warnings: manipulative!bsf reader, very experienced!reader, inexperienced!michael, praising, whiny mike, unprotected sex, religious guilt, possessive and obsessive reader, slight breeding kink from reader, slight face slapping, just overall messy!
notes: black fem reader! i always write for black women <3
‘this is wrong. all of this is wrong.’ you’re now sitting on michael’s lap, slowly grinding on his growing bulge, your wet panties and his now stained jeans from your arousal, acting as a barrier between you two from anything further as you’re hungrily making out with a nervous and pent up michael.
pushing himself from your hungry lips, he speaks, “y’know, w-we shouldn’t—”
“c’mon, mike. friends so this all the time, and you’re my friend, right? my best friend as a matter of fact. don’t you trust me, do you want me to help you out, hm?”
michael bit the inside of he cheek like he’s thinking of an answer to give you, which he has nothing to think of. he always gives in to you, that’s a known fact. he absolutely loathes making you upset. he gets physically ill knowing that his best friend since birth is mad at him for something he did.
“i-i do trust you, [name]. l-like this is an intimate moment for lovers. we ain’t lovers, we’re friends. a-and you’re not my girlfriend.” he stated while looking everywhere else but your eyes. you squished his cheeks to turn him to face you, his eyes widening at the change of your demeanor.
“if you’re gonna say something like that, at least look me in the eyes while you do so, okay?” michael felt so ashamed at how turned on he gets whenever you have an ounce of authority in your tone. lewd thoughts fills his head every time whenever you tell him to do something, could be simple like “look at me when you’re talking, baby.” it’s a sin. a god forbidden sin.
michael gulps, feeling himself twitch in his tight jeans as you give him an order, how embarrassing. “ ‘m so sorry.” was all he can say, his head lowering towards your breasts to hide from the slight humiliation he just faced.
“so, you rather have a random girl show you what to do than your own best friend you’ve know for years? wow, michael. sounds like you got a lil’ mouth on you too.” you tsk at his words, his grip on your waist getting tighter as you try to wiggle free.
“n-no, please. trust you so much. i want you, not a random girl, mama. please.” he whines and starts thrusting a bit into you.
“m’kay, baby. i’ll let you off the hook since this is your first time. next time, i won’t be so soft.” “you wink before getting off of his lap and sinking down to between his legs, knees digging into the carpet.
his eyes grew big as he looks at the beautiful and sinful sight in front of him. “please lord forgive for the sinful acts i’m gon’ commit.” he breathes out as you palm his painful bulge. “look at me, baby.” he looks down and sees you smiling, the most innocent smile ever.
“can’t wait to put this cock into my mouth. i bet you’ll love that, wouldn’t you? seeing your best friend stuff her mouth full with your cock?” michael grunts at your vulgar language, “s-such dirty words comin’ from that pretty mouth, mama.”
you unzipped his jeans and free himself from his tight pants that was causing to thrash around to get some sort of relief. pumping him a few times before kitty licking the tip which oozed pre cum. michael threw his head back, he cannot see the dirty sight that’s unraveling in front of him.
“look at me ‘fore i stop.” you slowed your hand down that’s wrapped around his girth. his head snapped towards you, “please. ‘m sorry-” he choked on his words as your mouth sunk down onto this cock.
“o-oh lord, please.” you began to go a little faster, hands on both of his thighs to prevent him from closing them around your head. michael’s hands flew to his hair, so dazed out that he doesn’t know what to do with wondering hands.
michael gazed down to the sight. your teary eyes, spit cascading down your chin to your throat and between the valley of your breasts. ‘oh lord, i’m going to hell for this ain’t i?’
his legs begin to shake as he feels a warm sensation in the pit of his stomach. “w-wait, i’m gonna make a mess. please-” you let up with a ‘pop’ and smiled at him with salvia covering your mouth and chin.
“this is so dirty. you’re so dirty.” michael breathed out, watching you take off your mini skirt. “yeah? i’m dirty? well, we’re gonna see how dirty you get once you finally feel some pussy.” you hover over his twitching cock, easing yourself onto him. soft moans fill the air as you fully sink down onto the flustered man.
“fuck— ‘m so full, mikey. fillin’ me up so well.” michael looks at you with tear filled eyes. he didn’t know it would feel this good, so good that he makes him cry.
“o-oh please, mama. feels so so good, when you bounce like t-that.” he looks up at you towering over him like he’s your prey.
“w-with me around, you wouldn’t need a girlfriend, b-baby. only me. you’re mine.” you slapped him lightly, catching him off guard, “t-tell me who i belong to michael. t-this is your pussy, yeah.”
michael shakes his head, too immersed at how good you feel wrapped around his cock. so nice and so warm, he could stay inside of you forever. “y-you belong to me— ah— you f-feel so nice, mama.”
holding your balance by using the arms of the loveseat, you begin to bounce slightly faster and harder.
“you’re mine, m-michael. always will be mine. you gon’ fill this pussy up to prove me, hm? make your best happy, be a good boy for me, angel.” michael feels that familiar warm pool in his stomach. before he could push you away, you locked onto him, making his eyes become big like saucers.
“n-no mike, inside me. cum inside me, want to carry your baby.” this sends michael over the edge. eyes blurry from the stinging tears, drool flowing down the corner of his mouth.
“b-but i’ll get y-you pregnant like this, we c-can’t.” michael couldn’t fight you off, it was so useless. “oh, baby i’m gonna cum. please cum with me, fuck.”
michael’s eyes screwed shut as he feels his warm seed shooting into you. he opens his eyes and looks down at the white ring that formed around the base of his cock.
“mike, i’m kinda feelin’ for round two.”
“oh lord.”
this is like my second time writing smut lol but i hope y’all enjoyed, since this was kinda rushed but i will write more in the future hopefully (more detailed btw i am a very busy woman, sadly. so updates will be slow.)
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soft dom Mikey who is gentle with his touches, but super strict and firm with his words, HEAR ME OUT😫 I would love to see some dry humping with edging, like every time he feels your orgasm approaching his hands firmly grab your hips and stop the grinding on his clothed dick🤌🏻 And then once he lets you cum you’re suddenly not allowed to stop anymore and sends you into overstimulation, hihi🫢
Let me know if you can make that work baby, I love youuuuuu😙
-Baby
ummm so i kind of got carried away and took firm with his words and ran with it… sorry babe 😣 but i hope you enjoy HAHA i love you more!!!!!
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main page | masterlist
pairing: mature!michael x fem!reader
summary: you’re lucky enough to accompany michael at a gala in london, which you’re very excited about. unfortunately, he rarely spends time with you this evening causing you to act out childishly. on the way home, you do not intend on speaking with him however it is just your luck that the two of you get stuck in traffic. michael takes it upon himself to fix your attitude.
warnings: brat taming, dom!michael, slapping, overstimulation, forced proximity, vouyerism (if you squint), edging, calling michael sir, “baby” “princess” and “good girl” as petnames, literally fucks you till you cant walk, aftercare, teasing michael, embarrassment/ humiliation kink, dick riding, dry humping, size difference, super sweet michael at the end i promise, not proofread…
word count: 3k
requests: open 😚
tonight had been less delightful than you imagined. attending your first event with your boyfriend was supposed to be exciting, you didn’t mind appearing as a little accessory- you were standing next to the king of pop all night, or you would’ve been. michael spent the evening tending to other guests, he practically ignored you. you knew this was a great business opportunity for him, getting to meet very valuable people and whatnot, but you did not expect michael to not even introduce you to anyone. you spent the evening sipping champagne and people watching, michael not even glancing in your direction.
michael only remembered your existence, or so it felt like, once the event came to an end. he walked over to you, with an innocent smile that’d make any girl faint- but you were not having it.
“hi baby,” he placed a hand on your wrist, “are you ready to leave?”
you sharply nodded, body stiffening at his touch. as you rose and fixed your dress, you didn’t even look back at him. his brows furrowed in confusion as you strutted to the elevator, and he followed with long steps. you tightly held your clutch between your forearm and upper torso, pressing the downstairs dial on the elevator once… then twice… then a third
“baby,” he smiled in confusion, “are you okay?”
the silver doors opened, and you walked forward with crossed arms. michaels growing concern became apparent on his face, a slight frown forming. he pressed the lobby button, and turned back to look at you. you refused to meet his eyes, your focus stuck on the exit of the elevator.
“baby,” he fully turned around and walked towards you, “did i do something wrong?”
you raised your eyebrows and finally looked at his… it almost made you feel bad. almost.
the elevator graciously opened, and you strutted down the dimly lit lobby area. thankfully, the chauffeur was waiting immediately outside the building. michael held the door open for you and slid in next to you.
“princess,” michael broke the awkward seconds of silence and desperately turned his head to yours, “can we talk?”
“what about,” your body still rigid.
“what did i do to make you upset?”
you scoffed and rolled your eyes to the window. you’d rather stay the whole car ride in silence than talk to him about his lack of hospitality.
blaring lights and sirens were soon heard outside, accompanied by the subtle stop of the car. looking out the window, you noticed there was an accident about a mile down which caused you and many other cars the inability to movie. you facepalmed and thought that it was absolutely unbelievable that this would happen tonight of all nights. michael, the opportunist, raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips together.
“well,” he said under his breath, followed by a sign of annoyance from you.
“well?”
you, finally, looked over at him, “let’s talk.”
“so you don’t like the silent treatment now, do you?”
he scrunched his brows and you watched as be put the pieces together, relaxing his face once he realized.
“i wasn’t giving you the silent treatment, i was busy baby,” he explained.
you shook your head, “okay michael.”
he raised his brow at the name, “michael?”
your nostrils flared when you met his gaze, “michael.”
the car moved only a few feet forward before reaching a stop once more. he nodded. typically, michael could handle your attitude- but he didn’t have to invite you tonight. your boyfriend distanced his legs apart, and patted his thigh, “come here.”
“no.”
he grabbed your wrist like before, except now it was more firm and that caused you to widen your eyes- feeling smaller, “come, baby.”
reluctantly, you complied and looked down, ashamed at your failure to stand your ground.
“do you remember when i invited you to accompany me tonight,” his voice was almost condescending.
you nodded as placed circles into your waist with his thumb.
“that i said i was going to be busy,” you nodded again, that i’m here for work.”
“yes.”
“yes who,” he turned your head towards his.
your eyes focused on the buttons of his shirt, “yes, sir.”
“mhm, good girl... so, why did you expect me to entertain you?”
you shook your head.
he raised one brow, “no?”
“no…” you replied weakly.
his hand reached to your thigh, stroking your tender skin with his slender fingers, “so now we’re lying, baby?”
you stood silent.
“come on top of me.”
you hesitated, staring at him with a look of uncertainty.
“come, baby,” he patted your thigh with encouragement.
you complied and you held on to his shoulders for support, fingers grazing the coat of the backseat. the soft lights of the limousine illuminated the beautiful sequins on the short dress that now pooled between your michaels thighs. his hands shifted to tenderly hold your waist.
“move.”
“what?”
“your hips,” he squeezed the flesh on your side, which sent shivers down your spine.
“why,” your tone containing more attitude than you meant- you bit your lip as if you could take it back.
he took a deep breath in, trying to relax himself, “because i said so,” his tone was sharp.
shyly, you began to grind your clothed cunt onto his growing erection. a breathy sigh escaped your lips as you focused on the fabric of your off-white dress.
“let’s have a conversation, yeah, baby?”
“mm,” you nodded, only thinking about the heat arising in your core, “okay..”
“two weeks ago i told you about this event,” letting out a sigh when you grazed the head of his twitching length, “yeah?”
you nodded, but he lifted your head to his with a gentle finger, “look at me when i speak to you.”
you bit your lip back, timid at the vulnerable state you were in.
“and use your words,” he commanded before starting again, “‘n i told you that i got invited to this big gala?”
“yes,” your lips quivered as you picked up your pace. the slightest embarrassment creeping up on you as the eye contact turned you on, your eyebrows raised in pleasure.
“yeah?”
“mhm,” you nodded frantically, your orgasm reaching you sooner than you thought. truthfully, michael was always busy and any bit of his touch made you sensitive- no matter how bratty you could be, no matter how much you denied it.
