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"control me cause it feels so good when im in your arms, i don't want you goin nowhere. cause on the corners of your mind, helps my body to unwind. the way we grind..."
_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐
michael jackson imagine...
contents ׂׂૢ reader is written as black reader in mind, age gap (reader is 24 and michael is 28), 18+, no use of y/n, teasing, bulge recognition??, michael just really likes seeing his bulge insde of you, use of baby and mama, use of 'good girl', dry hummping, p in v (no mention of condom), reader hasnt seen michael in weeks, not proof read.
_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐
w.k- 4.3k (i know...)
a/n—the title is based off a song i really loved and listened to while writing this and though she wasn’t making music in that time i made it to where she had vinyls already published just for convenience.
your legs were propped up against the old wooden coffee table placed above the rug in the middle of your living room. white socks stretching up loosely on your claves and nice white cotton shorts sitting on your hips. you were wearing one of his sweaters, it hang loose around your body but snug enough around your shoulders with a image of mickey plastered on the front.
your long black hair was wrapped up in a bun, loose strands falling around your face as your head scarf failed to pushed them back. her cleo sol vinyl spinning on her record player that sat perched up on the window sill the speakers beside the bookshelves reverberated the song around you. the windows cracked open letting the warm summer air move her sheer curtains in the breeze. it was late evening, and the sun began to set casting a warm orange hue through your small apartment.
a book sat in your lap, the pages moving at the softness of her finger tips, each turn of a page filling the empty space around you. you’d gotten off of work not too long ago, granted being on closing shift at the bookshop you worked at had you at home later than usual. it wasn’t far from your apartment just a few blocks, short enough you’d walk on days cool enough in the encino summer heat. when you’d gotten home you immediately changed in to something more comfortable and plopped yourself down on the sofa grabbing a book you had started reading from the night before from your bookshelf.
your apartment was cozy, simple but cozy. there was a oval wooden table in the middle of the living room that you had once thrifted long before moving out, a nice threaded rug to hold the sharp legs from scratching the wooden floor. there were small bookshelves lined up under the three large windows that sat to your left. your record player sat atop the middle one, your records placed neatly in a shelf beside it. large candles worn from constant use that michael had gifted you when you first moved in.
everything was perfect.
you had gotten halfway through the book, your mind immersed in the story when you heard a knock on your door. it was so soft you nearly missed it. you looked over to the door and back to your book before folding a dog ear and placing it closed on the table. you walked over, looking in to the peep hole, your hand resting on the metal handle. you knew who it was immediately by the glasses, a small smile resting on your lips. though he wore them as disguise to get around the public safely, somehow they were the most identifying feature about him. you pulled open the door, and of course standing before you was michael. he pulled his sunglasses off, a smile spreading across his face once his eyes reached yours, “hey baby..” his voice was quiet.
you reached your free hand out, reaching for his to pull him inside. “hey michael, i missed you..” you spoke as you closed the door and immediately leaning in for a hug, your arms reaching around his neck. his head rested against your shoulder, his arms wrapping around your waist.
“i missed you too mama, he placed a kiss on your cheek how was work?” you took a deep breath in, his scent running through you nose and your body. you couldn’t get enough of it. it made you feel so warm inside, the subtle but demanding scent of wood and hints of vanilla. it was your favorite.
you pulled back, hands resting against his forearms as he ran his up and down your back. “it was alright, nothing much happened.” you ran a hand over his jaw, your eyes searching over his face.
you could see the exhaustion from the week. he had been working so much the past weeks, constant rehearsals and studios sessions, the late night phone calls asking him when’s the last time he had gotten a full night of sleep. you could feel it in the way he hugged you, the tension running through his body like none other.
there would be days when you would go to his house in the break of night just because he’d asked you too, laying in bed with him and soothing his body to sleep. you were afraid to close your eyes, scared that if you had given your body to sleep, he’d wake up.
“how was rehearsal?” you asked, he nodded slightly a sigh leaving his body “it was the usual, good but long.” you gave him a small smile tucking a loose girl behind his ear before pulling away. you tugged at one of his hands, pulling him with you towards the sofa.
you sat him down first, his hands automatically reaching for your hips as you sat down in his lap. you wrapped an arm around his shoulder, the other coming to rub down the center of his clothed chest. his hand moved along with yours, rubbing down your smooth bare thigh his eyes running down your body.
your hand rubbed his shoulder “whats wrong mikey.. are you feeling okay?” you whispered your brows furrowed. he nodded slowly, a smile reaching across his lips once more catching your eyes. “everything’s okay tink, i just wanted to come see my lady.” he spoke with such tenderness it ran through your body and straight to your core.
“mmh..” you sighed. you pulled yourself from his lap standing before him with your hand out, “c’mre.” you spoke simply. he looked around you confused for a moment, reaching for your hand nonetheless. as you pulled him up, you guided his hands to your hips, swinging yours back around his neck, beginning to sway to the music.
michael followed your movements swiftly, swaying to the slow rhythm of your favorite song that had begun playing on the record. as the song continued you rested your head against his chest, his thumbs making slow circles against your hips.
