for now.

The stretch of Patrick’s cock stings and burns a little but Art nipping at your hip bones helps distract you. Patrick pants against the nape of your neck, you feel so divinely tight he thinks he’s died and gone to heaven.

He keeps his voice low so Tashi can’t hear him, “Fuck-you feel incredible, i’d kill for this pussy, you know that.”

“Hook your arm around their neck, good boy.” Tashi instructs Patrick, leaning back in the hotel chair and palming her pussy at the sight in front of her.

“Yes, ma’am.” He swiftly calls back, acting like he hadn’t said anything to you at all.

Patrick has you in a headlock, pummeling his cock in and out of your pussy with reckless abandon. Art is beneath the two of you, suckling on your clit like it’s a nipple he’s trying to get milk out of. He licks where you’re stretched around Patrick, drawing groans from you both and a chuckle from Tashi.

“Be a good dog and lap them up, okay? I’d hate to have to take away your toy privileges.” She sneers, sliding her damp underwear to the side and stroking her slit.

The “toy” in the equation isn't you.

You’re dead to the world, eyes bulging out of their sockets and nails trying to rip the white sheet to shreds. Your head and tits rock back and forth with Patrick’s thrusts, already on the brink of your fourth orgasm. You try to scream that you can’t take anymore, but you wanna make Tashi proud so you shut up.

“ ‘s so good…” Art hums into your mound, pecking little kisses onto it here and there.

His sounds are muffled but the vibrations send your eyes to the back of your head. The chair in the corner of the room creaks as Tashi gets up, and the second you lift your head and open your eyes, she’s smiling down at you with all the warmth she doesn’t give the men pleasing you. This isn’t about them, it never was.

“Patrick’s so big, Tashi-he’s unggggh-he’s gonna kill me!” You whine, desperately pawing at her clothed breasts.

She coos and pulls her blouse up, bringing your hands to cup her tits and keeping them there, “Baby you know he’s not, this pussy can take a beating. I’d only give you the best toys.”

You nod wordlessly, pouting your lips. She gets the message and claims your lips in a searing kiss, luxuriating in the slick slide of your lips. She loves to make it messy, getting spit all over your mouths and letting it drip on the bed.

Art mewls and flicks your clit, trying to get your attention. You feel bad and try to pull away from Tashi, but she yanks you back into the kiss and bites your lip as a punishment. You hiccup into her mouth, startled when Patrick starts jackhammering into you.

Tashi typically has them alternate, but Art prefere to bury his face between your thighs and Patricks likes to play with fire by cumming inside your sore cunt. He doesn’t speak as much as Art does, but sometimes he holds Tashi stare as you two make out. They’ll have to retire from Tashi’s “employment” eventually, and they’ll be taking you with them when they do. All games of keep away end.

Patrick traces letters and shapes on the glistening skin of your sweaty back, sloppy hearts and ‘ I - L - O - V - E - Y - O - U ‘ s.

You gasp and wrench yourself back to breathe. Art flattens his tongue and licks broad stripes over your labia. He nuzzles his nose into you, stopping to pant and take in your smell. He may be delusional, but he’s convinced that every part of you is so sweet. He honest to God can’t get enough, he’d lie in a puddle at your feet if you wanted him too.

Sometimes you feel torn when you fall into bed with your lovers. You’re too soft to be like Tashi, but that exact softness is exactly why you can’t handle being away from her for too long. Maybe you’ve fallen under her spell just like all the rest, but she puts her career on the line to prove how special you are.

Patrick pulls you up to rest your back against your chest. You let your head fall onto his shoulder and you moan when he adjusts the angle of his thrusts to rub against your cervix repeatedly. He wasn’t like this when the evening started, Patrick only roughens you up when you’ve been thoroughly run through and can take it with a dopey smile and glazed eyes.

“Keep going, it’s okay- want it-want you.” You cry out to Patrick, reaching down to caress his hip.

He smiles and licks your cheek, complying with your request.

Art grins up at you with his eyes, mouthing ‘That’s my angel, only for us.’ into the flesh of your inner thigh. He moves to Patrick balls and takes them into his mouth, bobbing them up and down with his tongue. Patrick moans as Art laves his balls in saliva. Art lets them fall out of his mouth, curling his tongue around the inches peeking out of your pussy and hollowing his cheeks out.

“Shit! Stop, ‘m gonna cum!” Patrick hisses through his teeth.

He either empties another load into you or he just refuses to cum if your pussy’s not available, period.

“They’re so hungry for it, aren’t they? Well, can he? Can our dog cum inside you, baby?” Tashi tsks, cupping your cheeks and bringing your attention back to her.

“Yes, yes, yes! He can cum inside-please let him cum inside mommy-i need it so bad-wanna be stuffed full with it!” You whimper and arch your back, jutting your tits out.

Tashi laughs and leans down to suck one of your pert nipples into her mouth, bouncing your other breast in her hand. Tears spill from your waterline down to her freshly manicured nails. Art has since gone back to sucking the life out of your clit, and the little wink he sends you doesn’t help you hold back your impending orgasm.

Patrick thrusts a few more times and then you’re cumming in sync. You go brain dead and your body locks up in his arms. You’re out of it for a good few minutes, and when you have full awareness again you see Art kneeling in front of you. He holds his dick out for you to gawk at, slowly pumping himself for your amusement.

Patrick hasn’t pulled out of your pussy but he doesn’t fuck you again, he jostles his hips to find the most comfortable position for his softening cock to plug you up.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” He huffs and pushes you back down on all fours.

“You need your mouth taken care of too.” Art whines and squeezes his cock around the base, beckoning you closer with a ‘come hither’ gesture.

Said man is tenderly and carefully bundling up your hair in his arm and casting it aside, giving him ample space on your back to pet. He rubs the pink tip of his cock along your jawline, he gives you a fresh coat of lip gloss via his precum as he slaps your plump lips with his cockhead.

“It’s kinda like sucking off a dildo attached to a mirror, don’t think too hard about it.” Tashi tells you, crouching down to suck the small divot in your back.

She sits back in the cheap black hotel chair, shrugging her blouse off and pinching her nipples.

You moan at the first taste of Art’s cock, longer than Patrick’s but with less heft to it. You peer out of the corner of your eye to see if Tashi’s still watching, and you feel silly when you realize that she always is.

“Doing good, baby, keep it up.”

But that’s the thing, they’re all watching you now. It’s not hard to be a pathetic bottom that needs to be coddled and tended to at all times. It’s never difficult to stroke the fire in someone’s ego, you’ve had an easier job of that than anything else.

You saw them all together on the court, you were there for lessons that didn’t work out. Who knows how long ago, it feels like a lifetime, but all it took was one look to recognize what was destined to be yours. You couldn’t give less of a fuck about Tennis in actuality, but you sure do love the players.

They all have hearts in their eyes as they watch you. Art with his dick deep down your throat, his legs are trembling as he tries to stop himself from fucking your face. Patrick, still making a forever home for himself in your guts, his eyes are so dark you have to repress a shiver. And Tashi, knuckles deep in her pussy, finger fucking herself to the pretty little show her baby puts on with their toys.