“yeah, baby? remember?”
“yes-,” your movements became more dramatic and your breath was heavy, “yes!”
you jumped at the sudden firm grip as michael held your hips in place, soon whining in desperation- though the not-long-lasting movement of the car allowed you to feel a sudden rush of pleasure.
“what d’ya remember,” his thumb caressed your lower back.
you were hoping for him to let you off easy, but he was not.
you pouted, “the gala…,” your voice trailed off. you were too focused on the hot sensation between your legs.
he smacked your face, and your body jolted up, lifting your hand to your cheek to sooth the pain. he removed your hand, replacing it with his own. his touch was soft on your smooth skin, you’d never guessed it was the same hand that left red marks on your ass every now and then.
“we’re having a conversation baby,” he slid his hand back down to your waist, “i listen to you when you speak. i expect the same respect, okay, baby?”
you pouted and nodded.
“words,” he reminded you.
“yes sir.”
he smiled, and lightly slapped your ass to encourage you to resume your movement.
“now listen to me,” his tone parental yet soft, “the conversation we had about the gala.”
you nodded, “yes,” gasping at the familiar feeling while you moved into his aching cock. he groaned at the sensation.
“i told you that it was a work trip, that you could come to london with me, and i told you that if you did attend this gala i would be very busy.”
you nodded at each statement, every one was true after all; your movements stilled with shame.
“i know baby,” he caressed your face as he involuntarily bucked his hips into you.
“mmm, michael,” you cried out, tossing your head back as he hit your sensitive spot.
“i know baby, i told you these things.”
“m sorry,” your movements picked up once more- conflicted by the feelings of shame and pleasure, though you knew you needed to chase that high.
“fuck,” michael exhaled sharply, “so, if i told you all of these things, why would you act out tonight?”
your fingers shifted into his soft hair, clinging onto him, and your elbows pressed into the leather seats.
“‘d’know mikey,” you sniffled into his neck. michaels arms wrapped around your back, caressing your sensitive body.
“you don’t know,” his voice returning to that condescending tone and you shook your head pathetically.
“m sorry,” you whined muffled by his body.
“sorry?”
you nodded, desperate not only for your orgasm, but for him to forgive you. michael let you use him until he noticed your release becoming closer once more. he glided his hands to your rocking hips, and after a few seconds held your sensitive body in place. your clothed cunt was dripping in desperation, you could almost cry. your body twitched as the now-moving car allowed you to get the slightest bit of relief.
“you know why you acted out,” he pulled you back, taking in your glistening eyes. the sight was nearly enough to make him feel sorry for you, but he didn’t.
you fiddled with the buttons on his top, shaking your head, michael ran a hand down the open back of your dress to stroke your tender body.
“tell me,” he prompted.
“i said i don’t know, mikey…”
“because you’re a brat,” the words came of his mouth as sharp as a knife. you pouted. it was the truth, though it hurt your feelings. you shook your head, trying to shake it off.
“say it,” his fingers still skating across your spine.
“‘m a brat,” mumbling beneath your breath.
his free hand slid a graceful finger along your side, grazing your neck before sliding to your chin and slowly raising your head to meet his dark gaze.
“didn’t hear you.”
you looked into his eyes, “‘m a brat,” slightly cringing at the embarrassment, at your own actions.
michael smiled, pleased with your tone. both hands met your waist and began to move you onto his throbbing cock. the idea of his erection alone was enough to make you cum, the mixture of eye contact and the moving vehicle sent you through the roof. the car. he bucked his hips into you repeatedly, the two of you could probably drive the car like this. it wasn’t long before you felt your orgasm arise again, your toes curling in your heals. your breathing was rhythmic, in tune with each other.
“mikey.. mm,” you whine at the stimulation, pleading.
“yes,” his heart practically beating out of his chest, “yes, baby?”
“need..” you squeezed your thighs around his waist as if it put him inside of you, clawing at his abdomen.
in seconds michael unbuttoned his pants and released his throbbing cock, you winced at his size. he snuck his hands beneath your sequined dress and pushed your panties to the side. you lifted your hips while michael aligned with your entrance, and just within barely pushing in the tip tears streamed down your face. michael kissed the tears down your cheek while you inched down onto him. you’ve never taken michaels cock without being stretched out before, this sensation was new. it hurt but it felt euphoric.
“michael!” the car came to a sharp stop- causing you to fall onto his dick entirely, “oh my fucking god,” you whined in pain.
gripping onto his shoulders support, michael kissed your neck with his soft lip, holding back his pleasure in an attempt to soothe you.
“fuck,” he whimpered beneath you, “y’okay baby?”
you hiccuped, “think so..”
you began to slide on top of him, your clit grazing the fabric of his shirt.
“ah, mikey,” you gripped his collar, “feels good-“
he swiped a finger against your clit, causing you to cry out his name. you furrowed your brows, the aching sensation you’ve been reaching for finally coming back. you were a stammering mess.
michael noticed the way you clamped down on his thick cock, “mm, needa cum, sweet girl?”
you desperately nodded in response, biting your lip back.
“go ahead,” he exhaled as he felt you release.
“michael, my god,” you sobbed, “so good.”
“mmhm,” he groaned, “s’it baby,” caressing the nape of your neck. at the same time, he released inside of you, you winced at the overstimulation.
you tried to catch your breath, but within only a few moments he began to move you up and down on his, still, throbbing cock. your hands turned to your fists and clasped your chest, twitching.
“mikey- what’r you,” you moaned, unable to finish your sentence as he deeply stroked your insides. your eyes squeezed shut, you couldn’t even think of any other word other than michael.
“teaching you a lesson.”
michael repeatedly lifted you up and down his length with deep strokes that you were sure reached your cervix.
“ahh- mike, miike,” you looked down at him with tears rushing down your face, your mascara smudged as he wiped your tears. he whispered encouragement beneath his breath as you were forced to endure every single inch of him.
your thighs twitched, feeling your orgasm once again. you whimpered, overtaken by the pleasure that consumed your trembling body.
“again,” he commanded.
“can’t,” you shook your head profusely.
he slowly lowered you down onto him, which made led to a long string of embarrassing sounds out of your mouth. as you clenched around his cock again, he bucked his hips further into you.
“mikey, fuck, mike,” you dug your nails into the leather of the seat beside you, arching your back- trying to escape.
he placed kisses onto the skin of your collarbone as you rode out your second orgasm, “s’too much?” he teased.
you fell onto him again, his cock twitching inside you. he rubbed his hand up and down your back, which allowed you to finally relax into him. your body occasionally twitched while soft whimpers escaped you. your eyes fluttered shut, michael kissed your neck soothingly, reminiscent of a lullaby.
you weren’t sure how much time had passed, you just felt a soft tap on your back. you hummed awake, noticing the lit up hotel before you.
“time to get up baby,” he whispered into your ear before placing a soft kiss there.
“mmm,” you sighed, and when you moved you were reminded of the stimulation of his cock inside of you. you placed your hand to your mouth, and he lowly laughed at your reaction.
“you okay baby?” he dragged his finger along your arm.
your eyes still blinked open, and you nodded softly. michael helped you climb over him and you held him for support- holding back your whines.
“‘m sorry for being a brat,” you sleepily mumbled. you dragged your right leg over his lap, returning to your original position. you wiped your eyes and looked up at him. michael readjusted himself before responding, pushing your messy hair behind your ear.
“oh baby,” he frowned, “you know i love you, right?”
“mhm… ‘n im sorry.”
he placed a tender kiss on your plush lips, “‘s okay baby.”
your body fell weak, leaning onto him.
“we gotta get you inside baby,” he smiled at your sleepy disposition.
“mm.. i look crazy…”
“you look beautiful, princess.”
you weakly smiled at him.
“mr. jackson,” the driver called out, “are you ready to leave?”
“yes, thank you,” he responded sweetly, “let’s go baby,” michael pressed his sunglasses onto you- to hide the mascara smudged around your eyes.
michael climbed out the car upon the chauffeur opening the door, he reached out for your hand. you took it, and struggled to stay upright. you clasped onto his arm for help.
“woah, woah,” michael reached out to you with his other arm.
you looked up at him, your legs were insanely weak- the pain didn’t kick in until this moment. you dropped back into the seat of the car, failing to hold yourself up.
“hurts, mikey…”
he frowned, “i’m sorry baby,” biting his lip back in remorse. he wished that he was more gentle with you.
micheal lifted you up bridal style and you latched onto him, he took you up to the 7th floor of the exclusive hotel you two were staying at. with the traffic and the already far distance of the gala, it was extremely late.
when he made it to the room, he laid you down onto the cushiony mattress of your shared bed and changed your clothes. he gave you a sweatshirt of his and pink pajama pants. it was far too late for a shower, and he just wanted to take care of you.
within a few minutes, michael joined you on the bed wearing a matching set of pajamas, but only the pants. he placed a kiss onto your nose as you drifted of to sleep.
summary: reader made michael jealous. it backfired. now it’s frontfiring. that’s it. that’s the plot.
word count: 1312
content warning: mdni. this one is dirty. oral sex. lots of begging and pleading. reader is pathetic but who’s shocked? and…that’s all. really just M having a wholesome little snack :)
author’s note: okay, here’s a treat for you. please accept this as my sincere apology for princess chapter seven. ♡
lmk if this proves i can still write smut or if i should just pack it up and write exclusively fluff. actually… don’t. you might hurt my feelings.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
Michael’s car was not a car.
It was a luxury limousine, and the driver put the partition up the moment you got in, like he already knew what was about to happen.
You were too preoccupied to be embarrassed about that.
When he finally came outside, your heart leapt into your throat. Then he opened the door, casual as can be, and sat across from you.
You were genuinely about to spin out.
This man wouldn’t even sit across from you in the club, and now that you’d confessed to him how desperate you were for him, it was like he was trying to keep as much space between the two of you as humanly possible.
“What are you—”
Michael shook his head, taking his sunglasses off and putting them back in the inside pocket of his jacket.
“We’re gonna talk about this first, honey.”
Talk. Talk? All you’d done for months was talk. You were sick to death of talking.
“What could we possibly have to talk about? I swear to God, if you don’t stop stringing me along, I’ll—”
“I’m not stringin’ you along. I’ve been tryin’ to do this right.” He said calmly, not matching your hysterical energy at all.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I was goin’ slow, because the last thing I need is people sayin’ that I’m takin’ advantage of a little girl.”
“I’m not a little girl. I’m a grown woman.”
“I know that, honey, but you’re half my age.”
“I am not half your age. You’re forty ei—”
“You know what I was doin’ the year you were born? Gettin' ready to release Thriller.”
You opened your mouth to respond, but then he slipped out of the seat and got on his knees in front of you, and your entire vocabulary flew out the window, hit the street, and got run over by a bus.
Because what the fuck do you mean, Michael Jackson was kneeling for you?
“I just needed to make sure y’knew what you were gettin’ into.” He murmured, putting his hands on your thighs.
“I do.” You whispered. Whimpered? You weren’t really sure.
“I know.” He nodded. “I believe you now.”
Then he dipped his head and kissed your thigh, right on top of the tattoo that he was so fixated on.
It was a gentle kiss, light as a feather, so barely-there that you wouldn’t have believed it if you hadn’t seen it with your own eyes.
“Oh my God.”
He glanced up at you like he was making sure this was okay, and you nodded so fast you almost gave yourself whiplash.
“You look so pretty tonight.” He traced the letters on your leg one at a time, the drag of his finger agonizingly slow. “And I jus’ had to sit there and watch you showin’ this off for everybody else. Do y’know how hard that was for me?”
Hopefully that was a rhetorical question.
“It was mean, honey. That’s not the sweet girl I remember standin’ up for me the first night we met.” He started tracing the next word.
“I’m sorry.” Tears began to prick at your eyes—tears of frustration, desperation, and sincere remorse.
Michael looked sympathetic.
“I know y’didn’t mean it. Did you?” He kissed your other thigh.
“No.”
“Y’just wanted a little attention, right?”
“Yes, Michael. I’m sorry. Please.”