“i love you michael, you know that?” you murmured. michael rested his chin atop of your head, his eyes closing as you continued moving slowly in the middle of your living room, “i know mama, i love you more. so much more.” his voice breathy.
as the song progressed and your bodies moved with one another, michael found his way under your shirt, his cool hands resting against the small of your back rubbing up and down. you let out a shaking breath at the coolness against your body, a muffled laugh coming from above you.
you swayed to the music until the record went to static. even then you two never left your embrace. the sun had gone down by then, the cold air coming from the night sky as the moon created a small light in your apartment. neither of you cared to move, wrapped in the feeling of your bodies engrossed in one another.
this wasn’t an unusual thing for you too to be doing. many nights you found each other wrapped up wether it was in bed, one of you staying at another’s home as michael wrapped you in his arms, his hand coming to rub your stomach slowly or when simply sitting on the couch became you sitting in is lap with his hands running all over your body and his lips attached to your jaw.
it was never enough for him. you felt so good around him, he had always found a way to be touching you, kissing you, making love to you, it didn’t matter. as long as you had his touch lingering all through your body was what mattered.
just like tonight, he wanted his touch to be engraved in your skin if it could.
“michael…” you subdued as his hands moved from beneath your shirt to the waist band of your shorts, rubbing his fingers along the rim. you moved your head far enough to look up at him, your cheeks becoming a light pink hue in the night.
he moved his head down towards your jaw, kissing alongside it and his heads played with your waist band once more before making their way back up your shirt, his thumbs making circles. you moved your head to the side giving him as much access as you could, a gentle sigh leaving your lips.
as he reached your neck you quickly pulled back. he looked at you his brows furrowed, eyes beginning to fill with worry “whats wrong baby?” his voice laced with apprehension. “just.. one second mikey.” you put a finger up to him before quickly moving across the living room to place the needle back on the song, waiting a few moments for the static to be displaced by the sound of her voice before running back to michael.
“there, that’s better.” you giggled. he watched you a few moments more before a smile tugged at his lips, pulling you in for a quick kiss before making his way down to your thighs, hoisting you up against him. a small shriek came out from surprise, “michael!” you tittered, finally from the moment he arrived, a real laugh came from him.
it made you realize how much the noise suited him and how much your ears longed to hear it. his lips moved down your neck, your head thrown back as your hands found way to stable yourself against his shoulders as he walked you both to your bedroom.
he pushed the door open, leaving it open for the music to flow through the room.
he sat down against the plush of the bed, his hands flowing up your back as his mouth made way to your collarbones. you wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your bodies closer together. his mouth continued against your neck for moments more before pulling away, your eyes locking with each other. “i’ve missed you, you know that?” he breathed.
your hands came against his cheeks, “i know, and i’ve missed you more. i hate that your schedule has gotten so hectic..” you frowned. michael merely nodded before reaching back down to continue the slow kisses along you neck, nipping at the soft skin momentarily before giving it a soft lick and continuing on.
your mouth was ajar, a sigh coming at every pull of his teeth. your hands began to venture down until they reached the first button of his shirt, slowly unbuttoning one at a time.
your hands beginning to falter when michael found his way under your sweater once more, edging close to your silk rimed bra.
you could feel the slick gathering at your core at every movement of his fingers brushing over your hard pecs. the heat begging to be released.
as your fingers finally reached the last button, you tore his shirt off throwing it somewhere behind him landing on the cold wooden ground. your hands rubbed at his bare skin, your fingers running over the ridges of muscle in his arms, his back, his chest, everywhere.
the coolness of your rings made shivers run throughout his body. as he reached around your back to unclasp the soft fabric. finally, as it came undone he drug it down your shoulder and from under the soft sweater, holding the bra in between you.
you smiled as heat pooled at your cheeks, looking away as he rubbed the cup under his fingers. he looked up at you before dropping it on the floor and reaching for the bottom of your sweater.
you ran your thumb against his cheek before pulling away and putting them in the air as he slid the clothing off your body. the coolness of the room hit you immediately, your pecs becoming more sensitive at the minute.
his fingers flexed against the fabric. the pool of ecstasy only rising in your stomach.
"please.." you begged, your voice coming out so small it was almost missed by his ears. michael leaned back, taking the breathtaking view in.
michael felt drunk as he leaned back, taking your body in his view.
god, it had to be his favorite sight to see. his hands came to rest at the sides of your waist, rubbing mindless circles on your smooth skin with his thumb.
he took a deep breath, his eyes trailing down your body before meeting your eyes again, “god baby, you’re so beautiful. how did i get you all to myself hm?” his words traveled straight to your cunt. you let out a soft sigh, your hands coming to cover your face from the sheepishness.
a chuckle came from below you, “what’s there to be shy about mama?” michael spoke as a hand left your waist to pull at your wrist. your cheeks began to hurt and the warmth got no better, “nothing michael..” you whispered, “please..just-“ you dropped your head against his shoulder. his hand came to your back, the other resting against your side as he rubbed up and down.