When the boys are asleep, you’ll bounce on her ribbed strap until you shatter all over again.

Now, Is it cheating to win a game when people don’t realize that you're playing?

- faetreides 2024. do not repost, translate, or put my works into ai

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cinnamoncunt · 4 hours

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oreo tiger milk tea

cw: afab reader, suggestive content (18+ mdni): strap mentions and implied cunnilingus, ooc soft!tashi (she cares about you more than tennis), don’t think too hard about this

you hum and stir the shrimp, trying to remember how long you need to cook them for. you think the recipe said 4 minutes, so you shrug and hope for the best.

the giant flatscreen tv in your living room drones on in the background, you’re just waiting for tashi’s taped interview. her match already ended, you’re still heartbroken that you couldn’t be there but you cheered her on from your brand new sectional.

“yeah, my partner has been such a huge supporter. I’m so grateful to have them, and all my fans.” she says, blowing a kiss towards the camera.

it’s a run of the mill media response, but it gives you butterflies nonetheless.

you smile down at the sizzling shrimp like an idiot, taking it out and arranging them on the two bowls of rice on the table.

your legs are still sore and it takes everything in you to make it to your chair in one piece. tashi likes to joke that fucking you with her strap is all the work out she needs, that and smothering your face with her pussy. she didn’t keep you up as late last night, knowing that she had to be back on an emergency flight soon.

“hey, babe, what are you watching?” she teases as she peeks around the corner, having changed out of her airport clothes into sweats.

you grin and tilt your head up for a kiss, “my gorgeous wife’s interview, obviously.”

she rolls her eyes fondly, giving you your kiss. it’s slow and drawn out, her trip wasn’t long enough to call for a messy fight with teeth. plus, all the “home videos” tashi keeps on her phone are the perfect solution to be away from each other and horny.

“we’re not even married yet, stupid.”

“and what if I said that I'm pregnant with your baby?”

tashi gives you the most loving ‘what the fuck are you high on’ look, “then i’d say that i’m suprised it took this long.”

“so no shotgun wedding?” you pout, trying your hardest not to burst out laughing.

“don’t act like you don’t want a big wedding, you big baby.” she grins and pecks the tip of your nose.

you beam back at her and shrug, pulling her by the wrists to come sit down at the table next to you. you’re still so awestruck by the fact that you’re living in a multi million dollar home with your superstar fiancé.

the shrimp and rice is devoured with numerous compliments to the chef. tashi takes her sweet time wiping her (and your) face clean and putting the dishes in the dishwasher. you can’t help but let your eyes fall to her ass as she walks away.

“nice ass, Tash’ ” you say as you come up behind her and wind your arms around her torso.

you take a moment to sway in the kitchen, absorbing the faint traces of shower water and left over sweat under her orange and jasmine perfume.

“yours is nicer.” she hums, grinding back against you in languid circles.

“if you say so.”

“i do say so.”

your underwear is cutting it close to getting damp, sue you for being weak for your beautiful woman. the teasing rhythm doesn’t even phase you, you slide your fingers along the soft fabric covering her hips and pull her closer. it doesn’t escalate into frenzied dry humping, the warmth and unhurried friction of her ass cheeks against your mound is intoixcating enough.

you do her a favor and close the dishwasher. she casts a look over her shoulder, challenging you to make a move. you smirk and pick her up by her thighs, pushing her to jump up on the counter.

tashi lays down with the most smug smile a person could possibly wear, “you just cleaned the counters, baby, you better not make a mess.”

you stick your tongue out, pulling her pants down and getting close enough to tear her panties off with your teeth. she spreads her legs, giving you a clear view of her pussy. you gently blow air onto her clit and she sighs, rolling her shoulders back.

“yeah yeah, tash’. i’ll get it all in my mouth this time, i swear”.

because you know if you do, she’ll be taking YOUR strap.

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cinnamoncunt · 4 hours

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need to fuck him so bad

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cinnamoncunt · 11 hours

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i just saw challengers and yeah zendaya you are that girl also art is my new brainrot!

#challengers #zendaya #art donaldson

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cinnamoncunt · 7 days

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crestfallen

Pairing: Michael Jackson x fem!reader

Synopsis: After Michael cheats on you with Diana Ross you cross paths again at the Grammy's.

Tags: angst, infidelity, hurt no comfort.

Word Count: 2k

Requested: yes/no

Author’s Note: this is my first time writing angst so be nice pls

Links: navigation | masterlist | taglist

You step onto the Grammy's red carpet, and instantly, the paparazzi swarm like bees to honey. Their voices blend into a cacophony of shouts, yells, and screams, all clamoring for your attention. "Over here! Look this way! Smile for us!" they cry, their cameras flashing relentlessly, each burst of light illuminating the chaos around you. The flashes are blinding, but you've long grown accustomed to the relentless barrage of attention. You've been in this spotlight for years, and it's become a part of your reality.

Every step you take is deliberate, graceful, as if you're gliding across the red carpet with the effortless elegance of a swan. The eyes of the world are upon you, and you know they're scrutinizing your every move, every detail of your appearance. But you don't falter. You maintain your composure, your facade of perfection.

Yet beneath the surface, turmoil and heartbreak churns within you, a storm raging in the depths of your soul. It's a feeling you've grown all too familiar with, a constant companion in the midst of fame and adulation. The memory of betrayal lingers like a shadow.

The world sees only the polished exterior, the flawless face of success and glamour. But they don't know the pain that lies beneath, the wound that refuses to heal, the shattered love and broken promises.

The memory of him lingers like a bittersweet melody, haunting your thoughts even as you walk the red carpet. Michael was your everything, the center of your world, until he wasn't.

–

You sit on the edge of the bed, the soft sheets beneath you offering little comfort as your heart aches with betrayal. Michael kneels before you, his grip on your knees tight, as if he fears you'll vanish into thin air if he lets go. His eyes, usually so warm and full of love, are now red and swollen with tears, mirroring the pain in your own.

Tears blur your vision, despite your best efforts to hold them back. You never thought you'd find yourself in this position, confronted with the harsh reality of infidelity in your own home, in your own bed. It's a betrayal that cuts to the core, leaving you feeling hollow and broken.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Michael whispers, his voice choked with emotion. "I-I never meant to hurt you, I swear." Apologies fall from his lips in a desperate stream, each word laden with remorse and regret. But you can't bring yourself to listen, can't bear to hear his excuses and justifications. You thought he was better than this, thought he was a good man. But now, all you see is the shattered remains of the man you once loved.

Finally finding your voice, you cut him off with a quiet, trembling whisper. "How long?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. The silence that follows is deafening, heavy with shame and guilt. Michael hangs his head low, unable to meet your gaze, and your heart clenches with the realization that this betrayal has been going on for much longer than you anticipated.

"Speak up," you demand, your voice trembling with a mixture of anger and hurt. Michael mutters something almost inaudible, and you lean in closer, your heart pounding in your chest. "Four months," he finally admits, and the weight of his words crushes you like a ton of bricks.