You were white-knuckling the leather seat, doing your damndest not to squirm, but he was so close to where you needed him and still giving you almost nothing at all.
“I’m not gon’ make y’wait anymore, honey. ‘s okay.” He cooed, his voice so velvety you almost melted right there.
“Hm.” His smile grew wicked. “Are you even wearin’ anything under this dress?”
You nodded once, holding your breath.
“Don’t see how.”
Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he finally—finally—slipped a hand beneath the skirt, pulling off your tiny, flimsy excuse for underwear.
“Aw, now. These don’t even count.” He laughed, and his breath was warm on your skin, but it gave you goosebumps all the same.
Then he took them and tucked them in his motherfucking pocket, and you lost your mind.
The noise you let out was beyond a whimper. Was there a sound that was more pathetic than a whimper? Because this was that.
You didn’t even mind his smug grin.
“Here’s what you’re gonna do now. You’re gonna put one leg up on the seat.” He hooked a hand behind your leg and bent it at the knee, placing it exactly where he wanted it. Any modesty that your dress had been affording you—which wasn’t much to begin with—was gone now, leaving you completely exposed to him. “And you’re gonna sit there and try to be quiet while I make y’feel good, alright? Don’t embarrass me in front of this driver.”
You tried to say “I won’t,” but you weren’t sure if those words actually made it out or not, because then his mouth was on you—really on you, not just teasing anymore—and you let out a loud, filthy moan instead.
“Gotta be quiet, honey.” He mumbled, his hands gripping your thighs to keep them apart. “Just a little noise. Nobody’s gonna hear you if y’keep it down.”
Your head bobbed frantically.
Okay. Yes. Okay. I can do that. Just please, please, please don’t stop.
“Good girl.”
Your hands abandoned the seat in favor of gripping his hair, keeping him between your legs (not that he seemed interested in pulling away, or even coming up for air). His movements were fast but controlled—never frantic, always keeping a rhythm.
There wasn’t anything clumsy or sloppy about it, like the other guys who had been in this position with you before. He was pleasuring you with the confidence of a grown man who knew exactly what the fuck he was doing.
You were trying desperately to keep your voice down, but you couldn’t stop the endless stream of nonsense spilling from your mouth, versions of “fuck” and “please” and “Michael” over and over again.
“I got you, honey.” He promised. “You can come. ‘m not gonna stop.”
And he didn’t stop. Not even when you came. Not even when your legs were shaking and your back was arching and your walls were clenching over and over around nothing.
He kept up the pressure, kept licking and sucking and lapping you up like you were the best meal he’d ever had.
“Michael—Michael. You have to stop. I’m… I’m gonna be loud.” You warned him, pulling on his hair hard enough that he finally eased up.
When he looked at you, his expression was dazed, like maybe he’d actually checked out for a second there. “Fuck.” He muttered, and his face was so cute—such a stark contrast to the lewd visual of him kneeling on the floor with his chin dripping—that you started to laugh.
“I thought you didn’t like to say bad words.” You giggled breathlessly, pressing your hands to your cheeks. Your skin felt like it was on fire.
“Y’left me no other choice, honey.” He grinned, licking his lips like he was still chasing the taste of you.
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t be quiet anymore.” You apologized, and he shook his head, wiping his chin with the back of his hand.
“That’s okay. Y’can be louder when we’re outta the car.”
“...so there’s more where that came from?”
“‘course there is. What did that thing say? Fucks you dumb all night and brings you breakfast in the mornin’?”
“That’s two for the swear jar.” You held up two fingers, lowering your leg from the seat and trying to straighten yourself out into something slightly presentable before you had to get out of the limo.
“I’m just sayin’! You said y’wanted to find out, didn’t you?”
“...I guess I’d be okay with that. But you’d better bring me a damn good breakfast.”
BIG WINNERS! DON’T EVER EVERRRR COME FOR MY FUCKING FAMILYYYYYYY. CAUSE I THOUGHT I HEARD A BUNCH OF LAME ASS BITCHES SAY SUM? OH? OHHH EXACTLY! BIG JAAFAR! BIG MF JAAFAR ROUND HERE HO!
Content: It wasn't his touch or his words that broke you, but his eyes.
Warnings: 18+ minors dni, dom! Michael Jackson, humiliation kink if you squint, cumming untouched, p in v, heavy eye contact
Wc: 862
(a/n: alright absolute last one for a while I’ll ttyl, make sure you eat and drink lots of water!! love~ mjjsluttyfish)
Michael discovered your weakness a long time ago. It wasn't his touch or his words that broke you, but his eyes. Those dark, piercing depths have a way of stripping you bare before he even lays a finger on you. He knows exactly how to use that gaze to command your body, to ignite a fire in your gut, and to reduce you to a shivering, needy mess. Whether he's being the sweetest man alive or the most firm man you've ever known, one look from Michael is all it takes to remind you exactly who you belong to.
⋆. 𐙚 ˚
You had forgotten yourself for a moment. You were laughing a little too loudly, leaning a bit too close to his brothers, the atmosphere light and playful. You didn't realize you were crossing a line until you felt the temperature in the room shift. You turn your head and find Michael watching you.
He doesn't say a word. He doesn't have to. He just stares you down, his gaze narrowing, turning cold and possessive. It’s a silent command, a psychic leash tightening around your neck. The laughter dies in your throat instantly. Your heart begins to hammer against your ribs, and a sudden, familiar heat pools between your thighs.
The sheer authority in that look is enough to calm your lil ass down and put you right back in your place. You instinctively lower your gaze, your shoulders shrinking, your body reacting to his silent dominance. You can feel him smirk from across the room, knowing that with one single look, he has you trembling and desperate for his touch again.
⋆. 𐙚 ˚
You’re on your knees, the cold floor pressing against your skin, but all you can feel is the heat radiating from him. You look up, and there they are…those eyes. Michael isn't touching you yet, but he’s staring you down with an intensity that feels like a physical weight on your chest. You can smell him, that intoxicating mix of expensive cologne and raw masculinity, and as you lean in, his coarse pubes tickle the tip of your nose, making you shiver.
His thick cock pushes into your throat as you lean forward, making you gag softly around it. Your hips start rolling on their own, humping empty air while you suck him. Saliva spills from your lips down your chin. He keeps watching, calm and steady, and that look alone makes your clit throb. Your body tightens hard and you cum untouched, pussy pulsing as you grind against nothing.
"Look at you," he whispers, his voice a low, velvet rumble. "Coming just from the way I look at you. You're so pathetic for me, aren't you my sweet girl?"
⋆. 𐙚 ˚
He has you pinned to the bed, your legs hiked up so high your knees are practically folded against your chest. You're completely open, exposed and vulnerable, and Michael is taking full advantage of it. He’s buried deep inside you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, but it’s his eyes that are keeping you locked in place. He’s staring straight into yours, his pupils blown wide with lust.
Every time he thrusts, he hits that spongy spot perfectly, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot and humid.
"You feel that, baby?" he groans, his voice dripping with filth. "I can feel you gripping me, begging for more. You're so tight for me, so wet. I'm going to stretch you out until you can't remember your own name, just mine."
You moan, your head tossing back, but he grips your chin, forcing you to look at him again. "Eyes on me. I want to see you break while I fuck the soul out of you."
⋆. 𐙚 ˚
The mirror is the only thing between you and the view of your own undoing. Michael has you on all fours, your ass arched high in the air. He reaches forward, winding his fingers tightly into your hair and yanking your head up, forcing you to look at your reflection. You see him behind you, his core rippling, his cock disappearing completely into your soaking wet hole.
The sound is deafening . Wet, heavy backshots that sound like thunder claps echoing through the room.
Slap. Slap. Slap.
Every thrust is slow, deep, and deliberate, designed to maximize the friction. You can see the intensity in his eyes through the mirror; he isn't just fucking your body, he's staring down into your soul, claiming every inch of you.
"Watch it," he commands, his voice strained with effort. "Watch how deep I am in you. Look at how your pussy just swallows me whole. You were made for this, weren't you? Made to be my little slut."
You sob, your vision swimming, completely enslaved by the sight of him dominating you in the glass.
( a/n: it’s not a mjssluttyfish fanfic if the title isn’t based off of a song😋)
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tgs ◞ smut, possessiveness, after care, fem reader, oral (m and f) , masturbation, kinks, size, toys, teasing, praise, jealousy, michael jackson, bondage, sensory deprivation, creampie ⸝⸝
A – Aftercare (what they’re like after sex): He is absolute heaven the moment the storm passes. The second he releases his weight, Michael immediately pulls you into his chest, wrapping his long, lean limbs around you to ensure you feel entirely anchored, safe, and treasured. If you are trembling from the intensity or feeling overstimulated, he’ll wrap you securely in the duvet like a cocoon, pressing soft kisses along your temple and whispering sweet, quiet praises into your hair. His voice returns to that gentle, comforting melody, reassuring you of how much he loves you.
He is incredibly attentive to your physical comfort as well. He’s the type of lover who will willingly leave the warmth of the bed for a moment just to bring you a warm, damp cloth to tenderly clean you up, followed by a fresh glass of water. He takes care of you with a quiet, reverent focus, ensuring you are completely comfortable before settling right back down next to you. He will pull you close, resting your head on his chest and stroking your back rhythmically until your breathing matches his.
B – Body Part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s): His hands and his lips are his most lethal weapons. His hands are famously large, warm, and incredibly expressive, featuring long, elegant fingers that can span your entire waist or completely pin your wrists above your head. He loves using that massive span to trace the entire length of your spine, applying just enough pressure to make you shiver, or firmly cupping your hips to guide your movements to his liking. There is an undeniable power in his grip, yet he manages to hold you with an innate gentleness.
His lips, by contrast, are incredibly soft but remarkably demanding when he’s deeply lost in the moment. He loves the stark contrast of his rougher, calloused fingertips dragging against your softest skin, marking his territory through touch alone without ever needing to leave a bruise. The way he uses his hands to frame your face during a kiss makes the entire experience feel deeply artistic, as if he is memorizing every single contour of your body with his touch.
C – Cum (anything to do with cum): Most of the time, he prefers to come inside you, craving that ultimate, uninterrupted sense of closeness and biological connection. For Michael, there is something incredibly primal and binding about filling you completely. He loves the feeling of your internal muscles pulsing around him as he releases, holding you entirely still against the mattress until the very last drop is spent.
If coming inside isn’t an option, he becomes very neat and deliberate about where he places his release, choosing to come on your stomach, breasts, or thighs while watching your face react to the heat of it. He takes immense pleasure in the visual aspect of seeing his mark on your skin, his dark eyes clouding over with pure satisfaction.
D – Dirty Talk (a dirty secret of theirs): He isn’t crude or vulgar, but he is surprisingly vocal and incredibly descriptive once the bedroom door is locked. His dirty talk doesn't rely on cheap insults; instead, it is breathless, dark, and deeply sensual. He loves to narrate exactly how your body feels to him, murmuring hushed, desperate phrases like, "You feel so beautiful around me, sweetheart," or "Look at me, let me see what I'm doing to you." Hearing his usually polite, soft-spoken voice drop an octave into a commanding whisper is enough to completely melt your resolve.
He also highly responds to your voice. If you try to stay quiet, he will deliberately press into you harder or tease you until he forces a gasp or a moan out of you, praise immediately tumbling from his lips when you comply. He will whisper sweet corruptions into your ear, telling you exactly how much you turn him on and how he's been thinking about this specific moment all day long. The combination of his deep, gravelly groans and his breathless praise creates an intoxicating atmosphere that leaves you utterly helpless.
E – Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?): He is highly experienced and possesses a deep understanding of standard anatomy and pleasure, but he is entirely devoid of any cheap arrogance or clinical detachment. Michael treats your body like a brand-new, beautiful musical composition, adapting his rhythm perfectly to what you specifically like. He doesn't just stick to a routine; he explores you with a genuine curiosity, treating every single intimate encounter as if it were the very first time he’s ever laid eyes on you.
He has a natural, intuitive rhythm and reads body language like an absolute professional. He knows exactly when to soften his touch into a feather-light caress and when to push a little harder based entirely on the pitch of your breathing, the arch of your back, or the way your fingers tighten in his sheets. You never have to explicitly tell him what feels good; he pays such close attention to the micro-reactions of your muscles that he can anticipate your needs before you even realize them yourself.
