noise dept.

★
Keni

Discoholic 🪩

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Andulka

#extradirty

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
Misplaced Lens Cap
Game of Thrones Daily
Three Goblin Art
ojovivo
Stranger Things

izzy's playlists!
Not today Justin
Mike Driver
Peter Solarz
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
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@58applestall

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Michael x princess
oh we need some more pervy bsf mike..like what he used to do before deflowering y/n
perv!bsf!mikey who, before reaching third base with you, would lift your shirt a little too high, to 'tickle' you (grope your cute waist) chuckling softly at your whiney protest when your pretty lacy bra would be exposed >⩊<.ᐟ
perv!bsf!mikey who hugs you a little to tight to feel the swell of your tits on him
perv!bsf!mikey who asked you to rate his cock, but you cant leave him all hard and leaky! so he has you wrap your hands around him "where'd you learn to be this good? hm?"
perv!bsf!mikey who doesnt want to make a mess when he cums, so he has you stick your wet tongue out. resting his pretty brown tip on it, shooting cum down your throat.
perv!bsf!mikey who grinds his morning wood on your perky ass in the morning, whilst you sleep, after a sleepover.
perv!bsf!mikey who grips your waist a little to tightly when you're talking to jackie for far to long
perv!bsf!mikey who has told you that its completely normal for best friends to change infront of each other!!
perv!bsf!mikey who rubs your puffy pussy to 'practice' for his future girlfriend.
perv!bsf!mikey who knows you said 'no fingers' when getting you off, but how is he supposed to make you feel good!! muffling your protests with deep kisses, as he slides two fingers in your poor little pussy.
perv!bsf!mikey whos gonna get touched by me
a/n: sorry for the inactivity!! im on vacation yayayay, but michaels still HEAVY on my mind, enough that im deadass on my way to see it for a 3rd time rn, glad to see it's the same for you all still!! please make more reqs!! im here to service you all!! ok love you byebyebye
he’s very special to me ..
nsfw / fem afab reader ) it’s quiet. the room’s ceiling fan hums softly above you both as the two of you kiss, but it’s a lazy and slow hum, the kind that fades into the background with ease. it’s not a rare occurrence, a make out session after a performance. michael once told you that after a show the only air he could stand to breathe was hidden between your lips; cheekily, he added later, “a man can’t help needing to breathe”. you’ve since become accustomed to the routine of it all: he’d come home, take five minutes to settle, kiss you until you were soaked, and then you’d both pull away, too shy to take that last step just yet. michael has his insecurities, and you’ve got yours. sex wasn’t a “never ever”, just a strong “not now”.
tonight’s different, though.
you’ve been kissing for longer than usual, and michael’s hands have been roaming while he lays beneath you, his head resting against some pillows. his fingers feel you, really exploring despite the fact that you’re still clothed. they press firmly against the skin of your hips and waist, then glide around to grip your butt. any plush he finds, he digs into, letting his fingers squish, squeeze, and play with your body. his eyes are closed and his lips are reverent against yours, but his hands give away a growing sense of neediness. finally, he pulls back, caressing along the curve of your ass with both hands. when you look down at him, he’s making eye contact with your rear. you watch as he swallows thickly.
“take this off,” he orders, his voice all breathy. “please?” he pinches at whatever bottoms you have on, biting his lip.
there’s a second where you hesitate, the air in the room growing heated and hazy despite the ceiling fan still spinning up above. then you strip, slowly sliding your legs out of your clothing, leaving on your top, your bra, and pair of linen underwear.
“that’s good,” michael says, “c’mere.” he’s already pulling you closer before you can move, urging you to straddle him. the only thing he takes off is his jacket, setting it aside before adjusting his belt. “closer,” he murmurs, pulling you in further until you’re slotted right against his belt, your knees sunk into the bed on either side. “that’s it.”
he can sense your confusion before you even fix your face to express it. slowly, he lets go of your waist in favor of holding your hands. he brings them to his lips, kissing gently. “i was thinking… maybe you know, we could do a little more tonight. the belt’s got ridges, and i hear that’s helpful for… womanly pleasure.” the words come out soft, a little awkward; his face is flushed, but he’s smiling, too. “we don’t have to undress. we can just kind of… you know?”
“like this?” your hips roll slowly, and you can feel the smooth, cool hardness of the belt brushing against you through thin cloth. the feeling sends a tingle through your body. definitely, definitely like that.
