#Michael Jackson Fan Tag

[metal-sludge]

QUEENSRŸCHE (1982 - present) quoted in METAL HAMMER, March 1991.

[wildandmoody]

Okay... as usual I apologise for my neon text it has to be this way or else

So from what I understood here, royalties and control over what gets licensed (as well as the majority of publishings and Michael's own Master recordings) will still be handled by the Estate. But it is still very bad that $ONY of all things now gets a stake not only in his Master recordings but the masters of countless other artists especially Black artists (notice the band and artist names mentioned under the Mijac screenshot) whose masters Michael specifically sought out to protect them from predatory deals or with intention of selling them back to the original artists for cheap if they wanted them. I remember the 2016 deal well and I didn't realize at the time how devious that was but now I know for a fact that Michael fought to keep that 50% of $ony/ATV for a loooong time. J**n B****a suggested as far back as 1995 that Michael sell it. Up until 2009 even Michael wrote a letter saying that he wouldn't sell it, EVER, because it was HIS and his alone. And that's not even touching the pure beef that Michael and $ony had which I've covered over and over even tho I could go in depth, but others have done it better than I could. Michael publicly called out their racism and manipulation tactics in acquiring the publishings and masters of artists of color. So even in the event that the Estate retains all royalties and (most of) the Masters, this deal alone is yet another slap in the face of what Michael stood for and if he was still here he wouldn't have budged nearly as far as to let this happen.

[michaelsfavgirl]

I fallow you on tik tok and you used to make those MJ NSFW headcanons and in one of them you mentioned what he does with Y/N's panties (stroking his dick with them or pulling them up to his nose to smell them I think). I was wondering if you could make a fan fiction about that. If yes thank you sooo much!<33

panty stealer

Pairing: Michael Jackson x fem!reader

Tags: smut, masturbation, pervy!michael

Word Count: 835

Author’s Note: ngl i liked writing for pervy!mike a little too much

Links: navigation | masterlist | taglist

Michael knows it’s perverted, he knows he shouldn’t, is well aware that it's a breach of privacy, yet he can't seem to resist the urge. It's a guilty pleasure that he indulges in. Rationalizations flit through his mind like ghosts in the dark, trying to justify his actions. But deep down, he knows that no excuse makes it right. 

He'd never dare to admit it aloud, not even to himself, but there's something undeniably alluring about the act that he can't ignore. His thick cock aches and hardens instantly at the mere thought of wrapping your delicate panties around his weeping length, stroking himself while inhaling your addictive scent. or pulling it up close to his face, feeling the fabric against his skin, inhaling your intoxicating scent while trying to shoo away the thoughts of what you may think of him if you ever find out. 

Would you be repulsed, would you shame him about the taboo nature of his actions or would you revel in the knowledge that he yearns for you so desperately, even resorting to such extreme measures? He can't help but wonder, his mind plagued by doubts and uncertainties.

He fantasizes about you encouraging him by leaving your panties on the bathroom counter "by accident" He knows you're not as innocent and demure as you present yourself to be. He remembers the countless times he's caught you staring at him with eyes that held more than just desire—there was a hunger that mirrored his own.

And now that Michael’s alone in his hotel room late at night, kilometers away from his precious girl, he can't resist the temptation that gnaws at him, urging him to give in to his darkest desires. The temptation becomes too much to bear. The longing for your touch, your scent, your presence overwhelms him.

Can you really blame him though? He knew he wouldn't be able to see you for months and the heated phone calls between you from the last tour were already repetitive and stale by the end. This time he needed something more, so stealing a few pairs of your panties seemed like the least he could do to satiate his yearning for you. 

He shifts restlessly on the bed, the anticipation coursing through him like wildfire as he wraps his hand around his leaking cock. His breath hitches in his throat as his thumb swipes over his sensitive tip, his precum glistening in the dimly lit room. His eyes flutter shut from the electrifying contact, a primal need urging him on. He tries desperately to drag it out, to savor every moment, but his patience has already worn thin.

With a low growl of frustration, he presses one of his favorite panties of yours to his face and inhales deeply, almost greedily. A guttural moan escapes him at the intoxicating scent. Fueled by the familiar aroma of your essence, he picks up his pace, fisting his shaft with urgent fervor, using the copious amount of precum as lube. Breathless pants spill from his parted lips as he envisions you on top of him, bouncing on his fat cock like a good girl.

His tongue darts out hungrily, dampening the fabric of your panties right at the center, lapping up the remnants of your arousal with desperation. Michael savors every taste. Of course it's not the same as burying his face between your warm thighs but for now this will have to suffice.

His moans, muffled by the fabric, fill the room as he feels his heavy balls tighten embarrassingly quickly, as if he is a hormonal teenager. The veins in his right arm bulge prominently as he pumps himself at a fast pace, his hand starting to ache from the intensity of his grip.

With a little reluctance, he releases the panties from his lips, his shaky hands wrapping them around his girthy cock. The fabric rubs against his sensitive tip, sending jolts of pleasure through him as his head tilts back in ecstasy. Beads of sweat glisten on his toned body, his curls stick to his forehead in the heat of the moment.

Unable to hold himself back his free hand claws at the sheets as he lets the forbidden thrill consume him. Michael’s orgasm is explosive, chants of your name leave his lips. He forces his eyes to open and watch as he releases rope after rope of his thick, creamy seed into your panties, staining them with his potent essence. His chest heaves with exertion as the last droplets of cum drip from his spent tip, his body trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure.

With a languid movement, he pulls back his sweaty curls from his forehead, his gaze fixated on the ceiling as he catches his breath. Lazily, he slips your panties off the bed and onto the floor, pulling up the sheets to cover his bottom half before succumbing to the blissful embrace of sleep, knowing that tomorrow he'll wake up and do it all over again.

© michaelsfavgirl 2024

Taglist: @heartss444mj @yeriminist @yeaiamme2 @helloaugustmoon @cinnamoncunt @theladyofmylife @minekarina @kionaaa @theskinniestjackson-denny @anivkye @graciegizmo3184 @theasexual-jackson @mrsmikaelsxn @fallinlovewithevil @armasbw @b3rk1ey @maybe7tommorow

[imherefordeanandbones]

10 people I`d like to know more

Last song: The Rolling Stones "Paint it, Black"

Fav colour: Oh god...i love every one there is on the pallet, hard to choose! But i would say RED and green!

Last book: i`m currently reading a few and some comics as well: Terry Pratchett & Stephen Baxter "The Long Earth", Michael Cremo & Richard Thompson "Forbidden Archeology", Philip Coppens "The Ancient Alien Question", John Jackson Miller "Kenobi", Star Wars "Obi-Wan, A Jedi Purpose" and the last one The Boys - Omnibus volume one.

Last movie: I don`t even remember, just sticking to books lately and some tv-series.

Last TVshow: Star Wars "The Clone Wars"

Sweet/ Spicy/ Savoury: Always Spicy and salty, not that big of a fan of sweets!

Last thing i googled: Taurid Meteor Stream

Current obsession(s): Since i can remember Karl Urban, Ewan McGregor and everything Star Wars, Supernatural, Science, Astronomy, and lastly but not least Pedro and his developement as an actor (love this guy!).

Looking forward to: reading new fanfics everyday, my last exams in december and finnaly taking my title as a nurse!

Want to send a lot of love to @orcasoul for the tag <3

@ladamedusoif @enchantedflameandflower @split-spectrum @marierg

Hope, that its ok to tag you and we can keep forwarding this little game:)

Have a nice day all of you, May The Force Be With You!

[kitkats-and-kittens]

I know stan culture is a huge part of fandom and while yes, sometimes I find it annoying it doesn’t really hurt anyone, so I find it okay.

That said I need words with Percy Jackson and Tim Drake stans, because I am sick and tired 😭😭.

I was scrolling through the Will Solace tag because he is my baby and I will defend him for life and obviously as consequence I see a lot of artwork about the battle of Manhattan and all the angst that comes along with it.

I don’t usually see people blaming Percy for Michael’s death which is fine cause it absolutely wasn’t Percy’s fault, even if I personally don’t believe a 12 year old would be mature enough to see it that way.

Still, I saw a post talking about how sad it was that Will got dragged away to heal Annabeth and couldn’t help the Apollo Cabin search for his bother. It was mostly going into detail about how he might feel responsible for not being there when most of his siblings died.

And I thought wow, that’s really angsty and then I went to the comments and the first thing I saw was a Percy Jackson fan saying it’s not Percy’s fault and Will should get over it because it’s war and shit happens.

Like hello? That is a 12 year old??? No one’s saying it was Percy’s fault, but how the hell do you expect a literal 12 year old to get over his brothers death seconds after it happened?!?!

And again in Dc comics.

This happens way too often, but specially in that one scene where Damian finds out Tim has him on like this hit list-contingency plan thing and obviously he gets upset, because he sees it as Tim still punishing him over something he is trying really hard to redeem himself for.

And then I look at the comments and someone’s going.

Well Damian shouldn’t be upset, his actions have consequences and he was the one that broke into Tim’s computer. He shouldn’t get mad.

He’s 10???? Have you met children? Have you met a 10 year old?? They call you names and bully you but the moment you turn it back on them they start crying. Why? Cause they’re 10!

I don’t understand the disconnect some people have when trying to understand children. Like hasn’t everybody been a child? They aren’t mature enough to handle big emotions and nuanced situations cause they don’t have a frontal lobe yet.

I really don’t understand how anyone can get mad at the child character for not being ‘mature enough’ to handle a situation and it drives me insane.