F – Favorite Position: Missionary with a dominant, flexible twist. Michael is a deeply romantic and visual person, so he absolutely loves looking directly into your eyes and watching every single micro-expression of your pleasure. He likes being on top because it allows him to completely loom over you, blocking out the rest of the world and making you the sole focus of his universe. To make it deeper, he’ll often drape your legs over his broad shoulders or prop your hips up on a stack of plush pillows.
This specific angle allows him to sink as deep as physically possible, filling you up completely while keeping his hands entirely free. He will use his freedom to pin your wrists to the mattress, stroke your face, or play with your clitoris while he pumps inside you. He loves the intense, raw friction this position provides, and he will look down at you with a mixture of fierce possessiveness and absolute adoration as he drives you both over the edge.
G – Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.): Yes, he can absolutely be goofy, but only in the most endearing and comforting way possible. Intimacy can sometimes bring awkward moments—a funny noise might happen, the bed might squeak in a weird rhythm, or one of you might awkwardly trip over a discarded piece of clothing in the dark. Instead of letting tension freeze the room, Michael will burst into that high-pitched, infectious giggle of his, his entire face lighting up with genuine amusement.
It never ruins the sexual tension or dampens the mood; instead, it completely breaks any lingering performance anxiety or nervousness you might have been holding onto. It makes the intimacy feel incredibly warm, safe, and deeply real, reminding you that beneath the larger-than-life superstar is just a man who loves you.
H – Hair & Grooming (how well groomed are they?): When it comes to personal grooming, Michael is meticulously, flawlessly clean. He is incredibly fastidious about his hygiene; his skin is always exfoliated and moisturized, smelling deeply of rich vanilla, expensive colognes, or mild soap. Down below, he keeps himself perfectly maintained—either entirely bare or trimmed incredibly neat and short—ensuring that there is never any discomfort, roughness, or stray hairs when you go down on him or when he presses closely against your bare skin.
When it comes to your hair, he has a massive fixation on it. He loves pulling it during sex, though he is always incredibly mindful of your comfort levels. He’ll wrap a fist near the roots at the nape of your neck just firmly enough to tilt your head back, exposing your throat for his teeth and lips while he works inside you. He loves the sheer control it gives him.
I – Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect): For Michael, sex isn't just a physical release or a basic biological urge; it is an intense emotional convergence. He is incapable of separating physical lust from deep, profound emotional devotion. If he is making love to you, it means he is baring his entire soul to you, trusting you with the rawest, most vulnerable parts of himself that the public never gets to see. He needs to feel your souls touching just as much as your bodies.
Because of this, his lovemaking is filled with plenty of intense, unblinking eye contact, interlocking fingers until your knuckles turn white, and sweet, lingering kisses between heavy, rhythmic thrusts. He will press his forehead against yours, breathing in the same air as you, treating the entire encounter like a sacred ritual. He wants to feel entirely consumed by you, completely erasing the boundaries of where his body ends and yours begins.
J – Jealousy (do they get jealous?): He has a deeply hidden, fiercely possessive streak that he rigorously suppresses while in public, but he lets it entirely loose once you are safely behind closed doors. Because he has to share so much of his life with millions of fans, he is fiercely protective of what is actually his. If he felt threatened, slighted, or jealous earlier in the day due to an executive or another man looking at you for just a second too long, that residual energy will entirely dictate how he handles you in bed.
He won't be cruel, but he will be much more dominant, demanding, and urgent. He will take his time pacing the encounter, pinning you down firmly and marking your skin with dark love bites to quietly remind you—and remind himself—exactly who you belong to. He will look down at you with a heavy, intense gaze, demanding that you say his name over and over again until any lingering doubt or jealousy in his mind is entirely washed away by your submission.
K – Kink (one or more of their kinks): Sensory deprivation and mild bondage appeal immensely to his psychological side. Michael is a deeply visual and highly analytical person who is constantly perceived by others, so turning the tables in the bedroom is a massive turn-on for him. Tying your wrists to the headboard with a soft, expensive silk tie or placing a velvet blindfold over your eyes allows him to completely control the environment, transforming him into the sole author of your experience.
He loves how sensory deprivation heightens your other senses, leaving you entirely dependent on the sound of his voice, the heat of his breath, and the sudden, unpredictable touch of his hands. He will tease your bare skin with a feather or his lips, listening closely to your ragged gasps as you try to guess where he will touch you next. Taking complete control of your pleasure in this manner makes him feel incredibly powerful and deeply connected to your reactions.
L – Location (favorite places to do the do): His private bedroom suite is his absolute sanctuary, representing the only place on earth where he can completely let his guard down without the threat of cameras or intrusion. The room is tailored for romance—soft lighting, heavy security doors, and a massive, comfortable bed. However, he isn’t against utilizing the absolute, sprawling luxury of a penthouse hotel suite while traveling on tour, finding a strange thrill in turning a temporary space into your private paradise.
If the adrenaline from a performance is running exceptionally high and the mood strikes, he’s even been known to look for excitement closer to his work. He will lock the heavy doors of a secure, dark recording studio or a private backstage dressing room, pinning you right against the mixing console or a velvet couch. The contrast of the high-tech, professional environment mixed with the raw, desperate intimacy of your bodies creates a memory that lingers long after you leave.
M – Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going): His primary motivation is your utter, complete undoing. Nothing turns his brain on faster or drives him wilder than realizing he has total control over your physical sensations. Hearing you whine his name in a desperate pitch, watching your chest heave, or seeing your back arch completely off the mattress when he hits the perfect spot is the ultimate ego boost for him. He derives his own physical pleasure entirely from the depth of yours.
Because of this, he is a massive teaser. He will purposefully slow down his rhythm, shallowing his thrusts or stopping his fingers right at the ragged edge of your orgasm, just to watch you squirm and hear you beg him to continue. He loves making you crave him, holding your climax hostage until you are crying out for relief. The moment he finally relents and gives you what you want, the look of pure triumph on his face is absolutely breathtaking.
N – No-go (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs): Anything genuinely painful, degrading, or unhygienic is a strict boundary for him. Michael views the human body—especially yours—as something inherently beautiful, elegant, and worthy of respect. Because of this, emotional cruelty, harsh name-calling, or any kinks that make you feel genuinely small, humiliated, or disgusted in a negative way are completely off the table. He wants to elevate you, not degrade you.
Similarly, anything involving blood, extreme pain, or heavy impact is something he will actively avoid. He doesn't want to see you in genuine distress; he wants to see you in a state of pure, unadulterated ecstasy. If he accidentally hurts you or pushes a boundary too far, he will instantly stop what he is doing, drop all sexual pretense, and comfort you until you feel safe again. For him, intensity must always be balanced with profound gentleness.
O – Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.): He is an absolute perfectionist when it comes to giving oral pleasure. Michael takes his sweet time down there, using his large, warm hands to firmly spread your thighs apart and stretch you out so he can admire you completely before leaning down. He genuinely loves the taste and scent of you, viewing this act as the ultimate form of submission and worship to your body. He will rest his heavy chin against your inner thighs, looking up at you from between your legs with a dark, focused gaze.
He is incredibly skilled with his tongue, using a combination of broad, warm strokes and sharp, precise pressure against your clitoris. He loves to slip a finger or two inside you simultaneously, mimicking the motion of sex to stretch you out and build the internal friction. He will deliberately drive you to the point of overstimulation and breathless tears, refusing to let you pull away until you have completely shattered against his mouth, swallowing every drop of your release.
P – Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.): The pace of his lovemaking is highly dynamic, theatrical, and deeply intentional. It almost always starts incredibly slow, agonizingly sweet, and full of heavy petting, deep sighs, and soft, lingering kisses that taste like a promise. He likes to build the tension gradually, taking hours just to undress you and appreciate every inch of skin, making you wait until the anticipation is practically vibrating in the air between you.
However, once he finally loses his composure and the internal friction builds, his gentle demeanor completely vanishes. The pace becomes fast, rhythmic, and intensely demanding. He moves with a dancer’s flawless precision and core strength, hitting every single angle with an exhausting, beautiful force that leaves you completely breathless. He will drive the pace faster and harder until the bedroom is filled with the frantic sound of skin against skin, matching the wild beating of your heart.
Q – Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.): While they are rare due to his preference for long, drawn-out sessions, quickies are absolutely thrilling when they do happen. Because of his chaotic schedule, massive entourages, and the constant, suffocating presence of security, your moments of true privacy can sometimes be cut short. If you two find yourselves with a rare five minutes of guaranteed privacy backstage or in an empty hallway, all his gentlemanly patience completely vanishes.
He will pull you into the nearest hidden space, lifting you up effortlessly and pinning you against the nearest solid wall. There is no time for romance; he will hike up your skirt, pull your underwear to the side, and take you with a quiet, desperate urgency that is completely intoxicating. His breath will hitch against your ear as he pumps into you hard and fast, leaving you both disheveled, flushed, and with knees shaking so badly you can barely walk back out into the crowd.
R – Risk (are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.): His risk level is carefully calibrated between low and medium. Because of his extreme, unprecedented level of fame and the constant threat of paparazzi or betrayal, he is incredibly paranoid about physical security. He will never risk doing anything sloppy that could compromise your privacy, lead to a public scandal, or make you feel exposed to the outside world. He protects your shared secrets like a fortress.
However, that doesn't mean he doesn't enjoy a thrill when he knows he can get away with it. He will risk a scandalous, lingering touch beneath the heavy tablecloth at a formal, private dinner party, watching you try to keep a straight face while his fingers move high up your thigh. He also loves sliding his hand beneath your skirt in the backseat of his private limousine, smiling innocently at the driver through the tinted glass divider while his thumb strokes your wetness.
S – Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?): His stamina is completely unmatched and genuinely intimidating. You have to remember that this is a man who sings and dances at a high-intensity athletic level for hours on end under heavy, burning stage lights; his cardio, lung capacity, and leg strength are entirely out of this world. He does not tire easily, and he can maintain a intense, punishing rhythm in bed for a remarkably long time without ever breaking his stride.
He is fully capable of going for multiple rounds across a single night. Just when you think he’s finally exhausted, dripping with sweat, and ready to fall asleep, he’ll catch his breath for a few minutes while holding you close. Then suddenly, he’ll flip you onto your stomach, and start all over again with the exact same level of energy and passion as the first round, leaving you completely spent by sunrise.
T – Toy (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?): He is highly intrigued by high-quality, sleek, and quiet adult toys. Michael is a man who appreciates mechanics, technology, and design, so introducing a small, powerful bullet vibrator or a luxury wand into the bedroom is a favorite pastime of his. He loves the contrast of the mechanical vibration against the natural heat of your skin, using the toy as an extension of his own hands to unlock new levels of pleasure for you.
His favorite method is holding a small vibe directly against your clitoris while he pumps inside you from behind. The double stimulation is incredibly intense, and he will lean his chest heavily against your back, watching your face completely crumble in the mirror as your internal muscles clench tightly around him. Hearing your voice break into high-pitched whines under the sheer power of the sensation drives him absolutely insane, pushing him to release right alongside you.
U – Unfair (how much they like to tease): The most unfair thing about Michael is how quickly he can transition from a shy, giggling, softly spoken gentleman into an absolute, unyielding predator the second the bedroom door clicks locked. In the outside world, he is polite, deferred, and incredibly gentle, often hiding his face or speaking in a quiet whisper. But the moment he has you in private, that public persona completely falls away to reveal a fiercely confident, dominant man.
The sheer shift in his energy is dizzying. The sudden darkening of his eyes, the deep drop in the pitch of his voice, and the firm, unyielding grip of his large hands on your waist can make your head spin. It is entirely unfair to your sanity how he can make you feel completely protected one minute, and then entirely consumed and overwhelmed by his raw sexuality the very next, leaving you utterly hooked on his duality.
V – Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.): Michael is a remarkably vocal and expressive lover. He does not believe in hiding his pleasure, so his sessions are filled with a symphony of high-pitched whines, heavy, desperate breathing, and deep, guttural groans that rumble from the chest. He moves with a lot of vocal emotion, letting out breathy gasps every time he sinks into you deeply, making it incredibly obvious just how good you feel to him.
If you are staying in a hotel suite where security guards are stationed right outside the main door, he will try his best to stay quiet, which only makes the situation hotter. He will bite down on his own bottom lip, or bury his face deeply into the crook of your neck to muffle his gravelly, frantic groans. Feeling the physical vibration of his stifled gasps against your skin while he tries to hold back his volume adds a layer of desperate intensity that makes the whole encounter feel entirely forbidden.
W – Wild Card (a random headcanon for the character): He has a massive, ongoing fixation on mirrors. Michael has spent his entire life performing in front of mirrors to perfect his choreography, so he is incredibly comfortable with the visual geometry of movement. In the bedroom, he loves capitalizing on this by placing you directly in front of a full-length mirror—either standing up or on your hands and knees—so you are forced to watch the entire act unfold.
He will lean his heavy upper body over your back, resting his chin on your bare shoulder so he can look at your reflection while he takes you from behind. He will use his large hands to pull your hair back or cup your breasts, whispering explicitly into your ear to look at what he’s doing to you. Forcing you to watch how perfectly your bodies fit together in the glass creates a highly psychological, intense turn-on that leaves you completely exposed to his gaze.
X – X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes): To put it plainly, he is incredibly well-endowed—blessed with both a length and a heavy girth that can be highly intimidating at first glance. Because he is fully aware of his size, he is hyper-conscious of your anatomy and physical comfort, never wanting to cause you actual pain. He approaches penetration with a careful, measured patience, ensuring your body is entirely ready before he attempts to slide inside.
He will be patient, taking his time to stretch you out slowly with his long fingers and using oral sex to make sure you are completely relaxed and wet. When he finally enters you, he will angle his hips with expert precision, moving slowly at first so your body can adjust to his size. He knows exactly how to fill you up to the absolute brim, creating a deep, stretching fullness that feels incredibly intense without ever crossing the line into discomfort.
Y – Yearning (how high is their sex drive?): When he is traveling the globe or isolated on a massive world tour, his yearning for you becomes a physical ache. Michael is surrounded by thousands of screaming fans daily, yet he suffers from an intense loneliness that only your presence can cure. To cope with the distance, he will initiate late-night, long-distance phone calls from his lonely hotel rooms, his voice dropping into a deep, raspy whisper stripped entirely of his public facade.
He will keep you on the line for hours, explicitly describing, detail by detail, exactly what he plans to do to your body the very second he returns home to you. He will guide you through your own pleasure over the phone, demanding to hear you sigh and touch yourself while he listens on the other end, his own breathing heavy in the receiver. By the time he finally gets back to you, the pent-up anticipation ensures that your reunion will be incredibly wild, desperate, and hours long.
Z – ZZZ (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards): After a long, passionate session and a thorough, loving round of aftercare, Michael falls asleep incredibly fast, completely drained of his usual racing thoughts and insomnia. The physical and emotional release of making love to you is the only thing that truly quiets his brilliant, chaotic mind. He cannot sleep unless he is touching you, so he will pull your body entirely onto his chest or spoon you tightly from behind.
He will wrap his large hands around your waist, locking you against his side so securely that you couldn't escape his grip even if you tried. As the room grows quiet, you can feel the radiating warmth of his skin and the steady, heavy thump of his heartbeat slowing down against your back. He drifts off into a deep, peaceful slumber, completely content and safe in the knowledge that the person he loves most is held securely in his arms.
⊱ ty for all the requests! I’m trying to get as many as I can done so plz be patient with me ⸝⸝
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finished the outline for yandere! michael and ooooo i’m so excited — but psa; this one is gonna be long so if i post anything until this is ready it’ll likely only be blurbs, i apologize (hopefully it’ll be worth it)
pairing: yandere! michael (thrad-bad era) x f! reader who’s been sending him letters for years, completely unaware he’s become obsessed with you through them
snippet:
His hand searched blindly on the top shelf of his closet, fingers dusting along the box he’d placed up there ages ago for safe keeping. Just being able to hook the edge of his index finger on it, he gently tugged it towards the edge. Smiling to himself as his eyes caught onto the light blue and white stripes that covered it.
Another one of your letters had come in the mail that morning. The parchment a pale pink and you always sprayed a little bit of perfume on it. The fragrance always causing the ink to bleed a little. He found it adorable, how impatient you must’ve been to get the letter mailed out to his front doorstep.
With the box under one arm, and your newest letter in his other hand, he made his way over the edge of his bed and sank into the comforter. Eyes skimming over the elegant script of your name with a little heart next to it.
Aside from recording, this was always the best part of his day. Filtering through ungodly amounts of fan mail to find yours. His fingers gently prying open the seal so he didn’t rip the paper. The scent of your perfume wafting around him and he let his eyes shut briefly to appreciate it for a moment. A strange sort of euphoria would slip over his mind on evenings like these. Oil-like and thick, completely coating over any of his good sense.
Then his eyes would slate open, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he took in the first line, always the same but in the handwriting he’d come to adore.
Dear Michael
Despite the years that had passed, despite the box full of your letters that he always held onto, you always managed to find something new to talk about. Sometimes, perhaps even often, the things you wrote about didn’t even necessarily involve him. It was as if you used these letters to shout out your conscience into the void. Hoping that perhaps they land somewhere.
He nearly laughed, carefully closing the letter and sliding the lid off the box.
You had no idea.
You’d been sending him letters since 1977 and he kept every single one.
He’d replied at first, only to one, back when answering was actually feasible and the stacks of mail weren’t high enough to reach his ceiling. He was tempted to, though. Beyond belief. Late at night he’d find himself staring at his closet door as if it were a hell-mouth begging him to just come a little closer.
If only you knew what you did to him. What comfort you brought him when the world got a little too loud. When the press got a little too ravenous. Always ripping apart his life to find the last stone unturned. But these letters you sent him? He kept them hidden away and safe. His own little safe haven.
He couldn’t risk replying. Not yet, at least. Too afraid the wrong person would get a hold of it and ruin the little world he’d built around the idea of you.
Michael couldn’t pinpoint what made you different, you just were. A nice constant over the years when everything was changing too fast.
He’d close his eyes, a letter held to his chest, imagining what you might sound like. How soft your voice might be, especially on sleepy mornings. Or what you sounded like when you were excited. Giddy. What you looked like when you wrote these letters. What expression you made when you decided to spritz your perfume on the paper.
And God, did he long to know what you looked like. Not even in vanity, but he felt like he was going mad. Having you be this faceless entity in his minds eye. No matter what he had tried to imagine, it never fit.
You were like this other worldly deity. Mythical. Too angelic for him to possibly comprehend.
The thought had admittedly crossed his mind far too many times to go to your house. He knew it was insane. Probably some form of criminal. Not entirely sure the legal bounds of what was considered stalking.
But then he’d think a little more about it and knew he didn’t care.
tgs ◞ smut, possessiveness, after care, fem reader, oral (m and f) , masturbation, kinks, size, toys, teasing, praise, jealousy, michael jackson, bondage, sensory deprivation, creampie ⸝⸝
A – Aftercare (what they’re like after sex): He is absolute heaven the moment the storm passes. The second he releases his weight, Michael immediately pulls you into his chest, wrapping his long, lean limbs around you to ensure you feel entirely anchored, safe, and treasured. If you are trembling from the intensity or feeling overstimulated, he’ll wrap you securely in the duvet like a cocoon, pressing soft kisses along your temple and whispering sweet, quiet praises into your hair. His voice returns to that gentle, comforting melody, reassuring you of how much he loves you.
He is incredibly attentive to your physical comfort as well. He’s the type of lover who will willingly leave the warmth of the bed for a moment just to bring you a warm, damp cloth to tenderly clean you up, followed by a fresh glass of water. He takes care of you with a quiet, reverent focus, ensuring you are completely comfortable before settling right back down next to you. He will pull you close, resting your head on his chest and stroking your back rhythmically until your breathing matches his.
B – Body Part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s): His hands and his lips are his most lethal weapons. His hands are famously large, warm, and incredibly expressive, featuring long, elegant fingers that can span your entire waist or completely pin your wrists above your head. He loves using that massive span to trace the entire length of your spine, applying just enough pressure to make you shiver, or firmly cupping your hips to guide your movements to his liking. There is an undeniable power in his grip, yet he manages to hold you with an innate gentleness.
His lips, by contrast, are incredibly soft but remarkably demanding when he’s deeply lost in the moment. He loves the stark contrast of his rougher, calloused fingertips dragging against your softest skin, marking his territory through touch alone without ever needing to leave a bruise. The way he uses his hands to frame your face during a kiss makes the entire experience feel deeply artistic, as if he is memorizing every single contour of your body with his touch.
C – Cum (anything to do with cum): Most of the time, he prefers to come inside you, craving that ultimate, uninterrupted sense of closeness and biological connection. For Michael, there is something incredibly primal and binding about filling you completely. He loves the feeling of your internal muscles pulsing around him as he releases, holding you entirely still against the mattress until the very last drop is spent.
If coming inside isn’t an option, he becomes very neat and deliberate about where he places his release, choosing to come on your stomach, breasts, or thighs while watching your face react to the heat of it. He takes immense pleasure in the visual aspect of seeing his mark on your skin, his dark eyes clouding over with pure satisfaction.
D – Dirty Talk (a dirty secret of theirs): He isn’t crude or vulgar, but he is surprisingly vocal and incredibly descriptive once the bedroom door is locked. His dirty talk doesn't rely on cheap insults; instead, it is breathless, dark, and deeply sensual. He loves to narrate exactly how your body feels to him, murmuring hushed, desperate phrases like, "You feel so beautiful around me, sweetheart," or "Look at me, let me see what I'm doing to you." Hearing his usually polite, soft-spoken voice drop an octave into a commanding whisper is enough to completely melt your resolve.
He also highly responds to your voice. If you try to stay quiet, he will deliberately press into you harder or tease you until he forces a gasp or a moan out of you, praise immediately tumbling from his lips when you comply. He will whisper sweet corruptions into your ear, telling you exactly how much you turn him on and how he's been thinking about this specific moment all day long. The combination of his deep, gravelly groans and his breathless praise creates an intoxicating atmosphere that leaves you utterly helpless.
E – Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?): He is highly experienced and possesses a deep understanding of standard anatomy and pleasure, but he is entirely devoid of any cheap arrogance or clinical detachment. Michael treats your body like a brand-new, beautiful musical composition, adapting his rhythm perfectly to what you specifically like. He doesn't just stick to a routine; he explores you with a genuine curiosity, treating every single intimate encounter as if it were the very first time he’s ever laid eyes on you.
He has a natural, intuitive rhythm and reads body language like an absolute professional. He knows exactly when to soften his touch into a feather-light caress and when to push a little harder based entirely on the pitch of your breathing, the arch of your back, or the way your fingers tighten in his sheets. You never have to explicitly tell him what feels good; he pays such close attention to the micro-reactions of your muscles that he can anticipate your needs before you even realize them yourself.
F – Favorite Position: Missionary with a dominant, flexible twist. Michael is a deeply romantic and visual person, so he absolutely loves looking directly into your eyes and watching every single micro-expression of your pleasure. He likes being on top because it allows him to completely loom over you, blocking out the rest of the world and making you the sole focus of his universe. To make it deeper, he’ll often drape your legs over his broad shoulders or prop your hips up on a stack of plush pillows.
This specific angle allows him to sink as deep as physically possible, filling you up completely while keeping his hands entirely free. He will use his freedom to pin your wrists to the mattress, stroke your face, or play with your clitoris while he pumps inside you. He loves the intense, raw friction this position provides, and he will look down at you with a mixture of fierce possessiveness and absolute adoration as he drives you both over the edge.
G – Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.): Yes, he can absolutely be goofy, but only in the most endearing and comforting way possible. Intimacy can sometimes bring awkward moments—a funny noise might happen, the bed might squeak in a weird rhythm, or one of you might awkwardly trip over a discarded piece of clothing in the dark. Instead of letting tension freeze the room, Michael will burst into that high-pitched, infectious giggle of his, his entire face lighting up with genuine amusement.