“yeah, if that’s what feels good,” he nods, squeezing your hands.
you move again, rocking back and forth instead of around. it feels even better, enough for your eyes to close momentarily. touching yourself is one thing, but having michael (his belt, rather) touch you is entirely different. it’s probably entirely mental, but your toes are already curling on either side of his legs. “do you feel it when i move?” you ask.
“yeah,” he rasps out, head tilting to the side and sucking in a deep breath. “i feel it.” the belt shifts against him and his pants every time you grind and hump against it. when he closes his eyes, he just imagines that it’s you, you rolling your hips against him and dragging yourself along his length. “keep going?”
you nod on top of him, “yes, yes…” intuitively, the two of you position your hips together, slotting against each other and taking turns grunting and moaning. it’s all very soft and hesitant, both of you too scared to fully commit but too horny to pull away. it isn’t long at all until you’re both close, having already been needy and sensitive from making out, anyways. for michael, coming means shaking and rolling his head around while whining, overcome by the feelings of pleasure. for you, it means squeezing your legs around him and whimpering while tears spring up in the corners of your eyes.
it’s wordless, but not quiet. quite the opposite, in fact. michael’s louder than you are, groaning and jerking his hips as he rides out his orgasm. small, pitiful tears roll down your cheeks as you finish out your own, and as you reach up to wipe them with the back of your hand, all you can focus on is trying to breathe. both of you are completely and utterly spent, panting as though you’d just finished fighting rather than… whatever that was.
his belt glistens ever so slightly by the time you pull yourself off of it, wettened by whatever managed to leak through your panties. speaking of, your underwear carry a damp patch right by your entrance, completely ruined until you decide to do laundry. you’re both covered in sweat, and michael’s got this dazed (but pleased) look in his eye that you can’t help but find cute. things are quiet as the two of you gather yourselves, the hum of the ceiling fan suddenly coming to the foreground. it’s all you can focus on, the only thing about this situation that doesn’t feel awkward. neither of you had planned for the after part.
“i wouldn’t mind doing that again sometime,” michael finally admits breathily, flashing a sheepish smile up at you. his curls stick to his forehead and neck, plastered against his skin.
you mirror his smile, cheeks burning with all the leftover heat that still remained in your body. “me neither. it was…”
“nice?” he offers.
“definitely,” you murmur, crawling to lay beside him instead of hovering over him on your knees. “it was nice.”
as michael wraps his arms around your waist, letting your bodies settle side by side, you let out a soft yawn. looks like you’ve found something new to add to his post-show routine.
author’s note ) lowkey failgirl x failboy dynamic… i like it though. that awkward moment when ur both submissives LMAOO. i like dom michael, i like dom reader… but secretly i quite like sub michael and sub reader who both get rlly flustered but are also super freaky. aftercare consists of avoiding eye contact and falling asleep until they both gain some confidence. then they’re like the quiet freaky couple. interviewer goes “do you have intimate relations?” and michael playfully goes “yes” and reader nods and adds “often.” and they just refuse to elaborate on that.

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I CAN’T HELP IT
michael jackson x female reader
━ SUMMARY: when a phone call with his producer cuts into your date night, you decide to take matters into your own hands or mouth
━ CONTENT: 18+, smut, cursing, giving michael a blowjob while he’s on the phone, established relationship, mike’s down bad what’s new, oral m & f receiving he eats it like it’s his last meal, lots of teasing, a tiny bit of jealous michael bc why not, unprotected sex!!! (not a good idea y’all be safe out there), creampie, breeding kink if you squint, switch michael supremacy, them fuckin on the living room couch….idk they’re young & in love leave them alone
━ AUTHOR’S NOTE: i implore you to imagine off the wall michael with this one… (post otw but pre thriller) he was pregnant with the lady in my life here. idk let’s just imagine he was an absolute freak in the sheets during this time, mans was topping charts & winning awards nobody could stop him
when boss!michael finds his overworked secretary stressed beyond relief because of a difficult call, he makes it his mission to cheer you up.
You had been patient, unbelievably patient.
You’d answered every question, repeated every explanation, and offered every possible solution. Yet none of it seemed to matter. The man on the other end of the call only became more insistent, his voice rising with every sentence until it filled your ear like a relentless storm.
He talked over you whenever you tried to speak, dismissing every attempt at compromise. His frustration had long since curdled into anger, and each sharp word felt like another strike against the fragile restraint you were desperately trying to maintain.