You close your eyes, trying to steady your breathing, trying to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions raging inside you. You swallow hard, pushing back the tears threatening to spill over. And then, with a strength you didn't know you possessed, you meet his gaze, your eyes cold and distant.

"You don't love me," you say softly, the words heavy with resignation. It's not a question, but a statement of fact, a bitter truth that you can no longer deny.

You close your eyes, trying to steady yourself against the onslaught of emotions threatening to overwhelm you. Three months. Three months of lies and deceit, all hidden behind a facade of love and devotion.

Michael shakes his head and reaches out to you, his hand trembling as he tries to wipe away your tears. "No, no, that's not true baby i-," he insists, but you pull away, unable to bear the touch of his hand against your skin.

You glare at him, anger burning hot in your chest as he tries to defend himself, but you cut him off with a sharp raise of your voice. "If you loved me, if you respected me, you would have never done such a thing," you say, your words laced with bitterness and hurt. He swallows hard, his eyes dropping to the floor as he takes in the full extent of the pain he's caused you.

A heavy silence hangs between you, broken only by the sound of your ragged breathing. You watch as he struggles to find the right words, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. But you know there's nothing he can say to make this right, nothing he can do to erase the betrayal that now stains your relationship.

With a trembling voice, you speak again, your words barely above a whisper. "I always knew," you say, your voice thick with emotion. "I always knew that you loved her more than you could ever love me." His silence is deafening, confirming the painful truth that has been gnawing at your heart for far too long.

Tears blur your vision as you continue, your voice shaking with anger and sadness. "But I never expected you to be such a coward," you say, each word a dagger aimed straight at his heart. "To go behind my back and fuck her like some pathetic mutt." He stays silent, knowing better than to argue with you.

You roughly push his hands away from your knees, the contact suddenly feeling suffocating and unbearable. Without another word, you stand up, your legs shaking beneath you as you take a step back. "Don't ever contact me again," you say, your voice cold and final.

–

“Hey, are you alright?.” You sit in the crowded room, surrounded by the glitz and glamour of the ceremony. Your manager, seated beside you, leans in and asks.

“Yeah, yeah..I’m fine.” You nod, offering a small, strained smile as you try to push aside the tumult of emotions swirling inside you. The truth is, you're anything but alright. But you can't let anyone see that, not here, not now.

Your thoughts drift as the ceremony progresses, the familiar rhythm of the event lulling you into a state of detachment. But then, a name is announced, and your breath catches in your throat. Michael. He's won an award for "We Are the World" As you watch him take the stage, a pang of nostalgia washes over you, mingled with a hint of bitterness.

His smile, the same smile he used to give you, sends a shiver down your spine. You quickly avert your gaze, not wanting anyone to notice the flood of memories threatening to overwhelm you. Your eyes wander, landing on Diana. You can't help but feel a surge of resentment toward her.

But you push those thoughts aside, unwilling to let them sour your mood any further. Instead, you turn your attention back to Michael, just in time to catch his gaze. Your heart skips a beat as your eyes lock with his, his big, beautiful brown eyes, and for a moment, it's as if the world around you fades away, leaving only the two of you.

He stumbles over his words, drawing a chuckle from the audience. They think it's nerves, but you know the truth. He's stumbled because he's seen you, because he's still affected by you after all this time. Shamelessly, he keeps his eyes locked on yours throughout his speech, and you can't help but feel a flutter of something deep within you. Though not enough to mirror his.

As he finishes his speech, his eyes still locked on yours, his words send a jolt of electricity through your veins. "And lastly I want to thank the one I love most," he says, his gaze unwavering as he looks directly at you. The audience assumes he's talking about Diana, but you know better. You scoff inwardly, knowing that his words are meant for you and you alone.

You make your way through the throngs of people. The ceremony is over, but the weight of what just transpired hangs heavy on your shoulders. As you approach your waiting limo, you can sense someone running after you. Your heartbeat quickens, but you refuse to slow down or halt your steps. Then, you hear his voice calling out to you.

“Wait! Please, slow down.”

Despite your best efforts to ignore him, he manages to catch up to you, gently grabbing your arm. His touch sends a shiver down your spine, his skin so soft and familiar. But you push aside those thoughts, refusing to let them overpower you.

With a quick motion, you take your arm out of his grasp, treating him as if he's a stranger to you. The hurt is evident in his eyes as he opens his mouth a few times, struggling to find the right words.

Finally, he sighs and simply says, "I'm sorry." His voice is soft, almost pleading, but you remain silent, blankly staring at him.

He continues after the awkward silence, admitting that you were right, that he was pathetic for what he did. "I wasn't in love with Diana," he confesses. "I was in love with the idea of her in my mind. But I've realized now that I've only ever loved one person so deeply, and that's you."

His words hang in the air, heavy with emotion. He pours out his heart, apologizing profusely, again and again, his breath picking up, tears threatening to spill over his eyes. His hands tremble, itching to touch you again, to hold you close. You can tell he's being genuine, but your face remains emotionless, betraying nothing.

After he's done with his monologue, you take a deep breath and nod, giving him a small glimmer of hope. But then, you shatter it with your next words. "okay…I don't forgive you," you state calmly, firmly.

He tries to argue, to plead his case, but you shut him down with a simple, "I hear you, but I still don't forgive you."

You look him up and down one last time, taking in every detail. "I wish you all the best," you say quietly, before turning and walking away, leaving him more broken than he was before.

There's a moment of silence as he processes your words, his expression crestfallen.

His chest heaves with each ragged breath, his heart pounding against his ribs as if it might stop any second. His hand trembles as he presses it against his chest, trying to calm the frantic beat. But the realization that you're driving away, that you're never coming back, settles in like a heavy weight on his chest.

He backs himself against a nearby wall, his knees unable to support him any longer. He slides down, his back hitting the cold surface, his legs sprawled out in front of him. The tears he's been holding back finally break free, tracing a salty path down his cheeks. It feels like his whole world is collapsing around him, the only person who's truly cared for him now gone because of his own stupidity.

His face feels hot with embarrassment and shame. His clothes suddenly feel too tight, constricting his every movement. The street lights overhead seem blindingly bright, casting harsh shadows on the pavement below. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to block out the overwhelming sensory input.

But no matter how hard he tries, he can't escape the suffocating feeling of loss that grips him. It's like a vice around his chest, squeezing tighter with each passing second. He feels like he can't breathe, like the air around him is too thick to inhale. All he can do is sit there, consumed by his own despair, wishing he could turn back time and make things right. But he knows it's too late for that now. You're gone, and he's left alone to pick up the pieces of his shattered heart.