It never ruins the sexual tension or dampens the mood; instead, it completely breaks any lingering performance anxiety or nervousness you might have been holding onto. It makes the intimacy feel incredibly warm, safe, and deeply real, reminding you that beneath the larger-than-life superstar is just a man who loves you.
H – Hair & Grooming (how well groomed are they?): When it comes to personal grooming, Michael is meticulously, flawlessly clean. He is incredibly fastidious about his hygiene; his skin is always exfoliated and moisturized, smelling deeply of rich vanilla, expensive colognes, or mild soap. Down below, he keeps himself perfectly maintained—either entirely bare or trimmed incredibly neat and short—ensuring that there is never any discomfort, roughness, or stray hairs when you go down on him or when he presses closely against your bare skin.
When it comes to your hair, he has a massive fixation on it. He loves pulling it during sex, though he is always incredibly mindful of your comfort levels. He’ll wrap a fist near the roots at the nape of your neck just firmly enough to tilt your head back, exposing your throat for his teeth and lips while he works inside you. He loves the sheer control it gives him.
I – Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect): For Michael, sex isn't just a physical release or a basic biological urge; it is an intense emotional convergence. He is incapable of separating physical lust from deep, profound emotional devotion. If he is making love to you, it means he is baring his entire soul to you, trusting you with the rawest, most vulnerable parts of himself that the public never gets to see. He needs to feel your souls touching just as much as your bodies.
Because of this, his lovemaking is filled with plenty of intense, unblinking eye contact, interlocking fingers until your knuckles turn white, and sweet, lingering kisses between heavy, rhythmic thrusts. He will press his forehead against yours, breathing in the same air as you, treating the entire encounter like a sacred ritual. He wants to feel entirely consumed by you, completely erasing the boundaries of where his body ends and yours begins.
J – Jealousy (do they get jealous?): He has a deeply hidden, fiercely possessive streak that he rigorously suppresses while in public, but he lets it entirely loose once you are safely behind closed doors. Because he has to share so much of his life with millions of fans, he is fiercely protective of what is actually his. If he felt threatened, slighted, or jealous earlier in the day due to an executive or another man looking at you for just a second too long, that residual energy will entirely dictate how he handles you in bed.
He won't be cruel, but he will be much more dominant, demanding, and urgent. He will take his time pacing the encounter, pinning you down firmly and marking your skin with dark love bites to quietly remind you—and remind himself—exactly who you belong to. He will look down at you with a heavy, intense gaze, demanding that you say his name over and over again until any lingering doubt or jealousy in his mind is entirely washed away by your submission.
K – Kink (one or more of their kinks): Sensory deprivation and mild bondage appeal immensely to his psychological side. Michael is a deeply visual and highly analytical person who is constantly perceived by others, so turning the tables in the bedroom is a massive turn-on for him. Tying your wrists to the headboard with a soft, expensive silk tie or placing a velvet blindfold over your eyes allows him to completely control the environment, transforming him into the sole author of your experience.
He loves how sensory deprivation heightens your other senses, leaving you entirely dependent on the sound of his voice, the heat of his breath, and the sudden, unpredictable touch of his hands. He will tease your bare skin with a feather or his lips, listening closely to your ragged gasps as you try to guess where he will touch you next. Taking complete control of your pleasure in this manner makes him feel incredibly powerful and deeply connected to your reactions.
L – Location (favorite places to do the do): His private bedroom suite is his absolute sanctuary, representing the only place on earth where he can completely let his guard down without the threat of cameras or intrusion. The room is tailored for romance—soft lighting, heavy security doors, and a massive, comfortable bed. However, he isn’t against utilizing the absolute, sprawling luxury of a penthouse hotel suite while traveling on tour, finding a strange thrill in turning a temporary space into your private paradise.
If the adrenaline from a performance is running exceptionally high and the mood strikes, he’s even been known to look for excitement closer to his work. He will lock the heavy doors of a secure, dark recording studio or a private backstage dressing room, pinning you right against the mixing console or a velvet couch. The contrast of the high-tech, professional environment mixed with the raw, desperate intimacy of your bodies creates a memory that lingers long after you leave.
M – Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going): His primary motivation is your utter, complete undoing. Nothing turns his brain on faster or drives him wilder than realizing he has total control over your physical sensations. Hearing you whine his name in a desperate pitch, watching your chest heave, or seeing your back arch completely off the mattress when he hits the perfect spot is the ultimate ego boost for him. He derives his own physical pleasure entirely from the depth of yours.
Because of this, he is a massive teaser. He will purposefully slow down his rhythm, shallowing his thrusts or stopping his fingers right at the ragged edge of your orgasm, just to watch you squirm and hear you beg him to continue. He loves making you crave him, holding your climax hostage until you are crying out for relief. The moment he finally relents and gives you what you want, the look of pure triumph on his face is absolutely breathtaking.
N – No-go (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs): Anything genuinely painful, degrading, or unhygienic is a strict boundary for him. Michael views the human body—especially yours—as something inherently beautiful, elegant, and worthy of respect. Because of this, emotional cruelty, harsh name-calling, or any kinks that make you feel genuinely small, humiliated, or disgusted in a negative way are completely off the table. He wants to elevate you, not degrade you.
Similarly, anything involving blood, extreme pain, or heavy impact is something he will actively avoid. He doesn't want to see you in genuine distress; he wants to see you in a state of pure, unadulterated ecstasy. If he accidentally hurts you or pushes a boundary too far, he will instantly stop what he is doing, drop all sexual pretense, and comfort you until you feel safe again. For him, intensity must always be balanced with profound gentleness.
O – Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.): He is an absolute perfectionist when it comes to giving oral pleasure. Michael takes his sweet time down there, using his large, warm hands to firmly spread your thighs apart and stretch you out so he can admire you completely before leaning down. He genuinely loves the taste and scent of you, viewing this act as the ultimate form of submission and worship to your body. He will rest his heavy chin against your inner thighs, looking up at you from between your legs with a dark, focused gaze.
He is incredibly skilled with his tongue, using a combination of broad, warm strokes and sharp, precise pressure against your clitoris. He loves to slip a finger or two inside you simultaneously, mimicking the motion of sex to stretch you out and build the internal friction. He will deliberately drive you to the point of overstimulation and breathless tears, refusing to let you pull away until you have completely shattered against his mouth, swallowing every drop of your release.
P – Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.): The pace of his lovemaking is highly dynamic, theatrical, and deeply intentional. It almost always starts incredibly slow, agonizingly sweet, and full of heavy petting, deep sighs, and soft, lingering kisses that taste like a promise. He likes to build the tension gradually, taking hours just to undress you and appreciate every inch of skin, making you wait until the anticipation is practically vibrating in the air between you.
However, once he finally loses his composure and the internal friction builds, his gentle demeanor completely vanishes. The pace becomes fast, rhythmic, and intensely demanding. He moves with a dancer’s flawless precision and core strength, hitting every single angle with an exhausting, beautiful force that leaves you completely breathless. He will drive the pace faster and harder until the bedroom is filled with the frantic sound of skin against skin, matching the wild beating of your heart.
Q – Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.): While they are rare due to his preference for long, drawn-out sessions, quickies are absolutely thrilling when they do happen. Because of his chaotic schedule, massive entourages, and the constant, suffocating presence of security, your moments of true privacy can sometimes be cut short. If you two find yourselves with a rare five minutes of guaranteed privacy backstage or in an empty hallway, all his gentlemanly patience completely vanishes.
He will pull you into the nearest hidden space, lifting you up effortlessly and pinning you against the nearest solid wall. There is no time for romance; he will hike up your skirt, pull your underwear to the side, and take you with a quiet, desperate urgency that is completely intoxicating. His breath will hitch against your ear as he pumps into you hard and fast, leaving you both disheveled, flushed, and with knees shaking so badly you can barely walk back out into the crowd.
R – Risk (are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.): His risk level is carefully calibrated between low and medium. Because of his extreme, unprecedented level of fame and the constant threat of paparazzi or betrayal, he is incredibly paranoid about physical security. He will never risk doing anything sloppy that could compromise your privacy, lead to a public scandal, or make you feel exposed to the outside world. He protects your shared secrets like a fortress.
However, that doesn't mean he doesn't enjoy a thrill when he knows he can get away with it. He will risk a scandalous, lingering touch beneath the heavy tablecloth at a formal, private dinner party, watching you try to keep a straight face while his fingers move high up your thigh. He also loves sliding his hand beneath your skirt in the backseat of his private limousine, smiling innocently at the driver through the tinted glass divider while his thumb strokes your wetness.
S – Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?): His stamina is completely unmatched and genuinely intimidating. You have to remember that this is a man who sings and dances at a high-intensity athletic level for hours on end under heavy, burning stage lights; his cardio, lung capacity, and leg strength are entirely out of this world. He does not tire easily, and he can maintain a intense, punishing rhythm in bed for a remarkably long time without ever breaking his stride.
He is fully capable of going for multiple rounds across a single night. Just when you think he’s finally exhausted, dripping with sweat, and ready to fall asleep, he’ll catch his breath for a few minutes while holding you close. Then suddenly, he’ll flip you onto your stomach, and start all over again with the exact same level of energy and passion as the first round, leaving you completely spent by sunrise.
T – Toy (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?): He is highly intrigued by high-quality, sleek, and quiet adult toys. Michael is a man who appreciates mechanics, technology, and design, so introducing a small, powerful bullet vibrator or a luxury wand into the bedroom is a favorite pastime of his. He loves the contrast of the mechanical vibration against the natural heat of your skin, using the toy as an extension of his own hands to unlock new levels of pleasure for you.
His favorite method is holding a small vibe directly against your clitoris while he pumps inside you from behind. The double stimulation is incredibly intense, and he will lean his chest heavily against your back, watching your face completely crumble in the mirror as your internal muscles clench tightly around him. Hearing your voice break into high-pitched whines under the sheer power of the sensation drives him absolutely insane, pushing him to release right alongside you.
U – Unfair (how much they like to tease): The most unfair thing about Michael is how quickly he can transition from a shy, giggling, softly spoken gentleman into an absolute, unyielding predator the second the bedroom door clicks locked. In the outside world, he is polite, deferred, and incredibly gentle, often hiding his face or speaking in a quiet whisper. But the moment he has you in private, that public persona completely falls away to reveal a fiercely confident, dominant man.
The sheer shift in his energy is dizzying. The sudden darkening of his eyes, the deep drop in the pitch of his voice, and the firm, unyielding grip of his large hands on your waist can make your head spin. It is entirely unfair to your sanity how he can make you feel completely protected one minute, and then entirely consumed and overwhelmed by his raw sexuality the very next, leaving you utterly hooked on his duality.
V – Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.): Michael is a remarkably vocal and expressive lover. He does not believe in hiding his pleasure, so his sessions are filled with a symphony of high-pitched whines, heavy, desperate breathing, and deep, guttural groans that rumble from the chest. He moves with a lot of vocal emotion, letting out breathy gasps every time he sinks into you deeply, making it incredibly obvious just how good you feel to him.
If you are staying in a hotel suite where security guards are stationed right outside the main door, he will try his best to stay quiet, which only makes the situation hotter. He will bite down on his own bottom lip, or bury his face deeply into the crook of your neck to muffle his gravelly, frantic groans. Feeling the physical vibration of his stifled gasps against your skin while he tries to hold back his volume adds a layer of desperate intensity that makes the whole encounter feel entirely forbidden.
W – Wild Card (a random headcanon for the character): He has a massive, ongoing fixation on mirrors. Michael has spent his entire life performing in front of mirrors to perfect his choreography, so he is incredibly comfortable with the visual geometry of movement. In the bedroom, he loves capitalizing on this by placing you directly in front of a full-length mirror—either standing up or on your hands and knees—so you are forced to watch the entire act unfold.
He will lean his heavy upper body over your back, resting his chin on your bare shoulder so he can look at your reflection while he takes you from behind. He will use his large hands to pull your hair back or cup your breasts, whispering explicitly into your ear to look at what he’s doing to you. Forcing you to watch how perfectly your bodies fit together in the glass creates a highly psychological, intense turn-on that leaves you completely exposed to his gaze.