It was as if he had found the last remaining thread of your patience and was pulling on it with both hands, testing how much pressure it could withstand before finally giving way. And with every passing second, you could feel that thread growing thinner.
You stood behind your desk, one hand pressed lightly to the edge of it while the other held the receiver.
“I understand.” You said carefully. “I really do, but his schedule today is completely booked. We can look at tomorrow afternoon or possibly—“
“No.” The man interrupted. His voice coming through loud enough that that you pulled the phone slightly away from your ear.
“It can’t be moved. This is a brand requirement. We already confirmed this. We need him today or the entire campaign loses momentum.”
You closed your eyes for a brief second, massaging your temples.
“I hear you.” You replied, softer. “But I’m trying to explain there are multiple commitments already set in place. If we adjust one thing, it affects—“
“I dont give a damn what it affects,” he snapped. “This is business. Do you understand how endorsements work? We don’t reschedule when it’s inconvenient!”
Your grip tightened slightly on the phone.
“I’m not saying it’s inconvenient,” You said, forcing a calm tone. “I’m saying it’s not available.”
The man scoffed.
“You people make everything difficult.”
You paused.
“I’m trying to find a solution,” you said evenly. “But I need you to—“
“No, what I need you to do is your job.” He cut in. “Fix it.”
You exhaled slowly through your nose, glancing down at the papers on your desk as if they could ground you.
“I’m doing my job.” You say, “I’m trying to coordinate something that works for everyone involved.”
But he kept going. And this time, his voice raised sharper, more impatient. More demanding. And you were getting annoyed with every second that passed. He wasn’t listening, not pausing, not even giving you a second to respond.
Then the office door opened.
Michael Jackson stepped inside.
He was mid-step, about to speak when he locked eyes with you.
The shift in your expression stopped him immediately, his gaze moving from you, to the phone in your hand.
You noticed immediately, and you gave a small shake of your head, covering the mouthpiece more firmly.
“I’m sorry,” you mouthed. “It’s a situation.”
Michael didnt say anything at first, instead he simply walked closer. The man’s voice on the other line was still going, still escalating, still insisting, and you thought he honestly was just talking to hear himself.
You brought the telephone to your ear now, sighing.
“Sir—“
“Hey.” Michael said softly.
You looked up at him like you were holding together a dozen thoughts at once.
And Michael reached, taking the phone from your hand.
And he simply placed the telephone back in its holder, a loud beep sound echoing through the office.
Silence fell immediately.
You blinked at him, and for a second, you couldn’t even process what had just happened.
You then let out a long breath, the kind you’ve clearly been holding in for far too long.
“…thank you,” you said quietly, looking up at Michael.
“Yeah.” He said. “You look like you’ve had a long day.”
You gave a humorless laugh.
“That was one of the most frustrating people I’ve dealt with in a while,” you admitted. “He was being completely unreasonable. I mean, I was just trying to help him, and he just kept talking over me like I wasn’t even—“
You stopped, exhaling sharply.
“I swear he was an a-hole.” You added, more honestly now. “Like, full stop. Nothing I said mattered. He just wanted what he wanted.”
Michaels expression softened immediately.
He leaned one hand on the edge of your desk, and as you kept talking, still venting now that the pressure had been broken, he reached up to gently brush a few loose strands of hair away from your face.
You didn’t stop speaking.
Just kept going, voice loosening as the tension slowly drained out.
“And I don’t even understand how people think that’s okay,” you continued. “Like, did he hear himself? I’m literally trying to organize a full schedule and coordinate multiple departments and he’s acting like I can just snap my fingers and—“
Michael smiled faintly, nodding.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “That’s ridiculous.”
And when you finally paused to catch your breath, he shifted slightly, moving to settle both of his large palms against your waist, just anchoring in the moment so you could stop spinning in it.
“Mama,” he spoke softly.
You looked up at him with slightly furrowed eyebrows.
“How about you take a break?”
You blinked.
“I can’t really, I still have a couple of things I need to—“
Michael shook his head gently.
“No,” he said. “You can handle them later.”
A pause.
You looked up at him with a knowing look, a stubborn one, and he just smiled, leaning in to brush his nose softly against your cheek. He moved his lips to plant soft, gentle kisses from your jaw down your neck.
And you hated the way it made you melt.
You let out a soft exhale, your eyes fluttering as you in a very guilty way, tilted your head to the side, giving him more room.