[kiybee]

Fave Song: oh lord I've no clue. if I said Rock With You would anyone laugh at me

Fave Book: The Book Thief / The Secret History (i can't pick between the two of them because they both represent my two favourite people in the world)

Fave Show: Arcane / Nana (no i can't pick either)

Last Book: The Secret History (i need to read more i haven't since july)

Last Movie: Thirteen (2003) (comfort movie for me unfortunately that should tell you everything you need to know abt me)

tagging anyone who wants to. i'm in class rn so i don't feel like tagging ppl LMAO

New game! Ib: @polar-bears-making-pancakes

Tag five people to answer these questions and keep it going! I'll start

Fav Song: So High School by Taylor Swift

Fav Book: Solitaire by Alice Oseman

Fav Show: Heartstopper

Last Book read: Loveless by Alice Oseman

Last Movie watched: Descendants rise of red (send help)

Tag: @audrina13 @torispr @torisaysstuff @milan-ii @manically-depressed-psychopathh

[skeelly]

"when im fat and old and my kids think im a joke"

hi!! welcome. i suggest putting a seatbelt on and i will pay for your therapy, dont worry. :)

☘ "hi, it's me. im the problem it's me.": im kristen! you can call me kristen or kris. minor. she/her. intp-t. ambivert. 🇵🇭. reader (sort of). notes app writer (sometimes). i could not care less about my dumb typos so deal with it. i suck at math. biiiiiggg ophelia wilde fan. delulu swiftie no.9273737277. rodrigoxpartidge's biggest supporter. claire rosinkranz is the reason for my existence. gracie abrams ily. "how long can we be a sad song?". im married to grayson hawthorne. mirrorball//tolerate it girlie 4 life. stromboli fan until the day i die. nick girlie by heart. pjo stan at this point. harry potter simp. hermione granger is my mother. sherlock and enola holmes stan. "no body, no crime". haylor (sorry not sorry). one direction is my life. FREE PALESTINE. kenji, my spirit animal. jude is so ughhhhh perfect. javery shipper cause jameson for avery, grayson for me :3. massive k!nye west hater so if you like him, please leave. but i love rap. certified professional procrastinator. capricorn (not a believer in those things though). i love reading poetry. correct grammar = non existent. i can (technically) fluently speak 3 languages. i can speak (basic, not much) about 5 languages?. piano enthusiast. very big sport girly (football *soccer. america football can kiss my toes. that sport sucks*, f1, volleyball, badminton, basketball, tennis and hockey fan). walker scobell is perfect and i love him. c²>>>>. sharl leclerc. max the axe. oscar paistry. ankara messi. sewy. leah is my bestie. dior is the best artist no cap. pookie nation frfr. charlie's luke is best luke. andrew is underrated. olivea is jusssttt.

☘ rappers i like//listen to: eminem, lil skies, ysbtril (does he count?), nicki minaj, doja cat (:3), cardi b (rarely), dominic fike (does he count? yk, melodic rap). tbh idk who else lol.

☘ all around favorite artists: taylor swift, olivia rodrigo, claire rosinkranz, gracie abrams, the weeknd, doja cat, lil skies, ysbtril, selena gomez (?), harry styles, niall horan, louis tomlinson, zayn, liam payne, one direction, clairo, conan gray, lana del rey, one republic, why don't we, the neighborhood, billie elish, ariana grande, abba, michael jackson.

☘ navigation?:

rambles: #kristenstedtalk

anything i don't proof read: #i didn't proof read this lmao

grayson hawthorne: #loml

cringe posts that idk why i posted: #/j or #post to delete?

asks: #askaroo or #ty for answering <3

sturniolo triplets: #stombolis

☘ follower count (as of march 20): 313 (im actually not sure lol)

☘ DNI: racists, homophobes, sexists and anyone that's ok with any form of discrimination

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼ 　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼ 　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

☘ safe space for: everyone lol

☘ my other accounts: @crysten my writing and other stuff @skeellymellows book rants (AAAH I CANT TAG)

☘ books/movies/series: harry potter, pjo, aggtm, tig, sherlock/enola holmes, little women, black beauty, tsitp, better than the movies. hp, pjo, enola holmes, tsitp, gilmore girls, gossip girl, mean girls, legally blonde, little women, hunger games (haven't read the books), marvel (barely lol), secretariat (my favorite :>>). tbh idk what else lol

☘ my people:

@stvrgirl111//@stvrlighhttt (mare) #maree

@urbanflorals (em) #walkers wife

@gergthecat (scouty) #evil batman sourdough guy #bread man #george

@mqstermindswift (quason) #nickyy

@nqds (NADS) #nads! or was it #NADS! ??

@reminiscentreader (JAS) #theworldneedsmorepeoplelikejas

@sophiesonlinediary (fifi) #fifi <3

@myster3y (kiaraah) #kiaraah

@regisdvmb(reggggg) ✶ @coco6420 (cocoo) ✶ @eddiethebanished (finn :)) ✶ @themidnightarcher ✶ @starchasers-stuff ✶ @what-about-wendy (wendy <3) ✶ @lucinda-008 ✶ @foaming-sea ✶ @lonelycatsblog ✶ @good-old-fashioned-lover ✶ @my-mind-is-frozen ✶ @dandelions-fly-in-summer-skies ✶ @baboland ✶ @blocked-zombieartist ✶ @sturn-wrld ✶ @swiftieannah ✶ @weeping-in-the-willows ✶ @s1xseasonsandamov1e ✶ @the-red-archer ✶ @svnflowermoon ✶ @helpimhopelesslyinlove ✶ @doyoujustnotwantto ✶ @atwtmvftvtvsgavralpsss ✶ @oh-whale13 ✶ @bonesofnixie ✶ @art-of-fools (stephanieee) ✶ @percabeths-blue-cookies ✶ @imthatweirdratinthecorner (a rat <3) ✶ @letmeseeallthefrogsinthecity ✶ @that-multi-fandom-hijabi (novaaa) ✶ @rachellelizabethhdare ✶ @sluttypoetsdepartment ✶ @kimu-dem ✶

[smthabsolutelyunhinged]

~ INTRODUCTION ~

HI MY LOVES, IM EMI <3

she/her. 17. pansexual. cisfem. pisces sun. cancer moon. white. american. INFP. 4w5. hufflepuff. marauders stan. james potter + remus lupin + pandora rosier kinnie. aspiring writer/author. artist. bookworm. music lover. halloween enthusiast. broadway lover. massive fan of anything whimsy/gothic/romantic/etc. at some point i might link my spotify/pintrest, but idk yet.

IMPORTANT INFO UNDER THE CUT <3

*i am a minor (17), but i do interact with nsfw content at my own discretion. i am perfectly ok with asks/requests for nsfw headcanons—or thoughts about existing nsfw headcanons—for characters from my fandoms (please understand that while i allow them, i might choose not to answer them based on my own comfort levels at the time of receiving them). HOWEVER as of this moment, i do not actively write smut/nsfw one shots, fan fics, drabbles, etc.*

[any of this can change at any point and i will make it known if it does, but for the time being i do ask that any nsfw requests be for headcanons/thoughts about hcs only].

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

please do ~ dm me (please i’ll literally marry you idc, also talk to me i’m cool), asks, anonymous asks, reblog (obviously), comment, like, send me random thoughts/ideas/headcanons/music recs, interact with me in any way that isn’t like hateful/gross/weird (i’ll cry. dont do it. i’ll cry and it’ll be your fault.) {flirting is allowed tho - i’ll flirt back and then marry you, again idc‼️} also moots and anons are allowed (please do) to come up with other nicknames/use petnames/etc {i like them, i’m a chronically depressed, anxious, words of affirmation girlie with family issues, and i like the validation :)}.

please don’t ~ be weird, hateful, creepy, or gross in any way because i will block you immediately, (and release my scary, aggressive, friend *cough cough ace cough cough* on you, and they will bite you (not in a hot and sexy way either)).

<3 shows ~

the vampire diaries. criminal minds. one tree hill. the originals. outer banks. the 100. gilmore girls. supernatural. heartstopper. boy meets world. downton abbey. chesapeake shores. daisy jones and the six.

<3 movies ~

twister (1996). little women (1994/2019). hocus pocus. princess and the frog. the harry potter movies. the hunger games. divergent. twilight. coraline. the nightmare before christmas. notting hill. two weeks notice. a cinderella story (2001). the princess diaries. scream (the og trilogy). st elmos fire. the dark knight. pride and predjudice (2005). the many adventures of winnie the pooh. titanic. five feet apart. pirates of the carribean. captain america: civil war. avengers: infinity war. sense and sensibility. the addams family. the family man.

<3 books ~

daisy jones and the six. the harry potter series. the inheritance games trilogy. shatter me. frankenstein. the picture of dorian grey. warrior cats. tales from redwall series. the hunger games trilogy. divergent trilogy. the twilight saga. the chronicles of narnia. the land of stories. the cheerleaders.