X – X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes): To put it plainly, he is incredibly well-endowed—blessed with both a length and a heavy girth that can be highly intimidating at first glance. Because he is fully aware of his size, he is hyper-conscious of your anatomy and physical comfort, never wanting to cause you actual pain. He approaches penetration with a careful, measured patience, ensuring your body is entirely ready before he attempts to slide inside.
He will be patient, taking his time to stretch you out slowly with his long fingers and using oral sex to make sure you are completely relaxed and wet. When he finally enters you, he will angle his hips with expert precision, moving slowly at first so your body can adjust to his size. He knows exactly how to fill you up to the absolute brim, creating a deep, stretching fullness that feels incredibly intense without ever crossing the line into discomfort.
Y – Yearning (how high is their sex drive?): When he is traveling the globe or isolated on a massive world tour, his yearning for you becomes a physical ache. Michael is surrounded by thousands of screaming fans daily, yet he suffers from an intense loneliness that only your presence can cure. To cope with the distance, he will initiate late-night, long-distance phone calls from his lonely hotel rooms, his voice dropping into a deep, raspy whisper stripped entirely of his public facade.
He will keep you on the line for hours, explicitly describing, detail by detail, exactly what he plans to do to your body the very second he returns home to you. He will guide you through your own pleasure over the phone, demanding to hear you sigh and touch yourself while he listens on the other end, his own breathing heavy in the receiver. By the time he finally gets back to you, the pent-up anticipation ensures that your reunion will be incredibly wild, desperate, and hours long.
Z – ZZZ (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards): After a long, passionate session and a thorough, loving round of aftercare, Michael falls asleep incredibly fast, completely drained of his usual racing thoughts and insomnia. The physical and emotional release of making love to you is the only thing that truly quiets his brilliant, chaotic mind. He cannot sleep unless he is touching you, so he will pull your body entirely onto his chest or spoon you tightly from behind.
He will wrap his large hands around your waist, locking you against his side so securely that you couldn't escape his grip even if you tried. As the room grows quiet, you can feel the radiating warmth of his skin and the steady, heavy thump of his heartbeat slowing down against your back. He drifts off into a deep, peaceful slumber, completely content and safe in the knowledge that the person he loves most is held securely in his arms.
⊱ ty for all the requests! I’m trying to get as many as I can done so plz be patient with me ⸝⸝
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･ ⟢ ⋮ AUTHORS NOTE: posting this early bc I’m going shopping for a new outfit n seeing fireworks show later so wont be able to post at my usual time. LMK IF WE WANT A PART TWO THO. also did u guys get the title get it thriller = thrill her teehee (also fuck me i cant make mood boards for nun) also guys pls comment . also this WAS a requst based off the headcannons i posted, i kinda did my own thing tho. LMAO also i dont fucking know whats up w google docs i used like the middle paragraphs thingy n it didnt work kms so the words are left sided
･ ⟢ ⋮ SUMMARY/CW: I dont fucking know. Werewolf michael being a pervert n lowkey managing to get you to agree to doing some bestfriends w benefits stuff..also readers lowkey sus asf over him. Content warning for maniputalive michael tho like hes actually a sneaky bastard lmao. I WILL be doing a gender neutral fic next. :)
･ ⟢ ⋮ WORD COUNT: 4.4k
･ ⟢ ⋮ GENRE: SMUT - fem!reader n implied black!reader due to a mention of 4c hair types but thats it.
The thing about Michael was that he'd always been touchy.
Ever since you were kids, he'd been the type to sling an arm around your shoulder, pull you into his side, press close when you were watching movies. It was just how he was. You never thought twice about it. When you were seven, he'd hold your hand during a thunderstorm. When you were twelve, he'd pulled you into a hug after you'd scraped your knee.
When you were sixteen, he'd let you cry into his shoulder after your first heartbreak. Physical affection was just his love language. You'd accepted that years ago. But lately, it'd gotten worse. Not in a bad way. Just more. He layered you in his jackets every time you came over, claiming he was "too warm" or that you "looked cold" even when the thermostat was pushing seventy-five.
He'd toss his hoodie at you before you could even ask, his ears going pink when you pulled it over your head. He'd find reasons to brush against you in the hallway, to sit closer than necessary on the couch, to let his fingers linger when he passed you something.
He'd developed a habit of combing through your hair, of touching your lower back when he guided you, of letting his hand rest on your knee when you sat next to him in the car. You thought it was cute. Endearing. Just Michael being Michael. You didn't know he was doing it on purpose. Didn't know that every time you wore his clothes, he had to physically stop himself from pressing his nose to your neck and breathing in deep.
Didn't know that his instincts were quite literally screaming *mine, mine, mine* every time you pulled his scent over your skin. Didn't know that he'd lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling, wondering why the thought of you with someone else made his chest feel like it was caving in. Didn't know that when he touched you, it took every ounce of self-control not to pull you into his lap and never let you go.
And you definitely didn't know about the imprinting. Neither did he, to be fair.
Michael had no idea why his body reacted the way it did around you. He just knew that when you were gone, everything felt wrong. The world seemed dimmer, quieter, less colorful. He'd find himself sitting by the phone, hoping you dialed his number. He'd catch himself smiling at memories of you, only to feel loneliness when he realized you weren't there. When you wore his clothes, something in his chest settled. When his brothers looked at you a little too long, he had to clench his fists to stop himself from doing something stupid.
Like growling. Which he definitely did, one afternoon when you were over and his brother Jermaine decided to be an ass. "Looking good today, pretty girl," Jermaine said, leaning against the kitchen counter with that smirk he used on everyone. Michael's hand tightened around his glass. A low rumble built in his chest before he could stop it, vibrating through his ribs like a warning.
You didn't seem to notice. You just laughed, rolling your eyes at Jermaine. "You say that to every girl who walks through this door."
"Only the pretty ones." Michael set his glass down harder than necessary. He pouted. "Don't you have somewhere to be?" Jermaine raised an eyebrow, grinning. "Nope. I'm free all afternoon."
Michael's jaw tightened. He stepped closer to you without realizing it, his shoulder brushing yours. His hand found your waist, a possessive gesture he didn't even register making. His thumb traced a small circle against your hip, grounding himself, reminding himself that you were here with him, not paying attention to Jermaine's nonsense.
You glanced up at him, confused. “You okay, angel?” He forced a smile. "Fine. Just tired of hearing him talk." You giggled, patting his chest. “Don't worry. I don't pay attention to him anyway.” As if realizing finally that he was far too close, he removed his arm instead crossing them over his chest. He could feel his face burning. "Good," he murmured. “'Cause you're too good for him and he's an idiot.”
You just laughed and shoved him playfully, teasing Jermaine about being an idiot. Michael watched you, his heart hammering in his chest. He wanted to pull you back against him. Wanted to wrap his arms around you and bury his face in your hair and breathe you in until the jealousy subsided. He didn't. He just stood there, crossing his arms, trying to look casual and not annoyed
…
When you weren't around, Michael fell apart. It started small. He'd find himself at your place, alone, waiting for you to get back from an errand. He'd wander into your room just to be surrounded by your scent.
He'd run his fingers over your pillowcase, your blankets, the clothes you'd left draped over a chair. He'd open your drawers without thinking, his fingers brushing over your folded clothes.
And then he'd find them, your underwear.
The first time it happened, he stared at the fabric in his hands for a full minute, his brain short-circuiting. He knew he should put them down. Knew he should walk away. But your scent was everywhere on the cotton. Sweet and warm and so you that his knees went weak. He started drooling n it dropped straight onto your panties. His hands started trembling..
He brought them to his face before he could stop himself then he realized how foolish he was being and with a flushed face he put your panties back. The second time, he didn't even bother pretending he had control. He buried his face in the fabric, breathing deep, a whine building in his throat. His hips bucked against nothing. His hand moved to his jeans without his permission.
"Sorry," he whimpered against the fabric, even though no one was there. “Sorry, sorry, sorry—”
He rubbed himself through his jeans, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Your scent was driving him insane, clouding his thoughts until all he could think about was you. The curve of your waist. The sound of your laugh. The way you said his name. The way you looked at him like he was someone worth looking at. The way your skin felt under his fingers. The way your lips parted when you were about to speak. “Oh g-gosh..”
He came with a strangled moan, shuddering against your underwear, completely unashamed of himself. Apparently he wasn’t all that sorry. He cleaned up as best he could. Hid the underwear in the back of your drawer, hoping they'd dry before you noticed. His face was burning the entire time. His hands wouldn't stop trembling.
"M'sorry," he whispered to himself, running a hand through his hair. "M'sorry, m'sorry. That was stupid.” He didn't even know why he did it. He just knew he couldn't stop. And then, one day, he stopped showing up.
You called. Wrote. Left voicemails that went unanswered. A week passed. Then two. You were sick with worry, your mind spinning through every worst-case scenario. You showed up at his house, but his brothers said he wasn't taking visitors. You left him notes, care packages, snacks you knew he liked. Nothing. Finally, you called his brother. “Hey, is Michael okay? He hasn't answered any of my calls. I'm starting to get really worried.”
Tito was quiet for a moment. Long enough that your heart started to sink. Then: “Yeah, he's fine. Just came down with something nasty. You know how it is. Doesn't want you to catch it.”
“A virus? Is it serious?”
"Nah, he'll be fine in a few weeks. Just needs to rest. I'll tell him you called." You hung up, relieved but still uneasy. *Weeks?* Michael had never been sick for weeks in his life. It almost seemed untrue.
Because it was.
Michael was curled up in his room, his body overtaken by fever as his bones reshaped themselves for the first time. He was going through his first full transformation, his body fighting itself. He thought about you the entire time. Your face. Your voice. The way you smiled at him. The way you said his name like it mattered. The way you laughed, bright and unguarded, when he said something stupid. The way you felt in his arms when he hugged you.
He humped his pillow every night, your name falling from his lips like a prayer. He couldn't stop himself. The rut made him feral, made him needy, made him want things he'd never admitted out loud. He'd bury his face in the sheets and pretend it was you, pretend he was buried inside you, and come with a broken sob.
It was the only thing that kept him sane through the pain.
…
When he finally showed up at your door a month later, he looked thicker. His shoulders seemed broader, his jaw sharper. He'd filled out in ways that made his shirts fit differently. Pretty healthy, actually. His eyes had a new intensity to them that you couldn't quite place.
"You look better," you said, pulling him into a hug. He laughed weakly, burying his face in your hair. He breathed in deep, and you felt his chest expand against yours. "Missed you too, bunny."
“I was so worried. Why didn't you call me back?”
"Didn't want you to see me like that." He pulled back, rubbing the back of his neck. "I looked rough."
"Rough is an understatement. Are you okay now?"
"Yeah. I'm okay now." He wasn't, really. He could smell you differently now. Could pick up the sweetness of your shampoo, the warmth of your skin. the faint, intoxicating scent of your arousal when you shifted too close to him. It made his head spin. Made his gums ache. Made his fingers curl into fists with the effort of not touching you. Made him want to sink his teeth into your neck and never let go.
He controlled it. Barely. And he found every excuse to be near you. "I've got a headache," he'd whine, flopping onto your couch. "Can we lie down?" You'd laugh. “You have a headache every time you come over.”
"'Cause you're comfortable." He'd pat the couch, giving you those big puppy eyes. “C'mon, bunny. Just for a few minutes.”
You'd roll your eyes but sit down anyway, and then his head would rest on your thigh. He'd try to play it cool, your hand stroking through his hair, but the moment his nose got anywhere near your crotch he was done for. He could smell you through your clothes. Could feel the heat radiating from through your pants n underwear. Could imagine with painful clarity, what you tasted like.
He'd get hard instantly. Every single time.
He'd have to adjust himself subtly, pray you didn't notice, and spend the rest of the time trying to think about unsexy things. It was torture. The best kind of torture.
. . .
He’d started guilt-tripping you into wearing skirts. "It's hot out today, bunny," he'd say, even when the forecast said sixty degrees. "Why don't you wear a skirt? It's cute. I like the skirt." You'd raise an eyebrow. "It's not that warm."