"please what? baby, speak up.." he whispered. you tried to turn your head, anything to escape the feeling of embarrassment of having to ask your boyfriend of two years to please you, to put his lips against your pussy, to swallow your slick like it's his first time ever, to just do something. his hand rested at the base of your neck, trailing up to your hair lightly tugging to pull your face back, forcing you to look at him.
unfortunately, his hand was firm in keeping your face in place. "michael.. i need you so bad, please?" your voice cracked. the sound sent straight to his cock.
a soft sigh left his lips. he removed his hand, putting it back on your waist. it had taken everything in him not to throw you on the bed and rip your shorts off just to eat you through your panties, giving you no time to breath before you came, swallowing your cum through the thin wet fabric of your underwear.
"okay, okay, i'll give it to you girl. just be patient. can you be good and wait for me?" he groaned. his lips moving against your chest while you nodded, placing your hands back against his shoulders, your fingers digging in to his skin as you felt the wet trail of his lips move closer and closer to your breast. you took a deep breath, a pant coming from behind your lips and his mouth latched on to your peck, his fingers coming to rub the hard nub in between his fingers as his tongue lapped at your other.
in reality, you loved it when michael talked to you like this, did you like this. all commanding yet so soft and easy. not only had it been during intimate moments where his voice would soften and become breathy, but also during those days when you'd just gotten a new dress, or had done your hair differently, nervous to show it off to him.
only for him to be taken away, he'd run his eyes all over your body before bringing your hand up to spin you around, giving him a full view.
“yes michael, yes keep going, please, please, please.” your voice broke as you begged for more, hopping the hot heat of his mouth against your boob would never come to an end. suddenly, his mouth left your boob, his hand following not far behind. you stopped, confused, had something happened?
suddenly he began to move, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as your shift your bodies against each other, his back coming to rest against the headboard. “there we go.” he whispered.
he positioned your hips to sit against his, he sat your clothed pussy sitting against his cock at just the perfect angle that a groan left his lips. he could’ve command right then and there, feeling your heat against his made his pants tighten in all the right places.
he pressed your bodies tighter, his head coming to rest in the middle of your boobs. “c’mon, move for me baby. i know you can do it.” a whimper escaped your lips. you nodded, your hand going through his hair gripping lightly before moving along to another spot as you began to grind slowly against him.
your vision began to blur, fuzzy dots clouding all around you as you ground down harder, feeling the cool button of pants hit against your clit. heat filled around the room and the song that once played from the record came replaced by the sounds of your breath and the wet sounds of miahels mouth moving against your boobs.
as his teeth came to hold your bud you pushed against him harder, god what you wouldn’t give to feel him inside you right now.
“mikey..” you breath travel short, you felt his cock jump under you as you spoke. he moved his head, his lips coming to rest against the shell of your ear. “what is it mama? tell me what you want.” you grinned against him harder, a weak moan faltering from his lips “i need you- inside please.”
he nodded, his head moving to between the both of you as his fingers latched onto the waist band of your shorts.
“sit up.” he commanded, and you did as he asked rising your hips as he pulled your cotton shorts down to your thighs, letting his fingers roam against the black floral lace of your panties. “did you wear these just for me mama? hmm?” he cooed. you knew they were his favorite, internally thanking your past self for putting these on.
you nodded, your words slurring “yes michael, just for you.” his fingers dipped inside, coming to your core and rubbing your slick from your entrance to your clit, “so beautiful..” he groaned once more.
“take them off already.” you begged, micahel laughed as his fingers came to rub the hard bud in between his fingers. your stomach tightened “you gotta ask nicer than that baby, say please and maybe i will.” he spoke as his fingers came to rub at the rim of your entrance. the tightness in your stomach became so unbearable that it began to hurt.
it begged for him to fill up its space, have his cock pumping in and out of your uncontrollably. “please mikey, please fill me up..” you mumbled, hopping he’d hear. “good girl…” you nearly came from his praise alone.
he pressed a finger inside, you could feel it rub against the plush of your walls before adding another. a loud moan escaped your lips, leaving your mouth ajar.
each crook of his finger had you at his surrender, his thumb came to rub at your clit letting you adjust before pushing another one in. “mmgh- michael!” you cried. he shushed you, the hand resting at your hip piercing your supple skin “i know mama, you’re alright. you’re doing so good already, just f’me hm?” his voice deepened.
you nodded, your pleasure too overpowering for words to form coherently.
you could feel the tightness in your stomach pulling even more, bringing you to your edge. “im gonna- fuck, michael im gonna cum.” he rubbed your clit once more before pulling both fingers out of you, bringing them between your bodies. you groaned, “what-“ michael stopped you.