<3 other fandoms & music ~

marauders, one direction, harry styles, taylor swift, sabrina carpenter, lana del rey, michael jackson, hozier, noah kahan, abba, fleetwood mac, chappel roan, olivia rodrigo, daisy jones and the six, the weeknd, childish gambino, shawn mendes, jonas brothers, guns and roses, birdy, etc.. (i can almost always find something to like about music- so i listen to a lot of it aside from whats listed)…

<3 tags ~ i might not have actually added these yet :)

#emi thinks - headcanons, fandom thoughts, and fandom ideas

#emi rants - rants and rambles about any and everything

#emi writes - anything i write even tho i havent posted any yet

#emiasks - questions for you guys, questions to the void, anything of that vibe

#emithirsts - me simping over people that don’t exist, being thirsty on the main, that’s it-

#my loves - asks, anons, etc

#gayfroggie<3 - noni’s tag

*there will be individual tags for moots if you want them, so just pick/ask for one, and i’ll assign them <333*

*i currently don’t have any specified anons ~ all emojis are available so if you want to be one just ask :)*

<3 moots ~ i’ll add more as i get them >:)

@xaviisconfused @dilutedmayowater @therewasnofloorbtw @aesthetic-writer18 @crybabygh0sty @noh07

[heyftinally]

https://www.tumblr.com/defendingts/750845507072622592/what-do-you-think-the-p-and-the-r-in-pr-stand-for?source=share

“no celebrity is treated the way Taylor is.”

That is such an outrageous claim. Taylor is praised by 90% of the media. Taylor has a [rabid] fan base that send literal death threats to people who voice their negative opinions on her. Taylor being called out for genuinely bad work and bad choices is not hate it’s accountability.

Britney Spears has it worse than Taylor and continues to have it worse than most celebrities. Miley Cyrus endured some of the worst treatment from the general public and media of a current star when she was growing up. Justin Bieber has been abused by the media since he was 15. Michael Jackson was ridiculed at every turn when he was alive and people still tried to take advantage and drag his name through the dirt after he died. Marilyn Monroe was treated as more of an object than a person and still is mistreated today with misrepresentations of her life being made for entertainment purposes. Cassie literally just had footage of being assaulted by her ex Diddy released to the public. God I could keep going but I won’t. The proof is out there. She’s just too blind to see it. She claims she’s not a Swiftie but she clearly is. If she’s neutral towards Taylor she could at least acknowledge that Taylor has had it very easy in contrast to MOST celebrities.

I had her original account blocked but she made a new one and keeps posting in the anti tag and I’m just fed up. I’ve blocked her again but I needed to rant. Most people in the anti tag aren’t actively hating just expressing their frustrations and even if they were hating. ITS IN THE ANTI TAG. OMG. Sorry but she’s clearly a Swiftie who doesn’t have a god damn life and is baiting people into her ask box. She probably sends herself messages to show she’s got a larger following than she actually does. It’s pathetic. She calls antis pathetic but really we vent to a couple of blogs who agree with our thoughts and those blogs post them. She’s the one seeking out these things to complain about them. It’s so f*ckin annoying

I've honestly called other performers WAY worse things than I've called Taylor Swift. I've criticized countless artists for a variety of things. Hell, anyone who knows me knows I have just as many issues with Harry Styles as I do Taylor Swift (they're basically two versions of the same issues if you ask me).

I tag my posts the way I do for one reason, and one reason only: so that swifties can block me, block the tag(s), and fuck off. I'm not going to sit here and try to convince someone that they shouldn't support her - that has to come from your own moral compass. But in return, don't come on to my posts and tell me I'm wrong for having an opinion based on the facts we're given 24/7.

And as far as the old bullshit of "antis are pathetic" (how very 2010 tumblr lol), I say mocking someone for having an opinion you don't like is MORE pathetic. Taylor Swift is shoved down our throats literally constantly - if I'm forced to be aware of her bullshit, I'm going to have an opinion on it. If that opinion isn't favorable towards her, sucks to fucking suck. You know what I don't post about? Who Hilary Duff did or didn't go on a date with last weekend. Because I have no clue what happens in her personal life, and I'm not about to go be a stalker freak to find out. If Taylor Swift can't stand people not liking her, maybe she should put less of herself on display. And again, if swifties don't like my opinions, they can block me and my tags like adults and move on.

[diznye]

Hyperspecific poll!!

[dukeofdelirium]

Dude, it feels like being in the flippin’ trenches being in the MJ fandom. From this account on this app that was taking over the MJ Tag and spreading so much misinformation to the point where I had to block her (She was using quotes from Shmuley, hinting that he could have been a predator, and he turned on Michael a few years ago I believe) to MJGuilters on TikTok making Pedo jokes at any positive Michael videos. Of course, the MJFam makes them wish they never said anything, being bombarded with truth and facts, but it never seems to be enough. Yes, there will be people who are just not educated and they take in what you tell them, but some others just won’t and call you names about be a “Pedo Lover” and whatnot. I do hope that one day, everyone will see and know that truth, but with streaming services allegedly saying that “the world isn’t ready for a positive Michael Jackson film” (according to one of MJ’s past bodyguards who took part in a documentary) I don’t think we’ll see that day. It hurts sometimes and when it does, I just feel like giving up and leaving it so I don’t have to hear any negative comments or jokes, and that’s the dark side of being a moonwalker/soldier of love. Defending him can be exhausting when it’s falling on deaf ears, but I know it’s our job to be here fighting for him when he’s not here himself.

Bestie I totally get how you feel. We are in the trenches day and night lol. I have a few thousand followers on here and a little over a year ago I was a well known MJ blogger and it got so bad that I was getting over 100 messages a day from people.

Like ppl would message either asking for evidence, asking me to explain a part of a legal case, some fan inquiries and whatnot but I was ALSO getting dozens of hate messages and harassment messages. My mutuals who are MJ fans can attest to it bc they witnessed how bad it was getting lol.

There was this one guilter troll in my inbox who would send like 50 or so anons DAILY for MONTHS straight harassing me about his cases. Of course, I fought back and we dished it out back and forth bc ain’t no way am I letting some dumb bitch slander my man lmao but the shit they would say was NUTS

Then my dad passed away so I had to step back from it bc I just couldn’t mentally handle it at the time. But idgaf I’m back lol and I’ll never stfu about defending MJ bc he’s innocent and idc what ANYONE says lol I will rip someone’s face off 😭 I had a whole reputation on here of being legit vicious 😭😭😭😭 my MJ followers would just send me posts to respond to cuz they knew I could shut a bitch up faster than them, it was so funny 🤣 ppl were fuckin scared of me fr cuz I’d bust into their shit and hit ‘em with every possible document they would mention proving them wrong so eventually they stopped messin w me cuz they were legit scared of my crazy ass

It can be exhausting tho trust me I totally get it. If you have to step away none of us will judge you. We have each other’s back and that’s why it’s important to have friends to talk to in this community. Lord knows my mjfam on here got me through some difficult times and I love all my MJ friends sm 💛

Just know that you aren’t alone in it and if no one else has you I GOT YOUUUUU and no matter what any stupid bitch says, MJ is INNOCENT and we have the proof on our side

[bigmouthlass]

Title:  Slow and Sultry Beats

Series: Supernatural B-Sides

Author:  BJ

Fandom:  Supernatural

Rating:  Explicit

Pairing:  Dean Winchester/You, Dean Winchester/Reader

Synopsis: Dean loses a bet. The things we do for our calling.

Tags:  Dean Winchester, Female Reader Character, Female You, Sam Winchester, Tasha Banes, Witch Reader, Goth Dean Winchester, Canon Divergence, Songfic, Surprise Character, If I Told You It Wouldn't Be A Surprise Would It?

AN:  Song is Nine Inch Nails, "Get Down Make Love" (with a seasoning of Combichrist, Poe, Michael Jackson, and anything else you might've heard at the Lizard Lounge on a Church night). Oh come on, tell me Dean wouldn’t look fucking delicious in Goth. Blame @thoughtslikeaminefield for digging it out of my head, for better or worse. All recognizable intellectual properties are owned by their respective creators and holders of any copyrights or trademarks. This is a not-for-profit work of fan art and protected by Fair Use.

---

“I hate you.”

“Heard you the first time,” you say absently as you work the pestle.  “And the second time.  And the third time.  And all of the times after that.  Give it a rest, why don’t’cha?"

Dean scowls at you.  “This isn’t fair.”

“Heard you the first time on that subject too.”  You sigh at Dean’s scowl.  “Look, I need backup and you’re it.  So suck it up Winchester.  This damn thing needs to get locked down and pronto otherwise we might lose something important.  Like Dallas.”  You turn your attention to Sam as Dean upends the plastic shopping bag and dumps the contents on the motel room bed.  “In my bag there’s a brown glass bottle--"

“Oh hell no.”  Dean’s holding up the shirt and pants you’d bought.  The shirt’s just a racerback tank top and not in the least bit risqué.  The pants-- “Leather pants?!?  Really?”

“What?” you ask.  “You’ll be decent.  It’s not like tonight’s the Fetish Ball or anything.”

“Excuse me?” Dean demands as Sam tries and fails to keep from laughing.

You sigh.  “Just . . . go in and take a quick shower.  I gotta finish putting the puzzle box together.  Sam would you do me a favor and do a perimeter of the place?  Make sure this damn thing doesn’t have minions or acolytes hanging around?”

Pouting a little because what baby brother wouldn’t want a front seat to his older brother’s embarrassment, Sam grabs the car keys and leaves.  The shower starts up.  The ground mixture in the grinding bowl goes in a small vial, along with a measure of lavender oil.  Muttering the first of the incantations, you start assembling the box.  The binding magic completes just as the shower cuts off and Dean walks out to see you hunched over and gasping, braced on the table by your elbows.  “Hey-- you okay?”

“I’m all right.  Just gotta catch my breath.”  You glance over and do a double-take.  Dean’s got a towel wrapped around his waist, and your eye level is right where it needs to be to see that’s all he’s wearing.

Maybe he didn’t notice--

Dean snickers.