“Michael—“
“We can go get food,” he interrupted, breath warm against your skin. “Go shopping, sit somewhere quiet,” he said. Then coming back up to meet your eyes. “Whatever you want, mama.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“It can be,” he replied.
You studied him for a moment, then sighed again, your lips forming into a faint smile. Less frustration, more acceptable.
“Thank you, Michael.” You said softly.
He hummed, his smile softening, biting his lower lip.
“No problem, baby.”
these flopped on tik tok lmao ISN’T HE JUST SO CUUUUTE ughhhh such boyfriend core 😣🤎
teach me michael jackson
michael jackson x f!reader ────୨ৎ──── ♡ wc: 2.3k
synopsis: you can't seem to get yourself off while michael's away on tour. so when he finally comes home, he decides to teach you himself (w/ the help of a mirror and a v hands-on lesson :p)
cw: smut, fingering (f!receiving), mirror sex (?), squirting, praise kink, teasing, size kink (lil tiny bit), dirty talk, hank kink, guided masturbation, established relationship, soft dom!michael, kinda nasty (oopsies)
the drapes of michael’s bedroom were drawn tight, sealing out the bright afternoon sun and leaving the space wrapped in a warm glow.
michael was finally home.
for months, he had belonged to the world, traveling from city to city, living out of hotel rooms that all blurred together, and spending night after night giving everything to the blinding stadium lights.

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his natural aegyo is just so astonishing and refreshing to see
credits to: @/tillugetenough
Michael Jackson, New York City, 2000,” previously unpublished outtake from Albert’s session with Michael for the “Invincible” album. 📷 Albert Watson (1942), Scottish
Somewhere On The Road
summary: It’s a quiet night on the tour bus when you and your usually shy, reluctant boyfriend steal an intensely intimate moment in the narrow, not-so-private space of the shared bus. The tension between you has been building for days, impossible to ignore in the stillness that follows the show 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅
warning: sexual themes, smut, 18+, established relationship, dryhumping (the holy grail), public/near-public sex, fluff, shy/reluctant michael duh
a/n: finally got around to writing something taking place on a tour bus lol, hope u enjoy my sweet angels ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✮⋆˙<3 also i wrote this on the bus on my way to work this week, trust the screen light was on the lowest setting lol
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In the wake of your boyfriend's latest album, a follow-up tour had been inevitable.
Michael had never liked touring much. The constant movement between cities, the lack of routine, the long stretches of time that blurred together backstage and on buses and in hotel rooms. Still, when he asked you to come with him, there hadn't been much hesitation in his voice. It was almost like begging on his part, though he tried not to frame it that way. He just wanted you there — on every drive between cities, every late night on the road. And maybe, though he wouldn't say it directly, something about you made it all feel more bearable. Less lonely.
It couldn't have come at a better time. With no real commitments and still figuring out what life was supposed to look like in your early twenties, you ended up joining him on tour — fresh off the success of Off the Wall.
Time stopped belonging entirely to you as the tour went on, cities passing by in a blur. Every day looked almost the same, like a loop — just different enough to not feel like ordinary life.
The Triumph Tour was technically his brothers' tour too. It was always introduced that way. But night after night the truth became harder to ignore: the hunger, the precision, the raw presence Michael brought to the stage pulled every eye in the arena toward him. The crowds screamed his name like a prayer.
There was such a stark difference between the man who commanded the stage and the quiet one you were pressed against now.
You had settled on the worn leather loveseat between his long legs, back resting lightly against his chest, playing cards with Marlon. The large tour bus carried its own rhythm — a steady hum beneath everything else, wheels rolling through late-night stretches of highway. Inside the slow-moving shelter of brushed metal, the air felt softer. Calmer.
The end of another show had left everyone in that loose wind-down state — half conversation, half silence. Some of the siblings were laughing near the back, playing video games, while others sat in low voices, recapping the concert in fragments.
You were still in your pajama set from after the shower — loose fabric patterned with small multicolored polka dots — layered beneath Michael's oversized knit sweater, the sleeves swallowing your hands. Your hair had been braided loosely, though strands had already begun to escape, soft curls framing your face again.
Behind you, Michael exhaled quietly, like he was trying not to make it obvious. His thoughts kept slipping anyway. He thought you looked so cute like this, all soft and cozy in his clothes. And from his view, the way those little shorts hugged you was almost enough to make him lose focus entirely.