he brought his slick covered fingers up to you, rubbing the thick consistency. “look at you mama, so wet just f’me.” the heat in your cheeks returned as he brought his fingers just before your lips. “c’mon.. open up.” you looked between his fingers and his face, your eyes locking onto his before you opened your mouth taking both his fingers in.
his cock jumped as your tongue came to wrap around them, swallowing the warm consistency from his fingers as a soft moan left your lips. a groan left his chest as he wondered if this is what your heat would feel like, embracing his dick, swallowing him in. “fuck..” he groaned. he pulled his fingers from your mouth with a pop. before reaching down to pull of your panties.
he left them to sit on your thigh, just above your shorts before reaching for his own pants. as he began unbuttoning them and pulling down the zipper, the heat in your stomach returned hotter this time, more desperate.
you could feel the excitement beginning to crawl through your skin, you couldn’t wait for him to fill you. make you feel so full as he laid against you, still connected.
your hands that rested on his shoulders gripped the skin tighter, leaving indents of your presence against the darkness of his skin. as michael pulled out his dick your body shuddered at the reminiscence of his thickness.
it remembered the feeling of it stretching out your pussy for the first time, leaving you breathless against his sheets while his hand wrapped around your mouth to hush his family from hearing the moans and cries of pleasure emitting from your chest.
as he pumped himself, his large hands stroking the tip of his length, gathering the bead of pre-cum around his fingers before moving back down, you couldn’t wait. michael could feel the impatience spilling from you.
“i know mama, i’ll fill you up real soon. you want that don’t you? you want my cum to fill you to the brim? watching as it spills out of you while i pull out, you’re so dirty.” michael’s voice ran all over you, a whimper came from you as you dragged your nails against the smooth skin of his arms, you nodded.
“yes michael, i want it so bad. i want you to fill me up, i want you to never leave. i want you inside of me forever.” your voice faltered.
god, michael couldn’t take it anymore as he watched your hips twitch at every drag of his hands. as he felt the burn of your nails scratching up and down his arms, he wanted to stay inside you forever if he could. “shit. c’mer.”
michael gripped your hips, aligning your entrance up to his dick. he paused, looking up at you before nodding. you slowly sunk yourself down, feeling the stretch at every inch of his dick. michael squeezed his eyes shut, his chest pumping faster and the grip on your hips tightening. “oh! michael!” you shouted.
it was just as you remembered, so good. as you settled against his hips, michael barely gave you time to adjust before moving your hips against him. you felt so full, like you couldn’t breathe. as he began to sway your hips back and forth, his head came to fall against the headboard, the expanse of his throat on display as his mouth lay ajar.
“just like that mama, yeah keep doing that f’me.” he mumbled, too lost in the haze to make sense of himself. you nodded, your hands sliding down to the base of his bicep squeezing as you rocked your hips faster.
you nodded again and again, unable to form words. you closed your eyes, tears coming from your corners as the only sounds in the house were the sounds of your breathing and the wet connection between you two.
michael lifted his head, watching the tears roll down the sides of your face. his hand coming to wipe one away, “it’s alright baby, you feel so good. i know, i know, look at you so perfect for me.” his voice was hushed, breaking at every pause of breath.
all you could mutter was a small moan from your lips. you felt michael’s hands slide from your hips up to your was it, pressing against the sides of your belly.
you looked down, sucking in a breath at the sight.
his thumbs were pressing at the side of his bulge that shifted in your stomach at every grind of your hips. watching himself inside you. “oh, micahel…” you whispered.
your eyes jumped to his face watching as his gaze shifted to something hungrier, primal. you ground your hips harder against him, watching as his eyes came bound to your face. “mama..” you smiled, nodding for the millionth time.
“you feel so good inside me michael, i love it.” you leaned forwards, your hands coming to rest at the back of his head before lightly guiding him to your chest. “you like watching yourself inside me, filling me up with so delicately, don’t you mikey?” you questioned.
you felt him nodding against your chest. his right hand came to rest against his bulge displayed by the plush wall of your belly. his fingers rubbing it lightly. you began to rock your hips harder, your breath coming out quicker. you felt yourself about to cum, the new realization having peaked your arousal immensely.
your hands rubbed his sweaty curls once more as you felt his lips coming across your chest, down to your boobs before taking in your nipple. sucking it lightly before lapping against it with his tongue, his breath warm against your sensitive skin. “oh mikey, i think im gonna- ah shit!” you yelped.
you ground against him one last time, harder, heavier and more aroused in your life than you think you’d ever been. you came hard against him, you cheek coming to rest against the top of his head moments before feeling his warm release paint the inside of your walls.
his mouth never stopped moving against your breast, his tongue poking out before coming to suck hard around the skin, taking it between his teeth. as your breath began to slow, michael pushed his head back, just enough to look you in the eyes. you smiled down at him,
“i love you micahel, so much. but you're such a perv..” you whispered with a smile. michael smiled at you, releasing a small chuckle before taking his eyes down to your stomach, his hand still resting against his still hard bulge resting inside you.
you laughed as his thumb came to rub against it once more.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
૮ ෆ ෆ ა puppy!michael seems to lack self control and just can’t help when his fingers get a little sticky around your dirty laundry. you find out every time and he never learns his lesson, probably because punishment just feels too good for him. he literally can’t complain when he has a mouth full of your panties that smell and taste just like you while you edge him nonstop and milk him back to back.