He noticed.

“Just get dressed, asshole,” you say.

“’Dressed,’ she says,” Dean snorts, picking up the pants.  “Don’t you mean poured?  Seriously, how am I even supposed to get these on?”

You’re a little worried about that yourself.  You’d had to guess on the size.  “Just do the best you can,” you say as you walk to the bathroom, grabbing your bag.

You walk out a few minutes later with your hair braided into twin plaits trailing down your back, dressed in a black cotton underliner and black leggings.  Dean’s got the pants on and he’s stretching to try and get the material moving with him.  They fit, just, sheathing his thigh muscles and cupping his ass with a lover’s touch.  Close enough for you to see he’s either wearing an athletic supporter or going commando.  Either thought makes you warm all through.

Enough already, you tell yourself, stepping into your stomping boots and zipping.  When you look up, Dean’s pulling on the tank top.  The racerback showcases about two yards worth of shoulders.  You lick your lips.  Dean’s a lot more toned than you’d expected.  It’s doing things to you.  Easy to see why he hardly has to work to get people to stare at him.  Including you, you think as you snap yourself out of it and stand.  Your top goes over the cotton underliner and you fasten the busk.

Dean tucks in, zips, and buckles the built-in belt.  “Shit,” he says as he paws at his back, “how the hell am I supposed to carry my pistol in this?”

“You’re not.  The bouncer won’t let us in if you're packing, and a gun won’t do shit against this thing anyway."  You turn around.  “Can you tie me?”

“Uh,” there's a mirror hung over the sink, lined with bright white light bulbs.  You chuckle at Dean's mirror image, staring at your back with a gawp of utter confusion.  "Sure.”

“Just like you tie shoelaces.”  You grab onto the bathroom door frame and brace yourself.  “Not too tight."

Dean’s tugs are surprisingly gentle.  The corset strings must look like thread between his fingers.  “This okay?”

Taking a deep breath, you tell him it’s good.  “Just tie them in a bow.”  A grope at your back confirms you can pull the laces.  You reach down your front to put your tits where they’re supposed to be and shimmy everything into place.  This one’s your favorite, deepest blue satin brocade hugging your waist and holding your tits just so.  You look good in it and you know it.

Dean’s studying you as you turn around.  “What?”

“How can you move in that thing?” he demands.

Not the first time you’ve heard that question.  “Dean people were wearing these for centuries until some schmuck invented bras.  It just takes a little practice."  You buckle on your belt of stuff, pouches full of the things you'll need for the spell.  "Now come on, have a seat.  Makeup time.”

“What-- what-- excuse me,” Dean stammers, “what?!?”

You put your hands on your hips and glare.  Sometimes perfect eloquence is mute.

“Okay,” Dean gets all up in your face, “I agreed to be your backup on this because I lost fair and square but I will not turn myself into some . . . knockoff Twilight twinkly freak show--"

“Are you finished?” you cut him off.  “Nobody is going to buy you as part of the usual crowd if you go in dressed like Roger The Redneck with that I Hate Everything look on your face.”

“I’m out of here,” Dean declares, storming for the door.

“For fuck’s sake is the thought of putting a little goop on your face really that scary?” you demand.  “Your balls are not going to drop off just because you’re wearing eyeliner!”

Dean puts his toe on the ground and does a point-perfect about face.  “I am not scared of wearing makeup,” he says.  “I am not scared of a few hours of mingling with the freaks and weirdos.  I am worried about what might happen if this deal blows up in our faces.”

Dean’s a Hunter and his mistrust is nothing to take personally.  Most Hunters have had bad experiences with magic practitioners.  Witches especially.  “I asked you and your brother -- several times -- if either of you had any better ideas.”  This thing’s not a ghost, it’s not a demon, and it’s not anything else that can be banished by a ritual or a spell.  Containing it is the best solution available.

And you’re going to be at ground zero, bait and trap all in one.  Backup is not optional.

Backup is in a snit over a little face paint and snug pants.

You park it and continue.  “Did I hear any better ideas on how to get this fucker gone before it follows anyone else home?  No I did not.  So sit down and shut up.”

“Do I really--"

“Yes,” you say.  “And hold still.”

“This never happened,” Dean says as he pulls up a chair and you fetch the bag with your makeup.

“Shut your eyes.”

Twenty minutes later, the two of you study your handiwork in the mirror.

Gulp.

Eyeliner and a touch of color turns his eyes into big green gemstones.  Gloss makes his lips into something you want to spend a night nibbling.  He’s one of the most purely attractive men you’ve ever seen, and with these little accentuations he turns into something sublime, something to turn heads and make hearts pound.

In other words, perfect.

“God I look stupid,” Dean says, examining himself in the mirror and blinking at the unfamiliar feel of pigment around his eyes.

“Knock it off, the liner’s not quite dry yet.  You’re lucky you got those thick eyelashes, you don’t need mascara.  Now move, I gotta do mine.  And put on those cuffs.”

“Yes ma’am,” Dean says.

"Salute me when you say that."

As he buckles the leather arm bracers onto his wrists, Dean gives you The Finger.

You let that slide.  You asked for it.

You’re putting on the finishing touches when Sam gets back.  You can see him blinking at the two of you in the mirror as you finish putting on your lipstick.  Black liner shading to deep purple within.  Your dog tags go around your neck with a jingle.

“Laugh and I will break your arm,” Dean says as Sam opens his mouth.

---

Tomorrow’s not a work day so the place is overflowing with a waiting line outside.  Big John's on door duty and Courtney’s at the register, both greeting you cordially.  “What’re you having?” you ask Dean once you’re inside and headed for the bar.

“Whiskey.  All of the whiskey,” Dean says, looking like he’s chewing on a lemon.

“Shawn?”  The bartender cocks an eyebrow at you.  “Vodka sour and a straight Scotch.  And two cups of ice water.”  He gives you a thumbs up and moments later you hand him some cash.

Dean bolts the whiskey and frowns at the ice water.  “What am I a fish?”

“Drink it,” you tell him.  “I need you relatively sober.”

“This’d be easier drunk.  I can’t hear myself think.”

What a wimp.

As you’re thinking that, though, Dean’s head perks up.  A reluctant smile curves his mouth.  “Oh my God, are you kidding--" you almost fall out of your boots as he takes your wrist and pulls you to the main dance floor.

Laughing, Dean hops down two feet into the lowest part of the dance floor.  The club’s had a lot of purposes since it was built; the main dance floor is a stage with a shallow orchestra pit flanked by two gogo dancer platforms.  An upper floor balcony overlooks the whole thing.  The sound system is whining, gearing up for something.  The whole thing is packed with people flying their freak flags at full staff, leather and vinyl and chrome and neon and steel and bare skin.

You’re opening your mouth to cuss Dean out for forgetting himself until you recognize the song.

“It’s close to midnight,” he stalks around you as much as he can without bumping into anyone, “something evil’s lurking in the dark.”

Thriller zombie dancing in a crowd of drunk Goths isn’t how you expected to get Dean on board but you’ll take it.  The surly bastard you’ve been dragging around is gone.  Now Dean looks like he’s having the time of his life, menace-marching, wiggling his hips, howling the chorus at the top of his lungs.

It ends with Dean miming Vincent Price’s evil laugh as you wheeze with giggles.  "Always wanted to do that," he says, grinning big and bright.

---

"Hey pretty," you see a girl with her hair dressed in bright florescent ponyfalls with furry boot cozies to match touches Dean's arm as he finishes his whiskey, "don't'cha wanna take a ride with me, through my world?"  A bolt of raw red jealousy makes you grind your teeth as she turns her back and arches up against his chest.  Black-nailed fingers trace up the column of Dean's neck.

Dean's hand touches her waist.  And pushes her gently away.  The girl takes the hint and leaves, throwing a pout over her shoulder as she heads for the video bar.

Feeling stupidly happy, you climb out of the dance pit to where Dean's been standing and watching.  "Dance with me," you tell him.

“Honey I don’t dance,” Dean snorts.

“You will now,” you tell him.  “I’m bait, remember?”

Scowling, Dean follows you back down into the dance pit.  His arm goes around your back and he pulls you close.  A thigh goes in between your legs.  You bite your lip at the pressure right where you’re tender.  Your knees go weak and Dean’s arm flexes to keep you upright, grinding your bodies together.

"I feel like a moron," Dean says against your ear.

"You're doing fine," you reassure him, settling more firmly against his body.  He balances you with ease, a solid block of warm skin and muscle.  The big fans aren’t quite equal to the sheer mass of bodies in motion; it's meltingly warm in here and dark.  A place of power, the mundane and very real magic of people coming together, uniting--

"Dean," you say, realization breaking your warm daze.  "It's here."

He blinks, like he's been dazed too.  "Yeah.  Next move?"

You peel yourself out of his arms and climb out of the pit, Dean on your heels.  But as you pass the huge nest of speakers on the way to the ladies' room he grabs your arm.  "What?" you yell.

"I can't go in there!" he yells back.

"Yes you can!"  You grab his hand and pull him through the door.  Full light dazzles your eyes a moment, then you're inside.  You glance back and see Dean with his free hand out and his eyes closed.  "Oh grow up," you snort, taking him to the other side of the wall through a gathering of half a dozen people primping in the mirror or relaxing on the couch, chattering and socializing.

The ladies' room is split in two, and the lack of places to sit makes the offside quieter.  Fishing in your belt pouches you produce a bottle full of inky dark fluid and a brush.  Out of another pouch you pull a piece of paper.  You've sketched a rough outline of your upper back, with the incantation written across your shoulders.  "Copy that."