"Please?" Puppy eyes. Full force. “For me?” You'd sigh and agree, because truthfully, Michael had always had good fashion sense. He knew what looked good on you. And the way his face lit up when you came out wearing the skirt he'd picked out made you happy.
He'd spend the entire day trying to catch a glimpse of your underwear every time you bent over or sat down. He'd picture what was underneath the curve of your thighs, the dip of your waist, the damp spot that he knew would be there if you were as affected by him as he was by you. His mind would run wild, and the moment he got home he'd lock himself in his room and touch himself to the memory.
He was a pervert, and he was aware of it. But he didn't care. And Michael had never been good at denying the himself.
…
He supposed this was gonna happen eventually.
It happened on a random night. You and him were supposed to watch horror movies together, easily his favorite genre, but not because he liked being scared. He liked the excuse to press close to you in the dark, to feel you jump and grab his arm, to act like he was the one protecting you when really, he was just looking for any reason to have your body against his.
He was laying across your lap, his head resting on your thighs while your fingers traced absent patterns through his hair. The movie was playing some thriller (get it?…LMAO) flick he'd seen a dozen times but he couldn't focus on it. Not with you so close. Not with your scent filling his lungs with every breath. Not with the warmth of your thighs pressing against his cheeks.
Not when his instincts were clawing at the inside of his skull, screaming at him to claim you, mark you, make you his. He shifted, his nose brushing against the fabric of your shorts. He inhaled without meaning to, and a low whine escaped his throat.
You paused the movie. "You okay?"
"Yeah." His voice came out rough, strained. “Just…headache's acting up.”
"You want me to get you something?”
"No." He turned his head, pressing his face against your thigh. “Just stay here. Please.” You laughed softly, your fingers resuming their path through his hair. "You're so clingy lately. Did the sickness make you emotional or something?"
“Or something.” He breathed you in again, and this time he couldn't stop the way his hips twitched. He felt himself hardening, pressing against the seam of his jeans. If you noticed, you didn't say anything. The movie played on. Neither of you were watching. The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken things.
He was being good. He was trying so hard to be good. But then the scene changed, and you shifted, and a fresh wave of your scent hit his nose. And he couldn't help it. He couldn't. “Hey, bunny?”
"Yeah?" He sat up slowly, turning to face you. His hand found yours, his thumb tracing circles on your palm. “Can I ask you something?”
“You just did.” He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. He looked nervous. Actually nervous. “I mean, something else.”
"Go ahead."
He took a breath. "Do you ever think about... kissing?"
You blinked at him. “I mean. Sometimes. Why?” He shrugged, trying to look casual, but his ears were bright red. "I don't know. I was just thinking. I've never really done it before. Kissed anyone. And I was wondering if maybe—" He cleared his throat. "If maybe you'd want to practice with me?"
Your heart paused. “Practice?”
"Yeah. You know. Just to see what it's like." He squeezed your hand. “We're best friends. There's no one else I'd rather practice with than you. And if we're bad at it, it doesn't matter because we're just figuring it out together.” You hesitated. "Michael."
"I mean, unless you don't want to." He looked down, his lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. "If you don't want to, that's okay. I'll just find someone else to practice with. I just thought it'd be better with you, since we trust each other."
The guilt trip was subtle but effective. The thought of him kissing someone else, practicing with someone else, made something twist in your stomach.
"Fine," you said. "But just once." His whole face lit up. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He leaned in slowly, giving you time to pull away. His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing across your cheekbone. His eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of hesitation. And then he kissed you. It started soft. Gentle. His lips moved against yours slowly, learning the shape of them. His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and when you didn't pull away, he deepened the kiss. His tongue traced along your lower lip, asking permission.
You opened for him, and the sound he made was almost a whimper. His tongue slid against yours, warm and wet, and he kissed you like he'd been waiting his whole life for this moment. He tilted his head, adjusting the angle, and suddenly he was *good* at this. Surprisingly good. You didn’t know he could be this confident actually.
And then you felt it a warmth spreading across your chin. Wetness. Damp. He was drooling into your mouth. Not a lot. Just a little. A bit of extra saliva that slipped past his lips and into yours when he got too into it, He didn't seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn't care.
He just kept kissing you, deeper and hungrier, until you were both breathless. When he finally pulled back, you were panting. Your lips were swollen and glistening. Your head was spinning. And then you really looked at him. His eyes weren't brown anymore. They were glowing. Dark yellow, like embers in the dim light of the TV. Warm and bright and distinctly not human.
"Mikey?" Your voice came out shaky. “Your eyes.” His pupils were blown wide, his irises that strange, luminous gold, and when he smiled, you saw them his canines. They were longer than they'd been this morning. Sharper. Like a dog's teeth. He blinked, and the color seemed to flicker. He laughed softly, brushing it off, but his voice was rougher than before. “It's just the movie lighting, bunny. Scary movies always mess with your head. You're imagining things.”
You wanted to argue. Wanted to point out that the movie turned off, and the only light in the room was the lamp in the corner. But he was already leaning in again, already pressing soft kisses to your jaw, your neck, the spot behind your ear that made you shiver. And you were too distracted to argue. He smiled against your skin, pressing closer. The makeout sessions became a regular thing after that first time.
. . .
started with sleepovers. You'd stay over at his place, or he'd stay at yours, and somewhere between the movie and the late-night snacks, he'd find his way into your space. His hand would rest on your thigh. His lips would brush against your shoulder. He'd give you that look, those big puppy eyes, and you'd cave every single time.
It was nice, honestly. He was a good kisser. Attentive. Soft when he needed to be, hungry when you wanted him to be. And he always held you after, pressing kisses to your hair, telling you you did good, that you were getting better at it. Tonight was no different.
You were at his place, sprawled across his bed in matching pajama sets he'd bought for the two of you months ago. The movie was some action movie neither of you were paying attention to. His hand was on your waist, his thumb tracing lazy circles through the fabric.
He leaned in, and you met him halfway. The kiss started slowly, familiar. His tongue slid against yours, and you hummed, your hand finding its way into his hair. He pulled you closer, your chest pressing against his, and you felt the familiar heat building between you.
But tonight felt different. His kisses were hungrier. His hands were more restless, sliding down your sides, gripping your hips, pulling you against him. You could feel him hardening through his pajama pants, and you pulled back, breathless. "Mikey.."
"Sorry." His voice was rough. “Just - feel good. You feel good.” He kissed you again, deeper this time, and his hands found the hem of your shirt. He paused, asking permission without words. You nodded, and he pulled it off, tossing it aside. His lips found your collarbone, your chest, the swell of your breasts through your bra.
"Michael," you breathed. "Want you so bad," he mumbled against your skin. “Been thinking about it all day.” He shifted, guiding you until you were straddling his lap. The position pressed his hardness directly against your core, and you both gasped.
"See?" His voice was strained. “Feels good, right?” You nodded, your hands braced on his shoulders. He rocked his hips up, grinding against you through the layers of fabric, and a moan escaped your throat. "That's it," he murmured. “That's my good girl.”
He kept grinding, his hands gripping your hips, guiding your movements. The friction was overwhelming, even through your clothes. You could feel how hard he was, could feel the heat of him through the thin fabric. "Mikey, I don't know if we should.."
"Just this," he said quickly. “Just this. No pants. Just grinding. Please.” You shook your head. "That's too far."
"Bunny." His voice dropped, soft and pleading. "Please. I've been so good. I haven't pushed. I've been patient. But I need this. I need you."
You hesitated, and he pressed closer, his lips brushing against your ear. "Do you want me to go find some random girl?" he asked, his voice quiet. "Because I will, if that's what you want. But I'd rather it be you. It's easier this way. We trust each other. You know I'd never hurt you."
Your stomach twisted. The thought of him with someone else, of some other girl seeing him like this, hearing the sounds he made it made you feel sick. "Please, bunny." His voice cracked. “Don't be a bad friend.” The guilt trip hit its mark. You swallowed, your resolve crumbling.
"Fine," you whispered. “Fine. But just this once.”
"Just this once." He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I promise.” He helped you out of your pajama pants, tossing them aside. His own followed, his pants pooling around his thighs. You were both still in your underwear, but you could see everything the outline of him, thick and hard, straining against the fabric of his boxers.
He guided you back onto his lap, and you felt him pressing against you through the thin layers. His hands found your waist, his grip firm. "You ready?" You nodded, and he pulled you down. The pressure was immediate. He was hard and hot against you, and you moaned, your head falling back. He groaned in response, his hips bucking up to meet you. "Yeah—fuck—yeah, just like that—"
He guided your movements, his hands on your hips, showing you a rhythm. The fabric of your underwear slid against his, and you could feel the dampness of him, the heat of him, the way his breath hitched every time you rolled your hips. "Doin' so good," he breathed. "So good for me, bunny."
His head fell back, his eyes fluttering shut. His lips were parted, his cheeks flushed, and he looked absolutely wrecked beneath you. "Look at that," you heard him mumble, and when you followed his gaze, his eyes were fixated on the tent that was visible in his boxers, the outline of his length straining so obviously, so big and heavy, that it was impossible to look away.
He looked up at you, his eyes dark and wanting. “We got time. We can take this slow.”
"Doin' s’good," he breathed. "So good for me, bunny." His head fell back, his eyes fluttering shut. His lips were parted, his cheeks flushed, and he looked absolutely wrecked beneath you. But as his hips moved faster and his breathing grew more ragged, you started to notice things.
His grip on your hips tightened, his fingers pressing harder into your skin. When you glanced down, you could have sworn his fingernails looked darker, thicker. Like claws trying to push through.
And his sounds they were changing. His moans were deepening into growls, low and rumbling, vibrating through his chest. When he opened his eyes, they weren't brown anymore. They were yellow. Bright and glowing, his pupils narrowed into slits.
"Mikey" Your voice came out shaky. He blinked, and for a second, he looked almost panicked. Then he pulled you closer, burying his face in your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your pulse point. You swore you felt something sharp graze your skin, but it was gone before you could process it. "You're imagining things," he mumbled against your throat, his voice deeper than before, rougher. “Just the lighting. You're seeing things.”
His lips found yours again, kissing you deep and desperate, distracting you. His hips kept moving, grinding up against you, and the sensation made it hard to think. Hard to focus. But when his mouth trailed down your neck, when he bit down gently on the curve of your shoulder, you could have sworn his teeth felt sharper than before. And when your hand found his arm to steady yourself, you could have sworn the skin felt coarser. Hairier. "Mike."
"You're imagining things," he repeated, his voice breathless, almost pleading. "Just focus on me. Focus on how good this feels. Feels good right?” He pulled you closer, held you tighter, and kept you from seeing his face You could feel him trembling beneath you, his whole body wound tight like a spring. His hips stuttered, his rhythm faltering, and you knew he was close.
"Bunny" His voice was wrecked, barely human. "I'm—I'm gonna—" His back arched, his grip on your hips turning bruising. His moan pitched lower, twisting into something that didn't sound human at all a howl, long and desperate, needy almost, that tore from his throat and filled the room.
His whole body shuddered beneath you, his hips jerking as he came in his boxers, warm and wet against the fabric.And then he collapsed, panting like he'd run a marathon.
His chest heaved, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His forehead pressed to yours, his eyes still squeezed shut."Holy..that was." he breathed. You stared at him, your heart pounding. "Did you just howl?" Now you weren’t hearing things. That was no movie. He laughed weakly, still catching his breath. "What? No. That was..that was a moan. A really loud moan."
"That didn't sound like a moan." You may not have ever slept with anyone ever but you knew moaning shouldn’t sound like a wild animal. "You're hearing things, bunny." He pressed a kiss to your forehead, still panting. "Scary movie's got you all spooked. My moans don’t sound that bad.” He joked. You wanted to argue. You were pretty sure you knew the difference between a moan and a howl.
But he was already holding you closer, already burying his face in your hair, already breathing you in. And you were too tired to argue.
fuck me forgot the taglist LMAOOO TAGLIST: @floatyangel @stargir428 @mjsbabyyy @xyzabceo