Taglist: @theladyinmoscow @yeriminist @yeaiamme2 @helloaugustmoon @cinnamoncunt @theladyofmylife @minekarina @kionaaa @theskinniestjackson-denny @anivkye @graciegizmo3184 @theasexual-jackson @mrsmikaelsxn @fallinlovewithevil @armasbw @b3rk1ey @maybe7tommorow @falllovesomemichealjackson

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cinnamoncunt · 11 days

Text

good luck charm

Pairing: Michael Jackson x fem!reader

Synopsis: Michael is a meticulous performer, driven by the pursuit of perfection in every show. Thus, he has crafted the perfect routine to reach his goals and you're an integral part of it.

Tags: smut, masturbation, teasing, p in v, creampie, kinda switch!reader and switch!michael? idk.

Word Count: 4k

Requested: yes/no

Author’s Note: This took an unnecessarily long time to write, I put my whole heart and coochie into it, hope y'all like it :)

Links: navigation | masterlist | taglist

Michael's stress level is through the roof. To say that he is frustrated is an understatement. From the moment he woke up today everything seems to be going wrong.

The day began with an unwelcome interruption, Frank, his ever-demanding manager, barging into his hotel room at the ungodly hour of 5 a.m. hastily telling him that he had to do an unplanned interview before rehearsals which made michael groan as he had to force himself to unwrap his arms around your warm body and miss the chance to kiss you good morning. The mere thought of leaving your side caused him to groan inwardly, a pang of longing tugging at his heartstrings.

As if that early morning disturbance wasn't enough, the interview itself proved to be a tedious ordeal, sucking away precious moments he could have spent with you. After the boring, repetitive interview just as he dared to hope for a swift return to you, hopefully still asleep with your head nuzzled into his side of the bed, fate had other plans. Dragged into an impromptu meeting, he received the delightful news that the equipment for the evening's show had yet to arrive from the previous state. A perfect storm of inconvenience, how lovely, exactly what he needed.

The meeting dragged on interminably, leaving Michael gasping for a breath he couldn't seem to catch. Before he knew it, it was time for soundcheck, his every moment accounted for, no respite in sight.

While he was warming up his voice and helping his dancers perfect the choreography, you stirred from your slumber with a pout etched upon your features, your hand reaching out instinctively for Michael, only to find no trace of your beloved. Confusion mingled with disappointment as you groaned and finally opened your eyes, peering at the clock, its hands indicating that noon had long since passed.

Unbothered, you reached for the remote and flicked on the television. The first thing you saw was a news reporter talking about Michael’s upcoming concert. You smiled as a picture of Michael flashed on the screen, of your beautiful man which elicited a smile from you, a fleeting moment of joy amidst the mundane. But before you could get lost in your daydreams your body finally woke up from its sleepy state and reminded you of Michael’s promise from the night before.

You don’t know what’s gotten into you lately but your hunger for him has gotten insatiable, a primal desire that refuses to be ignored. Maybe you’re ovulating, or maybe it's the absence of his undivided attention, but at that moment, the reason scarcely mattered.

Your hands drew under the smooth, silky sheets, your fingers traced invisible patterns against your skin as your gaze remained fixated on the photograph displayed on the screen before you. With dreamy eyes, you lost yourself in the image, allowed your imagination to weave intricate fantasies.

Impatience coursed through your veins, urging you to seek more tangible sensations. With a swift motion, you tugged up the hem of your nightgown, exposing the soft curves of your body to the cool air of the room. Your hands found their way to your tender breasts, cupping them with a delicate touch that sent shivers down your spine. you momentarily closed your eyes from the contact before opening them again and looking back at the image.

God, he’s so pretty, your pretty boy.

As you gently rolled your nipples between your soft fingers you let out a quiet sigh, feeling some form of pleasure as your nipples hardened beneath your touch, responding eagerly to the stimulation. With each gentle roll between your fingers, waves of sensation rippled through you, igniting a primal fire within. Despite the tenderness of your actions, there was an underlying urgency, a hunger that refused to be quenched.

Your thoughts drift to him, to the man who occupies your every waking moment. He's so undeniably beautiful, a vision that fills your heart with longing and desire. But as much as you loved him, frustration bubbled to the surface. He's a tease, a master of seduction who knows exactly how to leave you breathless.

He very well knew how much you needed him last night. you had been consumed by a relentless need, your body aching for his touch, your soul yearning for his embrace. Your desires were shamelessly pouring out of you. You had pawed at his chest, begged him to touch you. Yet, all you received were promises of tomorrow. Bastard. Where is he now hm?

Left you all alone with a slippery mess between your legs. You were so desperate you didn’t even register your legs spreading. Your fingers trailed lower, slipping past the curve of your stomach and venturing toward your needy center. With one hand still kneading your tits you let the other lightly dance over your soaked panties. You felt the heat of your poor neglected cunt with your fingertips. The undeniable wet patch on the fabric made your cheeks heat up.

You circled your sensitive clit over your underwear and instantly bucked your hips from the contact, each movement sending jolts of pleasure coursing through your body. As you continued to move your fingers it became increasingly difficult to keep your eyes glued to the TV. The news anchor's voice was distant in your mind, drowned out by your determination to solemnly focus on Michael.

In an attempt to replicate his touch, you hesitantly slid your trembling fingers beneath the elastic band of your panties. A soft gasp escaped your lips as you made contact with the slick between your legs. Gliding your finger between your puffy folds and succumbing to the overwhelming sensations, you allowed your eyes to flutter closed, surrendering yourself to the blissful ecstasy.

Feeling the heat building within you, your body started to emit too much warmth for your liking so you impatiently threw the sheets off of you and to the floor with a swift motion. Breathing out you readjusted yourself in a more comfortable position on the soft bedding. Breathing out you resumed your ministrations with renewed fervor, your fingers danced over your glistening pearl with increasing urgency, too frustrated to slowly build yourself to your climax.

As the intensity of pleasure mounted, you found solace in the plush pillows beneath you, your fingers dug into the fabric, trying to ease the gnawing emotions swirling inside you. Head thrown back, you whined as you felt your essence drip down your slit. Oh, how much you had wished that Michael would’ve been next to you. You yearned for his presence, craving the intimacy and connection only he could provide.

Your drooling walls kept squeezing around nothing, aching for the sensation of being filled and stretched by his cock, which made your eyes glossy, the previous pout returning to your face. Muffled sighs left your lips as you pressed the back of your hand against your mouth. Whispering his name, your voice trembling with need.

All you wanted was for him to stuff your little hole with his cock, that’s not too much to ask for right? Frustration bubbled inside you as You stroked your nub faster.

Your panties were drenched at that point, With each passing moment your arousal peaked, pulsing clit weeping for that sweet release. But just as you teetered on the brink of ecstasy, your hand spasming from the quick motions, the shrill ring of the phone shattered the erotic reverie, jolting you back to reality. Gasping at the unexpected sound you cursed the damn thing in your mind for taking you out of the arousing trance you had created.

You tried to ignore it as much as you could but the persistent ringing hindered your concentration. Groaning you reluctantly reached over to the nightstand and begrudgingly answered the call.

"Hey, sweet girl," his voice flowed through the phone, instantly melting away your frustrations and causing you to sink deeper into the soft embrace of the sheets.