"Hold still."

You brace your hands on the counter and try not to flinch at the tickle of the brush.  You have to bite your lips to keep from telling him to hurry it up already; precision is important.  Looking up through your eyelashes you catch sight of Dean's face as he works, eyes focused on your back and his lower lip clenched in his teeth in concentration.  He's breathtaking, you think, a perfect balance of delicacy and strength.  The Gods were taking pride in their duties the day they made him.

Dean finishes, and you recite the incantation.  A brief flare of heat traces the lettering, making you hiss.  "Is it supposed to disappear?" he asks after a moment.

"Yeah."  Your inner eyes open, and witch sight overlays your vision.  Power surrounds you.  You can feel it, see it.  Energy laces the air with a faint gleaming mist, threads and rivers flowing, twisting together, splitting apart.  "The Force is with me, young Winchester."

And then some.  This building's been a gathering place for people to meet, revel, drink, dance, fuck, live for decades.  It's soaked into the bricks.  You're open to it in a way you haven't been before.  It's dazzling, disorienting.

And Dean . . . to your witch sight, he blazes.  You're a little scared to touch him.  He's been touched by power, used as an instrument of destiny.  He's marked by it, like someone exposed to radiation.

You blink, try and focus.  Dean's asking you something.  You try and shake the giddiness out of your head.  "What?"

"Now what?" Dean repeats.

Good, a question you can answer.  "Now we wait.  And we dance."

"First," Dean says, "we drink."

---

Dancing to Combichrist is a fairly zero skill activity, just moving as the music takes you.  One enormously fat dancer's doing nothing but whipping her long hair in a furious headbang, pausing to shriek with everyone else, THIS SHIT WILL FUCK YOU UP!!!  You're weaving through fine, nacreous mist.  The motion of life and fate and magic is mesmerizing.  Your hands itch to reach out and take it in hand, knit and tie it all together into something beautiful.  You keep your hands to yourself and your Craft still.  Apart from the drain on one’s strength, a true witch knows better than to try and manipulate these forces by the power of their own will.  The balance of reality is delicate, and the counteractions needed to maintain it are extremely dangerous.

Mindful of your instructions from earlier, Dean sticks close.  You're close enough to kiss when a wicked urge seizes you.  The fabric of Dean's tank is hot and sweat drenched as you take two handfuls and pull upwards.  With a surprised little yipe Dean raises his arms and the shirt leaves your lives forever as you toss it towards a corner out of the way.

Shower fresh he was beautiful.  Here, in the dim light and wreathed with the stuff of magic, he . . . . shines.  Incandescent.  Terrifying.  Light gleams over and within.  All on its own your hand moves to a bright smudge on one shoulder, a shape almost like a scar.

Dean snatches your wrist.  "What are you doing?"

"Something's had ahold of you here," is the best you can explain it.  "Something powerful."

"Long story," Dean deflects.  He doesn't give your hand back, guiding up and around his neck instead.  You comb your fingers into his hair, fine and soft.  The music's changed to something sultry, with a rhythm like a slow hard fuck and shot through with little electric zaps.  A voice is questioning and you mouth the questions along with it -- how old you when you first let a man make love to you? next who was he? next how did you feel at the time? -- the voice rises as the clinical distance fades and it breaks with the sound of pleasured moans punctuated by yes!

You stretch to match Dean's height as best you can, press into him full-length.  Trent Reznor growls at ear-shredding volume, about heat and hunger and what people charged with longing can do for one another.  Dean doesn't need instruction, you think as his body picks up the beat.  He was made for many things, and pleasure is not the least of them.

You throw a leg over his hip.  Dean's strong, he balances the two of you easily.  A big hand slips down from your back to clutch your ass, pulling your centers flush.  God, your blood feels molten.  All of you burns.  You need fire to match, and here's Dean, strong arms and big hands and jeweled eyes looking down at you with heat and hunger--

Your reasoning self shouts loud enough to make itself heard, and you blink.  A small knot of substance is hopping around the magical threads and currents, a frog one moment and a spider the next.  It's not sentient, you can see that.  It's just an awareness.  It's hungry, and it's hunting.

And here you are.  Bait.

It pauses in its stalking, and you can feel it when it sizes you up.  Open and hot and charged with power.  It pauses, like a cat wiggling into a pounce.  "Dean--" you try and warn him.

Whatever he says back gets lost.  The thing strikes.  Brilliant hot energy stabs through you.  You gasp, your muscles clamping you hard against Dean's body.  Simple desire surges into something more primal.  You turn Dean's head and take his mouth in a hard kiss.  He opens to you, hot and wet.  His mouth tastes like whiskey, with a faint suggestion of spice.  Your heart flutters in your chest, so hard you can see sparkles across your vision.

Cussing, Dean pulls you up off your feet, wrapping both your legs around his waist.  You curl yourself around him, holding on tight as he carries you out of the pit like you weigh nothing.  The power of his body, muscles working under hot skin.  You want it, you want him.  The thing that's got you in its grip, you know it now and it wants sex.  Not just sex, it wants everything physical and spiritual that goes with it.  It will drive you, feed of you, and leave you dead on the floor like it's done with four other people so far.  Bodies on slabs with blood weeping from their eyes.

"Take it easy!" Dean grunts into your ear. The leather pants aren't doing a damn thing to hide his body's interest.  You hope like hell you were right about the thing being trapped.  If it's not it'll jump into Dean and it'll be his body on a slab, blood weeping out of his beautiful eyes.

No sooner do you complete the thought than the warm feeling of lust goes hot and wrathful.  The thing pulls on you and can't get away.  The special ink Dean had painted on you has written itself into your being.  Now it's holding the thing trapped, like the wires in a snare.

It hurts.  You bite into Dean’s shoulder to keep from screaming.

"OW!  Hey," Dean says, stopping just outside the club’s front door.  "Just hang on, we're gonna go find Sam."

"Hey!"  It's Jojo, chief of security.  "What's going on?"

"Little too much to drink," Dean says.  "I'm taking her home."

"Don't think so pal, she needs a hospital."  Oh shit.  You've got maybe twenty minutes before the spell keeping the thing snared to you fails and it rips you to pieces as it fights free.  You can already feel it happening and you clench your teeth on a cry.

"Look, she just needs to get somewhere with a shower and a puke pail and have her hangover in peace," Dean wheedles.  "If she starts having trouble breathing, I promise I'll call 911."

"I don't think so," Jojo says, and you blink at him.  There's something in the aura around his head, something about the spark in his eyes--

It's the thing.  Somehow he's in its thrall.  It's using him to get you.

"Dean!  Run!"

Holding you tight to him as best he can Dean pivots and dashes.  The early spring night air is cool on your skin, making you shudder.  It's like all-over pins'n'needles plus the worst muscle cramps ever.  You can feel Dean stumble as Jojo catches him and almost yanks him off his feet.  But Sam -- wonderful, heroic, glorious Sam, wreathed in an corona of brilliance all his own -- pulls Jojo back and puts him down with a fist driven into the solar plexus.

"Come on!" Dean says, jerking his head around the side of the building.  There's a sliver of shadow where the parking lot lights don't reach; Dean carries you there.  Sinking carefully to his knees, he lays you on the ground.  You convulse, not so much breathing as gulping air.  "The box.  Gimme the box."

Sam digs it out of his knapsack and hands it to Dean.  Dean puts it on your chest and cusses when it rolls right off the front of your corset.  "Knife," he says to Sam as he turns you over.  The pressure around your ribs disappears as the corset strings pop apart.  Dean flips you over again and, swearing, yanks down your underliner to bare your chest.   Ignoring the way your bare tits flop unsupported away from your breastbone, he places the box over your heart.  Sam reads the final part of the incantation from a crumpled piece of paper.

The thing uses your throat to shriek as the box activates.  The snare holding the thing trapped breaks, and the box sucks its essence free of your body and into itself like a tiny black hole.  The mechanism whirls and the locks engage with a clack, sealing it away.

You lie there for a long moment, split down the middle between pain and relief that your body's your own again.  The witch sight fades as you stare at the sky, the beautiful madness of the moon slipping away from your vision.  The box on your chest goes cool, just a funky looking knickknack.

Sam plucks a hankie out of his pocket and uses it to pick up the box and stuff it into his knapsack.  Sensible.  He's also trying very hard not to look at your undressed self.

So is Dean.  His eyes keep darting between you and the parking lot.  "Fuck," he says, coming to a decision.  Picking you up into his arms, he tells Sam, "Grab that thing and let's get the hell out of here before that asshole bouncer calls the cops."

---

Everything hurts.

Bones, muscles, skin.  Even your hair and your nails hurt.  Not just in your body.  The thing in your blood and your soul that makes you witch hurts, overloaded with spellworks and violated by the thing you'd snared.  "Oh leave it," you snarl as Sam lays your dirty corset out flat on the motel room's table.  "It just needs cleaned and new strings."

"Y-you said to put the box over your heart," Sam stammers.

"Shut up Sammy," Dean growls as he sits you in the room's single armchair.  Very aware that you're locking the barn after the livestock's been stolen, you pull your underliner back into place and tuck your tits out of sight.  "Get me the first aid kit."

"Don't bother," you wave him off impatiently.  "Nothing's broken and drugs won't help.  I'll be all right."  Overextending your magic creates a pain that drugs won't touch.

Giving you a dirty look, Dean taps the bite mark in his shoulder.  You cringe.  That’s gotta hurt like shit.