૮ ෆ ෆ ა puppy!michael whines and begs you to let him cum, sometimes for more than one if he’s feeling extra needy. you always tease him by calling him a “greedy puppy” but it only makes his hunger stronger.
૮ ෆ ෆ ა puppy!michael loves making a mess. he can’t help it when his achy dick leaks uncontrollably but he always loves the slick feeling of his pre mixing with your spit as you work him over. his brain turns to absolute mush when he starts getting more sensitive and he’ll let his mouth fall open as his drool collects on his lower lip and drips down his chin.
૮ ෆ ෆ ა puppy!michael tries to touch himself when he’s not with you, always ending up frustrated because it’s not as good as your pretty hand squeezing him and your sweet voice calling him a “naughty boy” for being so needy when he’s busy. he’s immediately relieved when you randomly call him so he has a reason to excuse himself to go tease his drippy cock to the sound of your voice.
“naughty boy… touching while you should be busy.”
“m’sorry, mama… it hurts, baby… please keep talkin’ to me…”
૮ ෆ ෆ ა puppy!michael takes you shopping and for fancy dinners because he knows you’ll tease him the whole day, and he looks forward to it. waiting for you outside of dressing rooms while you try on tops and dresses and short skirts… he can’t focus, only thinking about which ones have the easiest access. poor thing, nursing a semi-hard on for nearly the whole day while barely complaining. he bites his tongue every time you “accidentally” graze the bulge behind his zipper or when or when you call him your “puppy” in a whisper only meant for his ears. he buys you whatever you want without a second thought because spending his money on you turns him on almost as much as the way your tits bounce when you get too excited.
૮ ෆ ෆ ა puppy!michael loves having you on top but can’t deny how good it feels for you to be under him. the way your legs wrap around his waist as he pounds into you with a desperate pace always makes him finish too quickly. it all happens too fast, he forgets to ask mommy if he can cum inside, so he does anyway and makes sure to apologize immediately and figure out how to make it up to you.
૮ ෆ ෆ ა puppy!michael often cums just from kissing and dry humping. he tries to hide it but the sticky wet spot is too obvious to ignore. he usually makes a mess of the bedsheets when he eats your pussy, letting his drool mix with your slick as it pools on the blankets while he humping the plush material through his pants. he cums just from pleasing you and hearing you moan and praise him for doing so good.
“that’s my good puppy, doing so good for me.”
“sweet boy loves kissing my pussy, yeah?”
“just like that, puppy… gonna make mommy cum again…”
૮ ෆ ෆ ა puppy!michael is completely your toy. he comes when you call and cums when you tell him to. he lets you do whatever you please and does whatever you tell him to and he wouldn’t have it any other way. he’s yours to have, to please, and to punish, and he never gets tired of it.
professor! michael jackson x grad student f! reader
cw/tw: 1991, michael teaches a graduate literature course at uc berkeley, no use of y/n, slight age gap — reader is mid 20s michael is 33, fluff, forbidden romance, praise, drunk makeouts, 18+ mdni, thigh riding, m!masturbation, semi-public oral (m! receiving), mention of semi-public sex, use of yes sir, soft dom! michael
wc: 3.9k
Everyone was drawn to him.
That became apparent with each passing lecture. The way he was able to hold the attention of the room as he spoke and moved, your eyes catching on the way his hand flexed as he wrote on the chalkboard. Not being able to help it.
The cadence he spoke in, a lull on the ears that kept the attention easily. He didn’t even have to try.
His smile infectious and when he’d lean against his desk with his hands in his pockets, cracking a joke only one with knowledge in fifteenth century literature would understand — the entire lecture hall laughed. Even if they didn’t get it, there was just something about him.
Despite how distracting Professor Jackson was, you were one of, if not the, top of his.
Your gaze would catch his as he handed back assignments, forcing back a shiver as your fingers brushed when you took the paper from him. Practically melting when he winked at you and muttered a Good work.
Your face feeling warm as you looked down to see the familiar scrawl of his hand writing. You didn’t even bother to look at your grade, knowing it was an A.
Instead your attention was pulled to the annotations he had left.
He was probably one of the best professors to give feedback on work. He was honest, but he wasn’t cruel and he didn’t have the ego to withhold a compliment when it was due.
You smiled to yourself as you read what he’d written in the margins. His handwriting slanted and borderline messy and telling yourself his praise didn’t mean all that much. He was just doing his job.
Then your eyes caught on the smiley face he’d drawn next to one paragraph. Nothing else.
It made your stomach flip.