He tried to listen through his headphones, pen moving loosely across the small notebook in his lap, jotting down fragments of ideas and melodies. But it wasn't easy. The way you were pressed against him, the sweet scent of your shampoo drifting up to him — it made it so hard to concentrate.
The lack of privacy had become difficult lately, made worse by the fact that you were both still deep in that early stage of infatuation. Keeping your hands off each other was more of a challenge than you'd realized. Michael was still quite shy and reserved about intimacy, with almost no experience. Yet after shows, when the post-show adrenaline left him glowing, you would catch that quiet hunger in his eyes.
You shifted slightly, adjusting your position as you leaned forward to draw another card.
Marlon let out a small laugh across from you. "You're concentrating way too hard for someone who keeps losing."
"I am not losing," you said immediately, narrowing your eyes as you placed a card down.
"You literally just did," he replied, pointing at the pile.
You scoffed. "That was strategy."
"Sure," Marlon said, leaning back with a grin. "Strategic losing. Very advanced technique."
You rolled your eyes, suppressing a laugh as you shifted again, this time settling more comfortably against Michael without thinking. The movement was small, almost automatic — but it pressed your ass more firmly back against him.
Behind you, Michael went very still. His pen paused mid-line. You felt the subtle tightening of his thighs on either side of you, the way his free hand instinctively settled on your hip.
Marlon didn't notice. He was still shuffling the cards, amused.
"You're just mad because I'm right," he added.
"I'm not mad," you said, half-smiling as you reached for another card.
"Mm," Marlon hummed, unconvinced.
You let out a quiet laugh under your breath, shaking your head. Behind you, Michael finally exhaled again — slower this time, almost shaky. His hand stayed on your hip, fingers pressing just a little tighter into the soft fabric of his sweater. You could feel him growing harder against you, warm and insistent, even as he tried desperately to keep his breathing even.
The contrast made your chest ache with tenderness: the same man who commanded arenas full of screaming fans was trembling behind you now, shy and overwhelmed by something as simple as your body nestled between his legs.
The game continued on like that for a few more minutes, the quiet goodnights gradually spreading through the bus as the rest of the brothers retired to their bunks. Soon only you, Michael, and Marlon remained.
You stayed nestled between Michael's legs, letting the low conversation and the steady rumble of the road fill the space. Every small shift of your body seemed to echo through him. His hand never left your hip. The warmth of him pressing against you only grew more insistent, more difficult to ignore. A slow, warm ache had begun to pool between your own thighs. And when the bus hit a bump, jostling you lightly but a little harder than before against him, whatever focus Michael had managed to hold onto finally slipped.
His voice finally came, barely more than a breath against your ear.
"Angel…" he whispered, voice low and hoarse, shy and reluctant even as his hand stayed on your hip, holding you a little tighter.
You turned your head just enough to glance at him, a soft, innocent expression on your face. "Hmmm? Did you say something, Mikey?"
Before he could answer, Marlon let out a long yawn and tossed his cards onto the table.
"Alright, I'm done," he said, stretching his arms above his head. "I'm retiring for the night before I get accused of cheating again." He shot you a playful grin as he stood. "You two behave yourselves back here."
Marlon gave a lazy wave and disappeared behind the thin door that led to the bunk area, his footsteps fading until only the steady rumble of the bus engine remained.
And then it was just the two of you.
You didn't move at first, letting the quiet settle between you. The fragile privacy felt both thrilling and terrifying. Only the low rumble of the bus and the faint sway of the highway. Then, after a long breath, you slowly turned in his lap.
It wasn't graceful or hurried. You shifted carefully, one knee sliding across his thigh until you were facing him fully, straddling his lap. The movement pressed you intimately against the hard line of him, and you heard the way his breath caught sharply in his throat.
Now chest to chest, you were close enough to see every detail — the rapid flutter of his lashes, the deep flush blooming across his cheeks, the nervous hunger swirling in those dark fawn eyes. Your hands rose gently to cradle the sides of his face, thumbs brushing over the burning warmth of his skin.
Michael looked up at you like you were the embodiment of both his salvation and sin.
You leaned in and kissed him, slow and lingering. He melted almost instantly, a quiet sigh trembling against your lips, but you could still feel the nervous tension humming through his body. His hands settled hesitantly at your waist, unsure whether to pull you closer or push you away.