"Sorry I left, Frank dragged me out to do a few things before the show and then something else came up and I couldn't get back to you and…” His words trailed off momentarily as he took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, baby, truly."

“It’s- it’s fine…you just promised me something yesterday,” you replied, your fingers idly twisting the cord of the phone as you spoke.

“Oh, did I?” You could practically hear the mischievous grin in his voice.

“Don’t do this to me right now, please just tell Bill to pick me up, I miss you,” you pleaded, not caring about the desperation and neediness evident in your tone.

And now, here you were, scrambling to make yourself presentable. You discarded your underwear and straightened out your skirt, hopping on one leg as you slipped into the other shoe. Hastily fixing your hair and grabbing your handbag, you rushed out of the luxurious hotel room.

Your skin still tingling with anticipation, you hurried to the waiting car, exchanging polite greetings with Bill before settling into the seat. Pulling up the partition, you finally exhale. You feel the slickness between your folds and squeezing your legs together as your sensitive cunt throbs with desire. Sealing your lips you try not to make too much noise.

The car ride feels never-ending as you have to restrain yourself from flipping up your skirt and circling your wet center. You clasp your hands tightly together and gaze out the window, hoping the passing scenery would distract your mind from the relentless ache pulsing through your body.

As the stadium loomed into view, you eagerly opened the car door, thanking Bill breathlessly before darting towards the entrance, eliciting a chuckle from him.

The familiar faces of the bodyguards greeted you as you hurried through the halls, your sole focus fixed on locating his dressing room. Lost in your determination, you collided with Karen, his makeup artist, the collision jolting you out of your single-minded pursuit and back to the present moment.

"Jesus Christ, I'm so sorry, Karen," you blurt out, suddenly realizing how frantic you must have appeared moments ago, rushing about in pursuit of your man.

"Oh, it's alright," Karen replies, adjusting her top with a casual shrug.

"Anyway, I-" Before you can utter another word, she interrupts you.

"Actually, I've been wanting to talk to you about something..." And off she goes, launching into a monologue about something that feels entirely inconsequential in the grand scheme of things.

You nod awkwardly and force a smile, though her words seem to flow in one ear and out the other. Desperately, you glance around, silently pleading for an escape from this conversation, but she appears entirely engrossed in her own narrative. Goodness gracious, can't she see that you're utterly disinterested? You've always had the lingering suspicion that she doesn't quite like you, but that's beside the point right now.

"Sorry, K, but I really gotta go," you interject hastily, sidestepping her as you make your way towards the dressing rooms, leaving her momentarily taken aback.

You are not going to let her cock block you today, no ma’am.

You navigate the corridor, scanning each door in search of the one bearing your beloved's name until, at last, you stumble upon it. Standing before the pristine white door, you take a moment to steady your breath, waiting for the frantic pounding of your heart to ease before you dare to step inside. With gentle knuckles, you tap on the door, the mere seconds that follow feeling like an eternity as you await Michael's response.

When the door swings open, revealing his soft smile on his gorgeous face, you can't help but practically fall into his embrace. Your arms wrap tightly around his torso, your face finding solace against his chest. He chuckles, not in the least startled by your sudden affection, and returns your hug, his arms enveloping you in warmth.

"Everything okay, angel?" he asks.

"...I need you. Want you so bad," you confess, your words muffled by the embrace as you bury your face further into his chest, inhaling his intoxicating scent.

Your eyes drift around the room until they settle on the plush couch. Without waiting for his response, you push him towards the sofa, urging him to take a seat. As his knees buckle from hitting the couch he settles onto the cushions, you make yourself comfortable on his lap and connect your lips hungrily.

With trembling hands, you hold his face, refusing to let him pull away as you press your body against his. Momentarily taken aback, he quickly regains his composure, his hands finding their way to your waist, where they caress your heated body with a tenderness that only fuels your desire.

As his hands trail lower, teasingly squeezing your hips, you break the kiss, a string of saliva connecting your lips. You lean lower and press your lips right below his jawline, where he’s the most sensitive. “Woah there, baby,” he murmurs, not entirely surprised by your eagerness but still taken aback by the transformation of his usually shy, innocent girl into an unabashedly greedy minx.

Uninterested in banter, you forgo any conversation, you leave a trail of sloppy, open-mouthed kisses all over his neck, wet tongue swirling over the freshly made hickeys.

Michael starts to feel the craving that has clouded your mind for hours and bucks his hips forward, making contact with your bare, soaked pussy. “Shit,” he moans, feeling your wetness dampening his trousers.

“No panties, hm? So naughty,” he teases.

If this was happening in any other circumstance you would’ve burned with embarrassment and hid your face behind your hands, but not now. Now, all you care about is sinking down on his lengthy cock and finally satiating your burning desire.

He massages your thighs as he inches his palms under your skirt causing your breath to catch in your throat. Taking advantage of this, he angles his head to your side and presses his plump lips against your slightly swollen ones. Hypnotized by his movements you lean in closer, letting him take over ,you relax into his arms, your fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt in your shaky hands.

“"Shh, it's okay, baby. Just relax and take what you need kay?” you coos at you with that sweet, soft voice of his that always makes you melt.

With a meek nod, you comply, grinding your soaked core against his hardening shaft. He guides your head to rest against the crook of his neck, adjusting his position to press his cock firmer against your eager pussy. A whimper escapes your lips as you cling to his shoulder, your plush thighs receiving gentle caresses before his hands find their way to your ass, cupping your cheeks in a tender hold which elicits a soft sigh from your lips.

“Gonna be my good luck charm, yeah?” he whispers, his breath warm against your ear.

A whispered "yes" escapes your lips as you roll your hips, your sensitive clit rubbing against the fabric of his trousers, leaving a telltale wet patch that he doesn’t seem to care too much about. He just wants his sweet girl to be satisfied and stuffed full with his cum before he takes the stage tonight.

As he kneads your ass in his big hands you feel your high creeping up on you. A flush of embarrassment warms your cheeks as you realize how quickly you're approaching climax. Michael notices your uneven breathing and firmly grasps your hips, halting your movements.

You whine from the lack of friction but he shushes you by taking off your top and loving up on your soft breasts, his lips lavish attention on your soft breasts, careful not to remove your bra in case someone interrupts. As he peppers your chest with kisses, you manage to unbutton his shirt completely, your shaky hands brushing against his toned torso, a silent plea for more.

Amidst the whirlwind of sensations and emotions swirling around you, you fail to notice the swift movement of his hands as he deftly unzips his trousers and tugs them down along with his boxers. Your gaze drifts downwards, and you whimper at the sight before you – his hard cock, weeping precum, a clear sign that he needs you just as much.

"Please," you beg breathlessly, not willing to waste a single moment longer.

Michael takes your smaller hand and gently guides it to the base of his shaft, where you struggle to fully wrap your fingers around its impressive girth. "Go on, take what you need," he urges.