You ache with more than just pain, you realize as you watch Dean examine your bite mark in the vanity mirror.  Magic aside, it'd been nice to live in Dean's arms for a while.  A dangerous man, a deadly Hunter, a notorious witch-killer-- you've never felt safer in a man's arms.

"Take that box,” you tell Sam, “put it in a cursebox or a warded vault, and leave it there."

"Got it," Sam says.  "What was it?  The monster?"

"I didn't get a species," you say.  "I know what it was after though."

"Sex," Dean says, patting his neck to check for blood.

"Yeah.  It lived off erotic energy.  Track down someone about to leave for a little alone time, jump her, ride her home, and," you don't blush normally but the profoundly awkward look Sam's giving you is making you cringe with reflected mortification, "feed on the energy that comes off some really good sex and don't you dare make a come and go joke Winchester," you growl at Dean.

"Wasn't gonna," he says absently, hissing as he uses a piece of gauze soaked in rubbing alcohol to clean out the teeth marks.

 "Are you okay?" you ask.  "The thing didn't touch you did it?"

"I don't think so," he says.  He blinks and shakes his head, like he's clearing cobwebs.  "Just a headache."  Dean spies the box, sitting on the motel room table.  He shudders.  "Get that thing outta here Sam.  Dad's drop stash in--"

"Wait!" you snap your hand up.  "Do not tell me.  Ever.  In fact, don't put it there.  Put it somewhere else I've never heard of."  You take a deep breath.  Even that hurts.  "Whatever this thing is, it had the bouncer in thrall.  It might have others."  You look Dean square in the eye as you say, "I can't spill what I don't know."

He nods.  "Yeah, ten-four.  Sam, do we got a backup place?"

Sam thinks a second and nods.  "Yeah.  Keys?"  Dean grabs the keys off the nightstand and tosses; Sam plucks them out of the air and stuffs them in his pocket.  He mutters to himself, looking around the room, then lets out a little ah-HA and shucks the pillowcase off one of the pillows.

Now why didn't you think of that?

Never mind, you're just relieved the damn thing's going away.

You're shivering.

Just a little tremble in your middle, so slight you hope it'll go away.  Instead it deepens, intensifies, spreads.  Your whole body clenches and convulses, making you curl over yourself in your chair.  Dean consults with his brother by the door and Sam leaves with the box swinging inside the bleached white pillowcase.  The door closes and Dean locks it and sets the chain.  He turns to look at you, shirtless and beautiful with the touches of color around his eyes.  "Hey, you okay?"

"Shock," you manage between chattering teeth.

Dean's worried frown deepens.  "Do I need to call an ambulance?"

You shake your head.  "It'll pass."  And it will, you tell yourself.  The only things that fix spell shock are time, warmth, and rest.  All a hospital would do is pump you full of drugs and insist on putting you in an ICU.  And it's not like you could explain what happened anyway.  'I turned my body into a trap for an incorporeal concentration of erotic energy,' will get you tossed into a locked ward.

"Here," Dean takes one of your hands and starts chafing it between his.  "Shit, your fingers are freezing."

"It'll pass," you repeat.  The shock will.  The feeling of filth won't, not for a while.  Something evil's been inside you, touched you where your soul is.  That will take longer to go away.  It might never, not completely.  You'd known that when you'd suggested the plan.  You'd volunteered, you remind yourself as you shiver.  That should make it bearable.  It will, given time.  It will.

You hope.

"Easy," he says after a particularly fierce quake.  "Easy.  It's okay.  It's over.  It's over," he repeats as you shake your head.  "It's gone."

With a shaking hand, you touch Dean's shoulder.  That bright blot of energy there, like a scar on his spirit.  "Did whatever do that go away?"

You don't expect an answer, but Dean speaks after a long pause.  "Yes.  And no.  It's complicated."

Moving's not going to be easy.  "Help me up."

"I got you," Dean says.  He grips you behind each elbow and helps you to your feet.  "What a night," he groans.

"Tell me about it," you groan back.  You try and take a step and Dean catches you as your legs buckle.  "Just help me to the bathroom.  I can manage from there."  You'd better.  You gotta piss like nobody's business.

"Yeah yeah, I gotcha," Dean grunts, giving you an arm to brace yourself and helping you walk the ten feet to the bathroom.  "Uh . . . do you need--"

You chuckle.  "I can piss unassisted, promise."  You reach for your belt buckle.  Dean brushes your shaking fingers aside and undoes the fastening, taking the heavy pouches away.  "Thank you."

With the wall to lean on, you make it to the toity and take care of that.  Shower's out until your legs are steadier.  Washing your hands in the vanity sink, you get a look at yourself in the mirror.  My God you’re a fright, loose hairs sticking out of your braids, makeup smeared everywhere . . . and just over your shoulder there's Mister Sunshine sitting on the bed, untying his boots and green eyes bright with suppressed hilarity.  "Shut up."

"Didn't say a word," he defends himself, holding up his empty hands.

You'd retort but you're too busy trying to get your face wash out of your makeup bag.  A violent tremble loosens your fingers.  The bottle drops from your hand and bounces off the edge of the counter, hitting the floor with a clatter.  "God dammit!"

"Here."  Standing in his sock feet, Dean picks the bottle up off the floor.  "Seriously, are you okay?"

Looking up into his concerned face, you say, "Would it further damage your man-cred if you helped me take my makeup off?"

"I'm wearing leather pants and eyeliner," Dean reminds you with a snort.

"Those aren't damaging your man-cred, at all," you tell him quietly.

Dean blinks down at you, looking into your eyes like he's reading secret messages written across your irises.  "Here," he says, setting your face wash aside and clearing a space on the counter.  Putting his hands on your waist, he says, "Up," and boosts you to sit next to the sink.

A cotton pad soaked with a little olive oil and your eye makeup wipes away, and a gentle scrub takes care of the rest.  Warm water and Dean's gentle touch, you can feel your wounded spirit starting to pull itself back together.  Sitting up on the counter puts the two of you at eye level, and the harsh white lights lining the vanity mirror don't detract from Dean's comeliness at all, you think as he works.

"How does this work?" he asks, holding the eyedropper bottle of oil.  "I want to get this crap off my face."

"Here," you say, taking the bottle away from him and soaking another cotton pad.  "Shut your eyes."  When you get done wiping away the liner, you give his face a wash.  The barest whisper of whiskers make the washcloth rasp over his skin.  Dean keeps his eyes closed against the bright lights, his breath warm on your cheek through parted lips.  Softly, you brush the pad of your thumb across them, watch them move with the pressure.  They're lips that know a lot about kissing.  Your own lips burn with the memory.

Dean grabs your hand.  "What are you doing?" he asks.

"I'm sorry," you apologize, dropping your gaze to rest on the tattoo under his collarbone.  "I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"It's not that, I just-- are you okay?  I mean, to be getting up to anything?"

You switch grip so you're holding his hand, and bring it to your lips.  Dean pulls in a quiet breath as you give his fingertips a soft suckling kiss, tasting a hint of soap under his nails.  "No demands," you tell him, quietly, not looking up from his fingers.  "I know you don't like witches.  I just--"

Dean takes his hand back and uses the crook of his finger to lift your face.  "Just what?"

Your lip wobbles.  "I feel dirty," you admit, feeling tears threaten.  There's no judgement in his face, no mockery.  If anything, he looks understanding.  "I just want to feel like a person again.  You know?"

"Yeah.  I do," Dean says, and he presses his lips to yours.

In the club, his kisses had been hot and hard, fiery with the heat of the moment.  This is different, slow and careful.  He stands between your spread knees and pulls you close, the thin material of your underliner the only barrier between you.  You put your arms around his neck, feeling the shaking under your skin ease a little as his heat seeps into you.

"You need me to make it better?" Dean asks, as his kiss becomes many small kisses, all over your face.

"Yes," you tell him quietly.  It's disgusting, how childish you feel . . .  but that's what you want, exactly.  "Please.  Please.  Make it better."

Nodding, Dean kisses you again, deep and warm.  It's like back in the club; Dean locks his arms around your back and pulls you off the counter, walking with you clamped to his body.  He sits on the edge of the bed.  For a long moment he just holds you, rubbing a hand down your back like he's soothing some trembling animal.  From anyone else it would feel condescending.  From him, it's caring.

You're laying back on the bed, braided together and making out nice and slow.  It feels wonderful, delicious tension coiling in your center and slow heat melting the ice in your blood.  Dean's not just a great kisser, you think as your brain dissolves into goo-- he's a fucking black belt in making out.

The heat in your core feels nice.  You want more.  Pushing Dean back a little, you take the bottom of your underliner and peel it up and off your body.  Dean stares down at your bare tits like they're a revelation, not something he's seen already.  His next kiss is hotter.  You tip your head back and he slides his mouth down your neck.  A gentle bite over the pulse point makes you whine.

"Relax," Dean whispers against your skin.  His hands slide down your body, petting your skin and making it warm.  He cups a breast in his big hand, the nipple clamped gently between two fingers.  The sensation goes straight to your pussy, making you throb.  Wet heat's gathering there, you can feel it soaking into your underwear.  "It's okay, I got you.  Lie back."

When you're stretched out, he unzips you out of your boots and peels off your leggings, baring all of you.  You shiver with more than shock at the heat in his eyes, as he takes you all in.

You part your knees to give him space, but instead of opening his pants and lowering himself over you, he pushes your thighs further apart.  Chuckling, he runs his fingers through the thick heart-shaped patch of curls above where your pussy lips split.  "This is cute.  I like it."  Cool air rushes over your sensitive parts as he uses his thumbs to open you up.  "Points me right where I need to go."