Without breaking the kiss, you rolled your hips in one long, deliberate grind, pressing your warmth against his hardness. The friction dragged a muffled, broken sound from deep in his throat — something between a whimper and a moan that he tried desperately to swallow.
You pulled back just enough to whisper against his mouth, voice soft and teasing.
"Shh… You have to be quiet for me, baby."
Another slow grind. Then another. You savored the way he throbbed against you with every roll of your hips, the way his fingers tightened on your waist like he was barely holding himself together.
He finally broke the kiss, pressing his forehead to yours. His eyes were squeezed shut, lashes trembling, cheeks burning even darker in the dim light.
"Angel…" he whispered, voice hoarse and barely audible over the engine. "We shouldn't… not here. My brothers are right there… anyone could walk in."
The words were weak, almost pleading. Because even as he said them, his hips twitched upward, instinctively seeking more of you. When you took his hands and guided them lower, sliding them beneath the oversized sweater to cup your ass, he squeezed with a quiet, helpless groan.
You could feel his pulse racing through his fingertips. Your sweet, shy boyfriend — still so innocent, still carrying so much guilt — was unraveling right beneath you after days of careful restraint.
You brushed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, then along his jaw.
"No one's coming out here, Mikey," you murmured, low and coaxing as you rolled your hips again, slower and deeper this time. "Just have to be quiet for me… Can you do that?"
A soft, broken whimper escaped him. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, curls tickling your skin as he nodded — reluctant, ashamed, and completely helpless to the pull you had on him.
Your lips brushed his ear.
"Don't think, baby… Just feel me. I need you so badly."
That seemed to finally break him.
His hands grew bolder, sliding up under your sweater and camisole until his warm palms cupped your bare breasts. He touched you with that same reverent hesitation, thumbs brushing over your nipples with such gentle awe it made your breath catch.
He kissed you again — deeper, hungrier — trying to muffle his sounds against your tongue. You reached between your bodies, easing his pants down just enough to free him. He was achingly hard, flushed and leaking, and the sight of him made heat pool low in your belly.
You stroked him slowly, lovingly, earning another quiet whimper.
"So hard for me already…" you whispered, a teasing smile in your voice. "You've been so good, holding back all this time. Such a good boy, Mikey."
The praise made him twitch hard in your hand. He bit his lip, eyes glassy with both embarrassment and overwhelming desire.
You began stroking him with slow, deliberate movements, your hand barely able to wrap around his length as your thumb brushed tenderly over the sensitive tip. Michael's breath hitched sharply. His hand flew up to cover his mouth, fingers pressing tight as if he could physically hold back the sounds rising in his throat. The sheer risk of it all — being touched so intimately here, on the worn loveseat while the bus carried his sleeping brothers just beyond the thin door — sent a dizzying wave of shame and thrill through him.
He was already trembling, dangerously close after so many days of quiet longing.
As the steady rhythm continued, he suddenly caught your wrist, his grip gentle but urgent.
"Fuck," he whispered, the word so soft and foreign on his tongue.
You paused, surprised by the rare curse. It sent a warm flutter through your chest and lower still.
"A-angel… please," he breathed, voice barely audible over the low rumble of the engine. "You have to stop. I—I don't want to finish like this."
You tilted your head, eyes soft in the dim light. "What do you want, baby?"
He looked away, cheeks burning beneath the flush that refused to fade. His hand covered half his face as he struggled with the words.
"I want to finish inside you."
The quiet confession settled between you like something sacred and forbidden.
You leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear.
"You're so dirty tonight, Michael… saying things like that when we're not even truly alone."
A shaky exhale left him. Before he could reply, you shifted, sliding your shorts and panties aside. You took his hand and guided it between your thighs, letting his fingers meet the slick warmth of your arousal.
His lashes fluttered. "Oh my God," he whispered, voice cracking with reverence. "You're so wet… and warm."
"All for you," you murmured, pressing a kiss to his temple. "Only you make me feel this way."
You brought his glistening fingers to your lips and slowly, lovingly licked them clean, never breaking eye contact. A low, helpless moan escaped him — louder than either of you expected. You smiled softly and pressed a finger to his lips.
"Shhh…"
You rose slightly, hovering above him, heart beating in time with the steady hum of the highway beneath you.
"You've been so good for me these past few days," you whispered. "So patient. Let's put some of that after-show energy to better use."
Then you sank down onto him in one slow, continuous motion.