Straightening your back and spreading your legs a little farther, you let your instincts take over as you feel the weight of his shaft in your hand. Slowly, you begin to stroke his cock, marveling at the way the hood pulls back to reveal his glistening tip. A guttural groan escapes his lips as he digs his fingers into the cushions of the couch to restrain himself from bucking his hips.

Drawing closer, you position his tip between your slick folds, a moan escaping your lips at the sensation of his hot cockhead against your swollen nub. With fluid movements, you glide it under your clit, your shared essences facilitating the smooth motion. Lost in the pleasure, you feel Michael's gaze on your face, his eyes drinking in every detail as his fingers tenderly caress your cheek, a chorus of praises spilling from his lips.

"Don't tease yourself, my love. I know you want more," his voice sends a shiver down your spine as you take a deep breath, steeling yourself for what's to come.

With a gentle shift, he adjusts your skirt higher on your waist, ensuring it doesn't get in the way as you steady yourself on his lap. Propping his cock at your glossy entrance, you slowly begin to push his thick shaft inside your velvety walls. A whine escapes your lips at the delicious stretch, your fingers gripping onto his shoulder tightly for support.

Both of your breathing quickens as you inch lower and lower onto his big, meaty cock, the tightness of your walls resisting his intrusion even as your abundant slickness attempts to ease the way. Eyes shut tight, you revel in the sensation of being filled by him, the delicious stretch of your walls sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body until the back of your thighs come to rest on top of his.

You pant heavily, pressing your forehead against his, seeking solace in his comforting presence. "Just... just need a sec," you murmur, your voice laced with a mixture of desire and anticipation, as you allow your body to adjust to his size. With a grin, Michael reassures you to take your time, his lips pressing softly against your temple in a gesture of affection and understanding.

His grunts mingle with your moans as you squeeze around his fat cock, your body finally accustomed to its massive size. With newfound confidence, you begin to move back and forth, grinding your hips against his, each motion eliciting a wave of pleasure that courses through your body. Your little clit rubs against his coily pubic hair, sending sparks of ecstasy shooting through you as you throw your head back in abandon.

Growing bolder with each passing moment, you lift yourself slightly off his length and drop down again, relishing in the sensation of being stretched with his girthy cock. You repeat this motion a few times, gaining confidence with each descent, until you find yourself bouncing on his stiff shaft.

The room is filled with the lewd sounds of skin slapping together, punctuated by your pants and moans of pleasure. As you continue to ride his shaft, you force yourself to open your eyes and gaze upon your beautiful man. His curls frame his face in a wild halo, his mouth slightly open in pleasure. Unable to resist, you lean forward and press your lips against his once more, the kiss muffling the loud noises that fill the room.

His hands guide you up and down his huge cock, setting a rhythm that drives you both to new heights of pleasure. Your cunt releases more of your juices, coating his pulsing shaft and making your movements slick and easy. Some of your essence even drips down onto his heavy balls, adding to the intoxicating sensation of being completely consumed by him.

Meanwhile, his throbbing tip leaks more and more precum, creating a slippery surface that allows you to slide effortlessly on his length. The combined sensations of his cock stretching you to your limits and his skilled hands guiding your movements send waves of ecstasy crashing over you, threatening to consume you entirely.

Michael's hand leaves your heated skin and finds its way to your lips. Without hesitation, you open your mouth and gently suck on his thumb, lost in the pleasure of the moment. Time seems to stand still as you lose yourself in the rhythm of your bodies moving together in perfect harmony.

Eventually, he gently coaxes his hand away from your lips and brings it down to where you're connected. His wet thumb finds your puffy pearl, rubbing tight circles that send shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body. Your pupils dilate from the intensity of the sensation, and you can feel the familiar coil building in your lower abdomen, threatening to unravel at any moment.

"I know you're close, sweet girl," his words make you squeeze your gummy walls and whine.

Feeling that familiar coil building in your lower tummy you quicken your movements, bouncing on his thick cock like a desperate bunny, wanting to make him proud. Just as you are clenching around him you can feel him throb inside you, his own release imminent.

You're determined to milk him for all he's worth, ensuring that he won't be distracted when he's on stage. Burying your face into the crook of his neck, you whimper at the burning sensation in your thighs, but the thought of reaching your sweet release spurs you on, driving you to push yourself further.

As both of your climaxes draw near, you hold each other tightly, your warm, sweaty bodies colliding in a passionate embrace. Michael, lost in the throes of pleasure, slams his hips upwards, eliciting a yelp of pleasure from you. With each passing second, you feel yourselves getting closer and closer to that pinnacle of ecstasy, your minds singularly focused on one thing and one thing only.

And then, it happens. Your orgasm crashes over you with an intensity that leaves you gasping for breath. As the waves of your orgasm crash over you with fervor, you can't help but moan loudly, completely lost in the throes of ecstasy. Your cries of pleasure fill the room as your walls clench and unclench around Michael's cock. He continues to rub your pulsing clit, prolonging the intoxicating high as you ride the waves of pleasure.

Just when you think you can't take any more, you feel him drive his hips up, a primal groan escaping his lips. Rope after rope of his creamy seed floods your depths, filling you up completely and painting your walls with his essence. He grunts beside your ear, his breath hot against your skin as he stuffs you full of his cum, some even seeping out from the sheer volume.

As he empties himself inside you, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you closer to his chest, both of you panting and spent. The room is filled with the sound of heavy breathing as you let yourselves calm down, your mouth dry from all the moaning and gasping.

As your breathing gradually evens out, you find yourself smiling contentedly, drawing invisible patterns on his chest with your fingers. He chuckles at the sight, amused by how just moments ago, you were bouncing on his cock with such need and now you look like an innocent angel.

"It's not funny, you tease!" you playfully poke his nipple.

"Hey, it's not my fault my shows are better when you're so needy for me," he teases back, planting a soft kiss on the top of your head as you feign a fake pout and nuzzle into his chest.

Taglist: @heartss444mj @yeriminist @yeaiamme2 @helloaugustmoon @cinnamoncunt @theladyofmylife @minekarina @kionaaa @theskinniestjackson-denny @youronlyonenini @graciegizmo3184 @theasexual-jackson @mrsmikaelsxn

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cinnamoncunt · 12 days

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1981

michael jackson x reader

“stop! the love you save may be your own, darling take it slow!” you and your younger sister jumped up and down singing in the audience.

“his voice is incredible” she said. you nodded and continued to dance.

you looked up at michael, you didn’t worship celebrities or anything like that. you truly were just so proud of how far he’s come, especially since as a kid you watched him in the jackson 5.

“i wonder if he has a girlfriend” your sister asked as you both walked back to the car, “i’m sure he does” you responded.

“i don’t know, i’d rather just be his best friend forever so we can never break up” your sister replied, which caused you to laugh.

as you turned the key ignition, the car started and then stopped.

your sister looked at you, “did the car just-”

“yep, don’t panic we just have to find someone to jumpstart it”

“i shouldn’t have taken my time in the bathroom, almost everyone left already and it’s dark”

you thought about how you were two young girls at night time with a car that won’t start, “okay get out i’ll think of something”

you both walked back to the door entrance, “you going anywhere ladies?” a man that looked like security said.