"Oh," you whine as he lowers his head.  Rough and wet strokes across the very tip of your clit, a faint promise of a touch.  "What are you doing?"

Sliding down to lay on his belly, your legs hooked over his arms and his hands crossed below your bellybutton, Dean says, "Making it better."  He licks and you gasp.  "Is this okay?"  Chuckling low and wicked at your shaky nod, Dean lowers his head.

How someone kisses doesn't necessarily mean they're any good applying their mouths anywhere else, you think to yourself in a haze.  In his case-- Dean's using those soft lips and that broad tongue in ways you're sure aren't legal in this area.  Using the first two fingers of one hand, he holds your cunt lips apart and uses his tongue on every little bit, inner petals and outer folds, bottom to top and back down, closed lips caressing and pointed tongue probing, the nubbly flat rubbing softly across your clit.  Shaking from the spell shock's giving way to an entirely different sort of trembling.  The heat building in your blood chasing away the cold chills.

"How do you want to come?" Dean asks in that low voice.  "Fingers?"  He dips two fingers inside, just to the first knuckle.  Your hips sway, seeking more, but Dean withdraws, making you clench on empty.  "Tongue?"  You cry out as he plunges his tongue into your pussy, so deep you can feel his nose and teeth snug against you.  "Or do you want to wait for my cock?"  He licks a quick puppy lap, making your hips jump.  God you're close.  You're all sex and heat and need.  "If I'm allowed a vote?" he says, spacing his words with more licks, little shocks of pleasure keeping you right on the edge.  "I want my cock in you."

"Yes," you whine.  "Cock, please.  Want it.  Want you inside me.  All the way."

Dean crawls up your body and kisses you, his lips wet with your nectar.  He gets to his feet, and you sit up with him, working open his belt.  You were right, he's buck beneath.  His dick's getting fat as you watch.  Dean grunts as you grace it with a soft lick, as you peel the leather pants slowly down his legs.  He stinks of sweat and leather and sex, alive and human.

Leaning down and giving you a kiss, Dean says, "Play with your titties for me."

Your nipples are hard and tight between your fingers.  Manipulating them feels delicious, delightful sparks snapping down between your legs.  You reach down between your legs, try and relieve a little of the ache.  "Ow!" you cry as Dean slaps the back of your hand.

"You said cock so that's what you're getting.  No cheating," he scolds.

You blow out an exasperated breath.  "Thought you wanted to make it better," you whine.

"I will, just cool your jets."  Dean's rooting in his bag.  "Ah-hah!  Knew I had spares," he says, holding up a little foil slip.  You pout.  Of course.  You hadn't given protection a thought.

Dean takes care of himself and kneels between your legs.  "You sure about this?" he asks, framing your face with a hand.  "I can get you off--" Dean's eyes roll back and his eyelids flutter as you reach down and cup his sac, run your hand up and gently squeeze.  He’s hot, hard, fits perfectly there in your hand.

You notch him in place and Dean lets his weight sink.  Oh wow, he's thicker than he looks.  You bite your lip against the stretch.  It's been a while, and he feels so good.  Warm and alive, pressing you into the bed.  You arch into him, feeling him reaching deeper.  Dean just holds still, living inside you for a long moment and looking you deep in the eyes.  The feeling of filth, of defilement, they're fading at the heat and concern there.  There's nothing dirty about this.

With a soft kiss, Dean asks, "You okay baby?"  You nod, reaching around his back and capping his shoulders with your palms.  Settling against you, Dean moves long and slow.  So slow and so good.  Tension knits his brow and pulls his body taught.  He's going at exactly the right pace to build you high and hot.

Your eyes are closed when the world spins and Dean's under you.  "Get your knees-- there," he pants, balancing you as you put your knees on either side of his hips.  "Grab onto the headboard."  You lean forward and grab on, painted veneer smooth under your hands.  Lips and tongue wrap around your nipple and latch, sucking hard and making you cry out.  "Perfect," Dean pants with his mouth full of your tits.  "Get down," he murmurs around your nipple, adding a mild sting of teeth.  "Get down, get down make love."

The shakes are gone, the sense of violation gone.  Your whole being is alive and hot.  You look down into Dean's face, and see the same thing there-- life and heat.  You pull your pussy tight around him.  He sucks in a moan as you move your hips in quick, hard pulls.

Your orgasm hits like a cleansing fire, burning across your skin and lighting your nerves like fuses.  Dean grabs you tight and rolls you over, driving into you hard and making the fire spark again, burn hotter.  You shriek his name as Dean's body seizes up tight and he collapses on top of you.

---

Sam's waiting outside as you and Dean finish dressing. "You wanna hang onto these?" you tease, holding up the leather pants.

"Hell no," Dean says.  "Hay-ell no."

You grin.  "Just asking.  They made your ass look amazing."

He stands hipshot and looks over his shoulder at you.  "Don't think I need any help in that department," he says, waggling his eyebrows.

Laughing, you step around him and stretch up to give him a kiss.  You feel wonderful.  Whole and energized, glad to be alive.  "Thank you," you say.  "Watch yourselves.  Things are scary out there right now."

Dean hugs you close.  "You too."  Another soft kiss, and he's gone.

---

A long time later . . .

“Why didn’t you tell me?!?”

“I tried.  At first you were underground.  Then I heard you were dead.”  When you’d learned otherwise, the news you’d gotten of him had all been bad.  Falling off the radar over and over, only to resurface when something terrible was happening.  The vibe was clear; stay away from that one, he’s dangerous.

“How-- how did it happen?”

“I don’t know.  God’s honest, I don’t know.  I wasn’t trying to make anything happen.”

Not consciously.  But the basic fact of the matter is, you’d been open and vulnerable and Dean had been there with a healer’s touch on your wounded spirit.  A life-affirming act of caring, performed as the calendar changed to May Day.  Beltane-- the flowering of the earth, the promise of abundance . . . a night of fertility.

“So why now?”

“You’ve met the Banes twins?  At Asa Fox’s funeral?  Asa never knew.  Tasha never told him.”  Deep breath.  “Asa never got to choose whether or not to have a relationship with them.  I don’t think it was right for her to take that decision away from him.”

So here you are.  At the park, in an empty field like combatants facing off for a duel.  You even have seconds-- Sam standing by Dean’s big Chevy on one side, Tasha Banes leaned up against your Jeep on the other.

He’s aged since you saw him last.  More lines around the eyes, more shadows within them.  He’s still one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever seen, everything about him fashioned to draw the eye and break the heart.

Right now though, he’s ignoring you completely.  Every bit of his focus is down towards where your hands rest on his daughter's shoulders.

“Hi,” Diana breaks the ice.

“Hi,” Dean manages.

Diana shifts in your arms, craning her neck to look into Dean's face.  "Why are you crying?"

Dean chuckles, tears falling from his eyes and the biggest grin you've ever seen beaming from his face.  "I'm just happy, honey.  Big happy."

You let go and Diana steps forward, green eyes looking square and brave into her father’s green eyes.  “Is it okay if I give you a hug?”  She lifts her arms.  “Mommy said I should always ask first.”

“God yes,” Dean sighs and falls to his knees.  Diana throws her little arms around his neck.  Dean wraps his arms around her, tight, careful not to crush.  “I’ll always have hugs for you sweetheart,” he whispers.  He cups a hand around her head, kisses her cheek.  Diana says something you don't catch and a sob breaks through Dean's throat.  "You can call me anything you want to," he says, and tears fall from your eyes when you remember Diana asking can I call him Daddy?

"Hey," Dean says, pulling back a little.  "Hey, don't do that," he says softly, using his thumb to wipe tears from Diana's cheeks.  He shifts to the side and points to where his brother's watching.  "See that big guy by the awesome car?"

"Uh-huh," Diana says.

"That's your Uncle Sammy.  You wanna go meet him?"

"Yes please," your courteous baby girl says.  She makes a little surprised squeak when Dean locks an arm around her rear end and stands.

"Is this okay?" Dean asks.  She nods, a big up-down.

"I'll be right over here with Tasha," you say.  "Later we'll go and get some lunch."

Tasha's waiting with a handkerchief and a flask.  You take a knock of whiskey and blow your nose.  "Everything okay?"

You look over to where Dean and Sam are playing Pass The Baby, hear Diana laughing when Dean says something funny.  "Yeah."  Sam's grinning too.  He gently winds one of Diana's pigtails around his finger.  Dean says something snarky and Diana sticks her tongue out at him, making all three of them crack up.  "Yeah, I think so."

---

AN2: Don't ask me where that ending came from. I have no idea. The Lizard Lounge is a damn tragic casualty of the epidemic. These days, The Church howls from the It'll Do Club. Check this out if you're curious about the soundscape.

[celestial1980slady]

tagged by the biggest Brasidas fan, @aeide!!

shuffle your ‘on repeat’ playlist and list the first 10 songs that play, then tag 10 people.

This list doesn't surprise me cause I am a creature of habit LOL I will say the 2nd half of the list definitely gets more air time. I highly recommend the Bearings and The Hunna songs, and "Barbados" and "What A Shame"!

Take Me Far Away - modernlove.