The stretch, the overwhelming closeness, the quiet intimacy of it all drew a strangled sound from deep in Michael's chest. He buried his face instantly in the crook of your neck, biting gently into the soft knit of his own sweater to muffle the noise. His arms wrapped tightly around you, one hand splayed across your back, the other gripping your hip as though you were the only steady thing in his world.
For a long moment, neither of you moved — only breathed together as the bus hummed onward through the night, its gentle vibrations traveling through your joined bodies like a secret pulse.
When you finally began to move, it was slow and deep. Rolling grinds at first, savoring every inch, then gradually building into a tender rhythm. Michael met your movements with small, desperate rocks of his hips, his face remaining hidden against your shoulder, curls damp against your skin. Broken, whispered praises slipped from his lips between shaky breaths.
"You feel… so warm… so perfect…"
His hand slipped between your bodies, thumb finding your clit with shy reverence. Despite his inexperience, there was something remarkably natural about the way he touched you. Not skilled in the conventional sense, but guided by instinct — as though the language of pleasure lived somewhere deep within him, waiting to be discovered. Every touch carried a quiet devotion, yet somehow he always seemed to know exactly what you needed, reading each reaction as it came.
Soft, breathy sounds escaped you, quiet enough to blend with the low drone of the engine.
He was trembling beneath you, fighting so hard to stay quiet, but you could feel how close he already was — every twitch, every stutter of his breath.
You leaned close, lips brushing his ear, voice barely more than a sigh.
"Feels so good, Mikey… Please, baby. I need you to come deep inside me."
The words seemed to unravel him completely.
Michael's arms tightened around you. His hands slid down to grip your hips with sudden, desperate strength, and he began thrusting up into you with more urgency. Each stroke was deep and instinctive, brushing against that perfect spot inside you again and again. The pleasure built fast and overwhelming. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, your soft moans and panting breaths muffled against his warm skin.
He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes in the dim light. His own were glassy, dark, and full of desperate adoration.
"I want you to come around me, angel… please," he whispered, voice hoarse and trembling. "Please… I need you to."
The eye contact, the raw need in his voice, the way he kept moving inside you — it was too much. The tension coiled tighter and tighter until it finally snapped. You came with a soft, shuddering sigh, clenching around him as stars bloomed behind your eyes. Your forehead pressed against his, breaths mingling in the small space between you.
Michael followed right behind you. His whole body went rigid, a muffled, broken moan vibrating against your shoulder as he spilled deep inside you. The sensation of him pulsing and filling you drew another quiet whimper from your throat.
For a long moment afterward, the world narrowed down to just the two of you and the low, endless drone of the bus rolling through the night. You stayed joined, breathing each other in. Michael's arms remained wrapped tightly around you, one hand gently stroking up and down your back in soothing patterns. His cheeks were flushed deep red, and you could feel the shy embarrassment slowly creeping back in now that the haze of pleasure was fading.
"I can't believe we just did that… here," he whispered, pressing a soft, apologetic kiss to the spot on your shoulder where he'd bitten down earlier. Still, a small, dazed smile played on his lips. "You make me lose my mind, angel."
The words came out with a breathless little laugh. His cheeks were still flushed as he looked at you.
"I love you more than anything, you know that?"
You pulled back just enough to look at him, smiling like a lovesick fool. You brushed a damp curl away from his forehead and kissed him sweetly.
"I love you, handsome."
A fresh blush bloomed across his face.
You stayed like that for a while, trading lazy kisses, the gentle rocking of the bus beneath you. Eventually you grinned softly, leaning in to kiss him deeper, rolling your hips in a slow, teasing circle that pulled a quiet, helpless whimper from his throat.
His eyes fluttered, still half-lidded with lingering pleasure.
"Maybe we can go again…" you whispered against his lips, voice playful and warm. "Just one more time. You can be good and quiet for me again, can't you, Mikey?"
Michael let out a shaky little laugh that melted into a soft moan as you moved once more. His head fell back against the loveseat, eyes shining with complete devotion and a touch of disbelief.
"Lord help me," he breathed, voice trembling with both embarrassment and love. "I can't say no to you."
You smiled against his mouth.
"I know you can't, sweetheart."
The highway stretched on through the dark, carrying your secret safely through the night, while Michael—sweet, shy, and helplessly in love—gave himself over to you all over again.
the jacksons in switzerland, 1975 ❤︎ ̥˚

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February 28, 1984: Michael Jackson is the first ever artist to be awarded eight Grammy awards for a single album ♚
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