“we need to find someone to jumpstart our car, sorry for the trouble but we have to get home” as you said this you noticed some guys through the door window walking, the jacksons. they looked relaxed and comfortable.

“marlon stop” michael was laughing up a storm, “that was the funniest thing you’ve ever said”

he glanced through the door window, “oh there’s still people here”

“come on michael, before they see us”

“they already have” he walked towards the door and lightly waved, “it’s late, are you girls okay”

“hello mr jackson, our car has to be jump started. sorry for this”

he laughed, “mr jackson is my father. i’m michael”

you smiled at him

“i’m sure we can help you out” he signaled for you and your sister to follow him through the door.

“so where are you guys from. here?”

“yes”

“you should’ve had someone pick you up it’s not safe to be out late like this”

although he was speaking, it was in a very timid manner, “i don’t usually get to have conversations with my fans, if you couldn’t tell”

“well we don’t usually have conversations with you so it’s fine” your sister said to him.

while he found people to jumpstart your car, you all spoke about the show tonight and what went on backstage and his favorite song to perform. he asked you how it’s like living a life where you’re not famous and about university.

“i’m sure school for you is just life michael, don’t be too hard on yourself” you said placing a hand on his shoulder.

“yeah but i wish i could experience more casual things one day”

an idea popped into your head, “michael when’s your next show”

“it’s actually in a few days we have a little break”

“you should stay here, and we can try to let you live normally, even if it’s just a day”

his eyes widened, “really? what- what would we do?”

“everything normal, ever run errands?”

he laughed

_____________________

the next day you pulled infront of a hotel with your not-so-fancy car.

you giggled when you saw what michael was wearing. dark sunglasses and a very large hoodie.

“i get you have to be incognito but you look silly”

“it’s either this or a paper bag. where’s your sister?”

“ ummm she definitely wasn’t grounded and was definitely supposed to be out at a concert” you said

michael laughed “wow the things you girls do for me”

“i can’t believe you convinced your security not to come with”

he stayed silent

you suddenly realized, “they’re following us everywhere we go aren’t they”

_____________________

“we’re here!”

you pull up to a supermarket. there weren’t that many people there which was a blessing.

michael’s eyes widen.

“are you excited michael?”

“it’s beautiful”

you laughed

you, michael, and his security who was also dressed casually made your way into the supermarket. you handed michael a list.

“is this a”

“yup!”

a shopping list.

“I’m gonna let you find every single object!”

michael got extremely happy and started to walk through the aisles.

michael ran around finding milk, eggs, spinach, cookies and a bunch of other items.

he came across the flower section and found a bouquet of roses, “these will be for you”

“michael you don’t have to”

he waved you off

when you guys got to the register, he paid for everything even though you told him not to.

while you both loaded the groceries in the car you smiled, “michael we both know you’re just a normal guy, but don’t you really feel normal now”

“i feel over the moon, let’s try the gas station next!”

his security guards give him a look, “michael, you have to get ready for your next shows. plus your dad is starting to connect the dots on what’s happening”

michael had a sulky look on his face

“aww is our play date done michael”

he nodded his head and went to hug you, “thank you for this. i really had fun in the grocery store” his sunglasses fell off while hugging you and then you heard a faint sound of a snap.

you turn around and see a man in the bushes with a camera. “michael get in your car” you pick up his sunglasses “put them on”

“wait im gonna give you my number”

“michael next time, someone just saw you”

“but”

michaels security guards rush him into the car

“i’ll make sure they give you my contact” michael said before they closed the door. he sadly waved at you.

this made you realize what he went through on a daily, it was awful to know he was treated this way, he’s a person just like anyone else.

you stood there watching him drive off while the paparazzi followed his car to try to snag more pictures of him, then another paparazzi came to you with a camera asking if you’re michael’s secret lover. you shook your head no and got in your car. pictures were snapped of you as you drove off.

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cinnamoncunt · 22 days

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I see people on here time and time again completely criticizing joseph - what he wears, how his hair looks, etc. and like…. that shit is so weird y’all. do you not realize how weird that is? do you guys even fucking like him because it doesn’t seem like it when you’re ripping him apart for the clothes he chooses to put on

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cinnamoncunt · 23 days

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ZENDAYA Zendaya Discusses Her BFF Darnell Appling Having A Role In Her New Movie | Hit Network

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cinnamoncunt · 25 days

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Beyoncé’s 21st birthday party invitation (2002)

Janet Jackson at her 36th birthday party (2002)

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cinnamoncunt · 29 days

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𝓬𝓲𝓷𝓷𝓪𝓶𝓸𝓷 💿 ･ﾟ; * ✧ ･ﾟ.

𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋 (hoard) x virgin!reader (fem)

✦ Michael teaches you how to ride a bike, among other things. ✦ 1.4k ⟡ AO3

18+ 𝗢𝗡𝗟𝗬 !! ⟡ 𝗔𝗴𝗲 𝗴𝗮𝗽; Michael (29) + Reader (22). Heavy touching, teasing, pet names. Minor injuries. Brief oral, v. 𝗩𝗶𝗿𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝗹𝗼𝘀𝘀, piv. 𝗖𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗺𝗽𝗶𝗲. Foster sibling incest; they’re out of the system. ੈ♡‧₊˚ ,

✦. Author’s Note: Reader was 19, when they met. They grew up in the same foster house, but they didn’t live together; they met later. Michael has moved back in with his foster mum, Reader is visiting. Don’t like, don’t read. 🤍

“22 years old, and you’ve never ridden a bike? Fuck off.”

And he’s laughing at you. He’s laughing at you — ushering you out in the garage after nightly tea, in search of the cycle in question.

When he finds it, he maneuvers you, kicking and screaming, onto the pivoting wheels of death. The bike is too big for you, clearly Michael’s size, though it seems no bother to your manic confrère.

“Up you go, pet,” Michael’s broad arms encircle your waist, guiding your plush legs up the thin metal seat. You straddle the faux-leather curves, cool to the touch beneath your billowing skirt, lurching with heat when he draws nearer.

Cat and cream, he’s spotted you staring, the amusement written plain on his face. His eyes crinkle in delight, that shit-eating grin ever-present.

“Come on, bird. Hands on the wheel,” he jests. His thick digits curl over your knuckles, willing you to hold on loosely. “These are the breaks…” Under the heat of his palm, he flexes your fingers on the trigger. “And this is the gas,” Michael squeezes your thigh, making you yelp, that sly smile easing the tension in the room.

“And what if I fall?” You ask stupidly, picking a hangnail.

“I’ll be right here,” he reassures you for the umpteenth time, cupping the scruff of your neck like a stern rugby coach. When you look back at him, he’s inches from your face, the summer sun melting his brown eyes a golden cream.

You kick your legs, brushing up against his cock, and turn your face to the light.

“Fuck it, let’s go.” You murmur, swallowing hard.

Michael lets you turn loose, stout hands fanning out in the air as you find your footing. When he cranks open the tiny garage, muscled arms refracting in daylight, you peel onto the street with little preamble.