The infatuation was normal and you were sure half of the other students shared your sentiments. Professor Jackson was handsome and young. Soft spoken and intelligent. Kind and charming. A silly side to him that made him all the more endearing. He ticked every box.
Though you’d never admit it out loud, the small crush you had on him drove you to work harder. Desperate to win his approval in a way only academics knew. The hunger for it practically insatiable because you knew those brief interactions were all you were going to get.
At least, that’s what you had initially thought.
He’d mentioned two weeks ago that there was an essay competition and left a list pinned to the bulletin board outside of the lecture hall for people to sign up.
You’d been curious, of course. But the thought of people reading your work outside of a classroom setting made your bones slightly itch. The act of putting yourself out there like that too vulnerable. Saying you’d do it eventually, just not now.
Yet as the hour wrapped up and you were half way through packing your bag to leave, you heard your name.
Glancing up, convinced you were hearing things, you found him looking at you expectantly as he leaned against the desk, his arms on show given he’d rolled the sleeves up and you tried to ignore how dry your mouth suddenly got.
“Yes, sir?”
You had never actually talked to him before besides asking questions now and then during seminars.
“Do you have a minute?”
You nodded, blushing as he gestured for you to come over with his hand.
Sliding your bag onto your shoulder, you held the strap of it like a life line as you approached him.
His smile was lazy at the corners, his eyes just slightly narrowed as he looked at you. Debating something in his head and you felt like the world had stopped moving.
“Why didn’t you sign up for the competition?” He finally said.
You blinked at him. “Sorry?”
“The essay comp. You didn’t sign up.”
“Oh…” you continued to stare at him like an idiot. Not knowing what to say in a way that wouldn’t make it sound childish. “I just… I’m busy.”
“You get two weeks until the deadline.”
You bit the inside of your cheek. “I’m really busy.”
Professor Jackson raised a brow at you.
His direct and prolonged attention was overwhelming and you suddenly started to panic if you were breathing normally.
“I really think you should give it a shot, there’s no need to be nervous about submitting something. You’re a wonderful writer.”
You physically felt your chest bloom in warmth at the compliment. “Thank you, but I don’t know. I’ve never,” you shifted on your feet. His gaze was so intense. “I’m not sure if it’s right for me, is all.”
“That’s exactly why you should do it. If it would help ease some nerves, I’d be happy to look over your work before you submit it.”
Your brows rose a little bit. “You would?”
He shrugged. “Why not?”
“Is that allowed?”
He winked at you as he turned around to grab something, a moment later the sign up sheet and a pen were being handed to you.
You looked at him and held your breath as he leaned down a little closer. The smell of his cologne swirling around you in a comforting haze.
His voice was low as he spoke. “Our little secret.”
And because it was him and he was looking at you like that, you signed your name. Trying to ignore the way heat pooled in your stomach at how pleased he looked that you were doing it.
“Just let me know when you’d like me to review it, my door’s always open. Do you know where my office is?”
You nodded, your mind spinning at the thought of being alone with him in such a small space.
The next week and a half was spent practically tearing your hair out over the essay. Being abhorrently self critical as always and you were terrified to go to Professor Jackson’s office.
Not for any valid reason. You were simply nervous. The school girl crush you had on him practically rendering you useless.
It was pathetic.
You paced outside of the liberal arts building that his office was in. Your paper in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Half tempted to shove the blazing stick of tobacco into the header and watch it shrivel up into ash.
With a shaking hand, you brought the cigarette to your lips. Willing the nicotine to calm you down enough so you didn’t look like a blundering idiot in front of him.
Apparently the cigarette calmed you down too much.
You had sat there watching him flick through the paper just fine, but when he started lecturing you on your need to get over your childish stage fright of sharing your work or else you’d never make it as a writer, something apparently shifted in your common sense.
“Don’t be such a pretentious asshole, I’m perfectly capable of deciding when and what I want to do with my writing.”
He froze.
So did you. Watching as the sharp words swirled in the air, practically taunting you with regret.
“Sorry,” you mumbled.
At the stretch of silence in the small office you began to worry you’d royally fucked up.
Professor Jackson’s voice was quiet, his voice nearly as warm as the heat blowing out of the vent in the ceiling. "That mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble one day."
You stilled for a moment before your fingers tightened on the hem of your skirt. Your stomach swirled a bit, a combination of worry and something else that was wholly inappropriate. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"
A light laugh left him, though it seemed more of an exhale.
He wouldn't look at you. His gaze was focused pointedly at something over your shoulder.
"It's fine, your bluntness is appreciated. That being said, I prefer you didn't call me anything such as a pretentious ass in front of my students."
You were being let in. Only a little bit.
You couldn't help it as you started to smile. "So only in private, then?"
You watched in fascination as a string pulled slightly at his mouth, his dark eyes sliding over to you for only a moment and it made your head spin.
"Only in private," Professor Jackson hummed.
He then stood up, gesturing for you to follow him and he opened the door for you. The warm light from the hall sweeping into the room and your legs shook a bit as you walked.