Get It - Stevie Wonder ft. Michael Jackson

One Last Time - Broadside

Bonfire - The Hunna

Barbados - Lizzy Farrall

What A Shame - Telltale

So Damn Wrong - Bearings

NY to LA - The Hunna

Eyes Closed - Bearings

Bad For You - The Hunna

I am also trying to not double tag so here goes lol: @d64d-n0t-sl66p1ng @tashabanes @ca1a-liinaa @scottysketches @ainulindaelynn @bandsandyoutuberswow @books-and-glitter and whoever else wants to do this!

[michaelsfavgirl]

spit kink

Pairing: Michael Jackson x fem!reader

Tags: pwp, dirty talk, spit kink (obvi), dom!michael, sub!reader

Word Count: 905

Requested: yes/no (@geljacksoon I’m sorry pook I lost your ask so I’m posting it this way)

Author’s Note: also I mixed this with your other request so I hope you like it!

Links: navigation | masterlist | taglist

He stares into your eyes, his gaze intense and dominating. "Open your mouth," he commands, his tone allowing no disobedience.

Your heart races as you hesitate for a moment. But you can't deny the tingly sensation that surges through you. Slowly, you part your lips, your breath coming in shallow gasps in anticipation.

He leans in closer, his lips just inches from yours. And then, with a calculated motion, he spits into your mouth. The warm liquid escapes his mouth and hits your tongue. Your tongue trembles as you taste him, the saliva mixing with yours.

"Swallow," he orders, his voice a low growl.

Your cheeks flush, a mixture of embarrassment and excitement flooding your senses. You swallow, the act making you feel incredibly submissive, as though you're surrendering to his dominance in the most primal way.

He watches you closely, his eyes dark with desire. "That's it," he murmurs, his thumb brushing against your lower lip. "Good girl."

A whimper escapes your lips, a mixture of arousal and shame swirling within you. You can't deny that the taboo act has made your needy clit pulse, not knowing something like this could turn you on so much.

His lips brush against your ear as he whispers, "You like how naughty it makes you feel, don't you?"

You swallow hard, his voice sending shivers down your spine. Your gaze drops slightly as you admit in a small voice, "Yes..."

He chuckles darkly, his fingers trailing along your jawline, admiring your features. "That's what I thought. Admit it, little one…embrace every sinful desire you have."

Your heart races, your body responding to his words and his touch in ways you never thought possible. Your mind is unable to comprehend how such a lewd thing can make you feel so good.

He pulls back slightly, a smug grin playing on his lips as he looks down at you. Your breath is ragged, your eyes wide with need. Craving more but too shy to ask for it.

"Want more, baby?" he taunts, his voice dripping with amusement. His precious angel is slowly turning into his filthy girl.

You nod but that ends up with you receiving a disapproved look. "Say it," he whispers, his voice a seductive purr. “Use your words.”

You bite your lower lip, your cheeks burning with a combination of embarrassment and yearning. "Please," you whisper, your voice almost pleading. "I... I want to feel it again."

His hot breath fans over your face, his chuckle sending waves of heat through your body. "Now, that's my girl."

He relents, a devilish glint in his eyes. "Open wide," he instructs.

Your heart races as you obey, your lips parting once more. He watches intently as your tongue darts out; you’re his perfect little doll, aren't you? As a reward, he purses his lips and cups your jaw, this time his lips brushing against yours as he spits in your eager mouth. Not letting anything escape, he seals it by kissing you hungrily, starting to feel your throat tighten, he pulls away.

"Keep that mouth open," he growls softly, his voice authoritative. He watches you with a dark hunger in his eyes, a predatory satisfaction curling his lips as he sees you struggle to obey his command.

Your eyes widen, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you fight the urge to swallow. The taste of his saliva lingers on your tongue.

"So good at following orders," he purrs, his thumb brushing against your chin to catch a stray droplet that had escaped your parted lips.

He leans in, his lips hovering just above yours, his breath mingling with yours. "You want to swallow it, don't you?" he whispers, his words a seductive promise.

You whimper, your gaze locked onto his as you carefully nod, not wanting to disappoint and let any of his saliva escape your mouth. You become impatient after a few seconds, rubbing your thighs together to feel some sort of relief. Feeling pity on you with a small nod of his head, he lets you close your mouth and swallow. You moan as your jaw feels less tense.

He looks at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes, not wanting this to end so soon. "You know, sweetheart, I think it's only fair if I get a taste too."

Your eyes widen at his suggestion. "You want me to…?”

He nods, his fingers tracing a light path along your cheek. You feel your cheeks heat up at the unexpected request. With a shy bob of your head, you agree. You shyly lean forward on your tippy toes, holding onto his shoulders for support, and gather a bit of saliva on your tongue before opening your mouth, spitting into his waiting mouth.

He catches your liquid with an eagerness that sends a jolt of heat through you. As he swallows, his eyes never leave yours; even this way, he is still in control.

Once he gulps down your saliva, he leans in and presses a soft kiss to your lips, the taste of your shared essences lingering between you. "Mmm, you taste delicious," he murmurs against your mouth. You pull away and hide your face in his chest from embarrassment.

"But you know what tastes even better?"

You shake your head, your face still buried in his chest, now playing with the buttons on his shirt to distract yourself.

"Your pussy," he whispers seductively.

© michaelsfavgirl 2024

Taglist: @heartss444mj @yeriminist @yeaiamme2 @helloaugustmoon @cinnamoncunt @theladyofmylife @minekarina @kionaaa @theskinniestjackson-denny @youronlyonenini

[mj4eva]

★·ɪɴᴛʀᴏ·★

hey guyss || welcome <33,

about me:

my name is tori, im 17 from melb, aus. I have been a fan of MJ since 2015 and literally have been in love w him since. I love music in general, it acts as my escape and a place where i can really feel safe and not judged. I love the 60's , like if there was a time machine that could send me back, SEND ME BACK ASAP. idk jus smth about that era makes me so happy and the music (ugh don't even get me started). I'm a taurus (lol random). lastly, i absolutely adore singing, like girl there ain't a millisecond of the day that you won't find me mindlessly singing a tune (most deff it'll be mj).

I started this page outta love for mj. like a lot of you, ik we all miss him a lot and this page is souly based on keeping his soul alive. he is an angel. he gave his soul to the world and the world just wouldn’t let him be, he wanted to live forever but the world wouldn’t let him, so I really wanna be here to help keep his spirit and love for the world alive.

i am a strong defender of mj and literally vow to make his innocence known. this page is also for educating people on what MJ went through and the horrible pain and suffering he went through due to the false allegations bound upon him. our poor baby was brutally misunderstood and treated like such a monster, in no way would i ever wish for anyone to endure the suffering he went through. Michael Jackson was not some fictional character from a book or movie, he was a human being with emotions and feelings.

So, if you strongly disagree with this please don't bother to comment or make any nasty remarks, it's not needed as this page is meant to educate. ty mls. <33

before you continue:

i'll be posting lil rants here and there cus like (omfg he's the hottest man to ever walk the earth)

I might start doin some writing, mainly on michael x readers and maybe some sad stories from his perspective of his life. whatever I write comes out of pure love and adoration for the man ( i mean how could u not love him). BUT, under no circumstances will any of my pieces include violence or harm to him or readers in any way.

please, if you feel uncomfy at all on this page just feel free to block me or ignore my posts. this blog isn't intended to make you feel upset or uncomfy so just leave if u find it's not ur cup of tea. any negativity or rudeness will be deleted.

socials:

tiktok: mj4eva__

my tag system:

for my writing: tori's pieces

for thirst posts: the girl is so dangerous

for answering asks: liberian girl

for reblogs: reblogs

lastly:

i wanna make sure this is a safe environment for everyone. no matter what, EVERYONE is welcomed here and is free to share there thoughts in a non-judgemental environment. even if they're dirty. (i mean c'mon it's hard not to think abt that when you're obssesing over the most perfect man ever.)

please feel so free to send me literally anything in my inbox. (questions, queries, requests or if you just simply wanna rant about michael FEEL FREE TO DO SO!!) I would absolutely love to make some new friends and talk w you moonwalkers!

don't hesitate at all to reach out even if u jus need someone to talk to about anything, i'm here. <33

tysm for reading! u are loved xx

© mj4eva 2024

[owatazumi]

your mom. cast n.rk

starring: niki and reader as high school bestfriends!2maybe!lovers?

featuring: niki and jake and y/n plus some characters i made up…

warnings: cussing, swearing, teenager humor, sexual jokes, dark humor etc.

authors note: leave requests if you’d like~ reblogs are greatly appreciated<3

the characters profiles ~

character facts~

@ rikijackson__ nishimura riki, 17 y/o, dancer and idol, michael jackson super fan, has a “slight” crush on y/n

@ smjyn__ sim jake, 19 y/o, idol, layla enthusiast, has a crush on yimeng

@ iammyown y/n y/n, 17 y/o, dancer and choreograph, plays electric guitar and has two cats, has a crush on niki

@ ko__yiii ko yimeng, 19 y/o, dancer and choreograph, also plays electric guitar, hates dogs but loves cats, has a crush on jake

@ its_me kang mei, 18 y/o, soloist, guitarist, lyricist and producer, makes her own music, has a crush on ???

@ pi__gatchu alexander phoebe, 19 y/o, kindergartener, loves books and kids, has a crush on nobody

@ iam__jj son justin jun, 17 y/o, gamer/streamer, introvert but loud and annoying, has a crush on ???

@ icanbeurcart lee michaelson carter, 18 y/o, introvert and a bitch, way too serious about almost everything, has a crush on mei

if you would like to be put on the tag list, don’t be afraid to let me know in either the comments, dms or in my ask box !! any requests or wishes?

chapter one: saturday 26th !!