You’re soaring, skidding on air — until suddenly, you aren’t. In a flash of skin and blood, you find yourself face-first on the cracked cement, your wrist bending in a way that it shouldn’t.

“Fuck,” he shouts, tearing the resident handkerchief from his left pocket to blot your skull. “Supposed to watch out for the curb, petal,” he laughs, though not unkind.

You want to hit him, for talking you into this, but the warmth of his hands at the back of your neck feels something like a dream. Callused fingers map the base of your skull, stroking up and down as he appraises your wound. It’s… Nice. Affectionate.

Without a shot at redemption, Michael leads you back inside, icing your sprained wrist with a bag of snap peas. It doesn’t take long for your whole hand to go numb, the frumpy pillow bidding little relief to your throbbing skull.

“You should really see a doctor,” Michael speaks for the first time, as if this much were obvious. Rummaging the kitchen cabinet for a jar of loose pills, he turns to face you with disdain.

“And you should really see a shrink,” you retort. “But I don’t think either of us will get that lucky.”

He leans down, his eyes wrought like knives, and slips the pills into your mouth with his forefinger and thumb. Rough digits trace your quarreling tongue, feeling the pharmaceuticals begin to dissolve under his grasp. Prodding your injured joint with the pad of his thumb, brown eyes flicker to meet yours, glazen with something dangerous.

When you cry out in pain at a particularly sharp touch, Michael crooks a weathered brow.

“That what you sound like during sex?” He scoffs, defaulting to his roguish ways.

You set your jaw in plain defiance. “Suck it and see.”

His eyes darken; you should not have tested him. He kneels down between your parted thighs, sprawled out on the settee, and tears the sticky panties from your crotch.

“Such a whore,” he chuckles, mollified by his findings, nuzzling his nose up into your cunt. “And such a sweet cunny…”

“Quit teasing,” you whine, using your good hand to press him closer to your clit.

Amused at your petulance, he works your button with his tongue, stirring your precious petals on his lips. He’s too good at this — too experienced, given his inability to live alone. By luck or misfortune, he’s moved back into the old foster house — the biggest cockblock of them all — helping your “mother,” for all intents and purposes, with the auto repairs.

It’s strange to be here with him now, all crumbling walls and cracking windows, knowing your love for him is anything but holy. Mercurial memories, unspooling like twine.

You can’t bring yourself to regret the decision to come home. Michael knows you. He’s known everything about you, from that very first glace. You are kindred spirits, parallel lives in the succession of love and grief. Two halves of a fucked-up whole.

Still, you’ve never done anything like this. Michael was your first kiss; your first heartache; the first man that you ever slept with naked. You wouldn’t want anyone else to show you pleasure, but those days have long since passed, or so you thought.

Who is he now, with his face in your cunt?

“You’re so beautiful,” he moans, hands snaking up to grope your tits. You’re a dream, and he doesn’t want to wake up. You wonder idly what more he could do, with those massive fucking fingers.

“Michael, please. Please, just fuck me.”

But you didn’t have to beg — he’s wanted this, from the day that you met. 26 and 19, he has always needed you in the very worst way.

He wrestles his jeans onto the ground, shucking his little briefs to align with your aching hole. Michael paints his cock with your juices, your pebbled tits flush to his hairy chest, his soft stomach brushing your navel. You wrap your legs around his waist; you want him, you want him, you want him; cracking open the shell of yourself, if only for his pleasure.

It’s raw, needy; a kettle that has boiled over far too long. You feel him deep in your stomach when he punches his cock, wet and raw, into your sweet little cunny. You rub your fingers over the freckled constellations of his back, tugging a hand through his gel curls. Your eyes start to sting; he’s much bigger than you would have thought; a man so large, with a dignity to match.

“Come here, baby. Wanna hold you.” He ushers you on top of him, watching your tits jiggle as you ride his fat dick, slamming your hips down on his thighs. Michael fucks you like a dog, ramming his cock in your wet hole with the frenetic intent to breed. His fingers dig deeper in your waist, a strenuous grip on your perfect peach.

“Good girl, bird. Just like that,” Michael whispers, petting your clit to make you sing. He throws his head back, eyes falling shut. “Needed you so bad.”

You arch your back, clapping your ass on his thighs, watching him keen into the fractional change. You’re losing steam, a pathetic failure at his lessons to ride, though your greed is infectious.

“I’m your dog,” you whine, blinded by lust. You belong to him, in every sense of the word. The feeling settles inside you like a blazing heat — You belong.

Impatient, he bodies you down on the settee, humping your cunt with his fuzzy balls slapping your legs. When he peaks, his husky frame bullies you further in the sofa, forcing his cum as deep as it can go. You can’t breathe, when he kisses you, dipping his tongue toward the back of your throat like a dying man’s wish. All you can see or smell is Him. Him.

“Michael,” you cry, and it’s the only name you’ve ever known. He cups a hand over your mouth, and you lick his callused palm until you scream.

“That’s it, biscuit. Be a good little whore,” he coos, folding you firmer in his arms, as if to save you from the world. You can’t see straight, you’re so breathless, spasming like a seizure around his spurting cock.

“Good girl,” he repeats, breathing hot in your ear. He tugs your panties into place, patting your wet pussy. “Good girl.”

You fall asleep to him cupping your neck, holding you closer than a corpse. It’s been so long since you’ve felt at home, you’d forgotten what he smells like. Spearmint, tobacco, sweat and sex. When he leads you up the stairs, toward the refuge of his room, you follow him into the sea of sheets, craving shelter in his arms.

“I’m yours,” you murmur, gentle as a child, when the ache settles deep in your cunt.

Michael kisses you deeper, knowing now.

“Always yours.”

✦ Author’s Note: To get real for a second: I’m a victim of abuse, and I related a lot to Maria’s character. This story is a way for me to rewrite my ending, on my own terms. 🤍 I hope you don’t mind.

Thanks as always @lorecraft for letting me vent in your DM’s. Thank you @stveharringtn for inspiring the ending. Go read her Michael fic here 🤍 Please REBLOG + COMMENT, if you enjoyed :)

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✧ 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐒𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 💫

✦ Taglist: @rowanswriting @mothellie @kingstevesgf @ali-r3n @paradisepoisons @feral-pumpkin-energy @stveharringtn @bl00d-puppy @combaine @gett-fukedd @s6raphic @asimpforthe80s @cinnamoncunt @joesquinns @joejoequinnquinn @eddiesxangel @voyeurmunson @willowsgrl @lemme-slytherin-that-dick @mediocredreams @madelynraemunson @hellfiremunsonn @scrumptiouslyangrystarfish @urdadsnewgiirlfriend @kassy-munson @readergf @wistfultozier @pervertedangel @seatnights @keeksandgigz @curlyjoequinn @lovlygrls @tlclick73 @strangerstilinski @artrmss

I DO NOT CONSENT FOR MY WORK TO BE USED OR REPUBLISHED, IN ANY FORM !!

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