“Michael.”
“What?” You paused just in front of him, your eyes flicking up to meet his. He was looking at you intently now.
“Call me Michael.”
You wet your bottom lip, “only in private?”
He observed you for another moment, a quiet storm behind his eyes before he nodded once.
“Only in private.”
You felt like a line was being crossed. A boundary being carefully tread. Invaded. Redrawn. You knew better. Then again, maybe you were just delusional.
It probably didn’t mean anything.
When the weekend rolled around, you and your roommate headed to a popular bar that was only a few blocks away from the apartment.
You were in desperate need for a drink, your mind constantly spinning over the interaction between you and Prof— Michael, from the other day.
Nothing had technically happened. Yet it felt like the world had slipped off its axis since then.
“Why is it so busy?” You groaned as you rounded the corner, seeing the line to get in.
“It’s Friday. And it’s lecture night.”
You raised a brow. “Lecture night?“
“Yeah, a bunch of professors come here on Friday’s, give a lecture on whatever they want, and everyone gets progressively more wasted as the night goes on.”
You hummed, the idea growing more entertaining.
You were three dirty martinis in when Michael stepped up on stage. Your eyes widening at the sight of him.
He looked so… casual.
He wore a sweater with the sleeves rolled up, a white collar peeking out at his neck and navy jeans. His curls looking a little messier than usual and his gaze was a little glossy as he brought a glass of wine to his lips.
Michael stepped closer to the microphone, clearing his throat. “I had one too many before this, so if I start randomly slipping into old English, just throw something at me.”
Laughs bubbled up around the bar followed by applause as he started his lecture of choice.
It was something about Medieval depictions of hell and how it was really just a dogmatic idea of the working class, but your mind trailed off as you watched him move.
Mesmerized by his drunken and lazy smile, the way his eyes were set a little heavier as he squinted against the stage light. He was so easily able to take control of any room he walked into and he didn’t even have to do anything but be himself.
You turned to your friend, taking another sip of your martini.
“He’s so hot.”
They nodded in agreement, looking starstruck themselves as they watched him.
He concluded his lecture with a slight bow and a muttered Thank you through the mic. Stumbling a bit as he walked off the stage and his laugh was loud as someone helped steady him.
You weren’t thinking.
Clearly.
The room spinning slightly as you stood up and made your way over to him.
You could blame the bad decision making on the vodka when you were sober enough to care.
★
Michael spun you around the second the bathroom door shut, his mouth on yours, the sudden contact almost violent as he backed you against the wood of the door.
Your head would've slammed into it, but his hand had snaked into your hair and absorbed the impact.
His fingers twining, tight, and yanked. Making your mouth fall open in a moan and he all but lunged on the opportunity. Tongue slipping into your mouth and exploring, his own groan leaving him as his rationality left him with its tail between its legs.
His mouth slid down to your jaw, his teeth sinking in, biting and soothing. Caught up in a wave of want that felt borderline primal.
There was a small voice in the back of his mind telling him how wrong this was. You were his student. You were both drunk. This was inappropriate.
He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about before.
His imagination outrunning his better judgement as he’d think about you when the hour ran late. Grading papers but getting too distracted at the mere thought of you. Wondering what you would sound like. What you would look like… either being spread out in his bed or bent over his desk.
Waking up one too many nights in a thin layer of sweat, hips grinding into his mattress and wishing it was you.
It was wrong and he was horrible for thinking such things.
But he couldn’t stop.
It’s like you had infested his fucking soul, if he were to be so dramatic.
Not even realizing what he was doing half the time as his hand slipped beneath his boxers to take hold of his hardened cock. Picturing your pretty face and eyes as he started to jack off. Head rolling back and hitting the headboard of his bed as his fantasies ran wild, your name tumbling from his lips as his hips thrusted up into his own hand, hot cum making a mess on his stomach.
When Michael’s thigh wedged between your legs, a moan broke past your lips and it made him feel dizzy.
He didn’t think about how he was your professor. Didn't think about how he was too old for you. Didn't think about how you two were in the bathroom of a bar as you started to ride his thigh and his hands were pulling up your skirt.
A groan leaving him as his eyes flicked down to see your pretty underwear already soaked as you dragged your clothed cunt against his jeans.
One of his hands took hold of your hip, helping you grind against him while his other wrapped around your throat. Pulling your mouth back to his in a bruising kiss.
It was a mess. Wet with teeth hitting against each other and he couldn’t get enough.
The whimpers leaving your mouth as you started to go faster and harder going straight to his dick and he wished he could just bend you over the sink and fuck you. The idea was lewd and woefully unromantic, but his drunken mind had lost any semblance of self control.
He pulled back from your mouth, his teeth tugging your bottom lip as he did so and your skin was flushed with liquor and arousal.
“You’re so fuckin’ pretty.” He said it quietly, mostly to himself as he admired you.
“Michael, I—“ You choked out in a whine, your pupils blown. Reflecting his own desire.
“That’s it. You’re doing so good.”
His praise, though small, seemed to topple you over the edge and you buried your face in the crook of his neck as you came.
The sound was akin to the trumpets of heaven, he was sure of it.
His hands settled heavily on your hips, gently working you through your orgasm.
Before another thought could even cross his hand, your own hands were buried in his hair, pulling his mouth back to yours.
The following Monday as he got ready for work, Michael’s eyes kept catching on the hickey that was placed just between the curve of his neck and above his clavicle.
His jaw rolling at the memory of you putting there Friday night.
He’d hardly slept since then.
A mixture of guilt and reruns of the night that only led to more sinful thoughts.
Although you were both adults completely capable of making decisions… he was your professor for God’s sake.
He couldn’t even blame it on the alcohol, knowing damn well he had thought about you in a plethora of more erotic ways— Michael just didn’t think he’d actually ever act on it.
But like a dog with a bone thrown in front of it, he’d leapt at the first opportunity.
He felt even worse because he knew he didn’t regret it.
Didn’t regret it at all as he asked you stay after class, muttering an apology for his behavior in case you regretted it.
Tying to ignore the flood of relief he felt when you shyly admitted it wasn’t just a drunken mistake on your behalf.
Shoving his rationality to the side when you’d come visit him during office hours, asking questions about a course you both knew you didn’t need help with.
His common sense shutting off with the click of the lock on the door as he undid his belt, eyes dark as he watched you.
“Get on your knees.”
Your gaze slipped to the window covered by half drawn blinds. “What if—“
“Do as your told.”
Your pupils were so blown as you slowly lowered yourself. “Yes, sir.”
He hated how much he loved hearing that.
Wrong wrong wrong, the voice would chant.
But the sound of it got drowned out as his hand wound in your hair and his cock slid into your mouth. His eyes never leaving yours and a broken sound tore right up from his diaphragm as your throat constricted around him.
Michael bent over slightly, his chest heaving as one hand caught on the edge of his desk so his knees didn’t buckle.
Your mouth was so fucking warm.
You pulled back a bit, tongue swirling around him and curious but it wasn’t nearly enough.
“Please, you can go a bit more.” His words were rough at the edges, his heart pounding as your brows furrowed in concern. Your mouth too full to try and talk, but you shook your head slightly.
“I know you can, you wanna make me proud, don’t you?”
He was definitely going to hell.
Michael’s thumb gently brushed against your cheek, feeling the head of his cock and he shuddered.
“I know you can do it.”
He rolled his hips forward slightly, the tip of his cock nudging the back of your throat and your nails dug into the exposed skin of his hips.
“Nice and slow,” he muttered.
He let you set the pace as you did as told, your throat eventually relaxing a bit and he was able to thrust a little further in but his patience was teetering on the edge of ruin.
His teeth sunk into his bottom lip, his grip on the desk tight as his dark eyes met yours.
The trust in your gaze made his chest ache.
You nodded at him once, the movement small.
Not a moment later his hand was back in your hair as his hips rolled forward, the surprised gagging sound you made as his cock slid all the way down your throat made his ears ring. His vision going blurry at the edges as he watched himself slide in and out your swollen lips, his cock covered in your salvia.
Hot tears slipped out of your eyes, leaving a ruddy trail of mascara down your cheeks and he groaned at the sight.
You were devastating in all the right ways to ruin him.
A broken sound tore up your throat and around his cock, making him throw his head back as the muscles in his stomach tightened when he came down your throat.
“Fuck, mama.” His hips mindlessly continue to roll as he rode out his orgasm.
Michael was mesmerized as he pulled out of your mouth, long strings of your saliva and his cum stretching from his tip and your tongue as he did so.
A pathetic sound left him when you swallowed his cum and he pulled you up gently by throat, lips crashing into yours and muttering a Good girl.
★
There was a thrill to stolen glances as he gave a lecture, his eyes catching knowingly on the way you’d bite your pencil and your thighs would clench beneath the table as you crossed them. Your skirt just a bit too short.
The day you had risked not wearing any underwear, he had casually asked you to stay after. His gaze dark and looking a little angry with you.
Not muttering a word as you followed him to his office.
You spent the next hour bent over his desk as he lectured you about it.
How inappropriate it was that you showed up to class like that, but you couldn’t summon single thought as his hands took hold of your hips, slamming your pussy back down onto his cock.
Mumbling a broken string of apologies you didn’t mean as you moaned his name.
Your chest tightening when there was a quiet knock on the front door of the apartment well around two in the morning.
Your smile small as you opened it, seeing Michael in a Berkeley crewneck and jeans as you snuck him into your room.
It was ridiculous. It’s not like what you two were doing was illegal, you just didn’t want the drama of it.
Spending the night wrapped up in your sheets, falling asleep to the sound of his heart beat as your head rested against his chest. His fingers running gently up and down your spine as he read whatever book you had on the nightstand that evening.
Getting into the passenger seat of Michael’s car on weekends as he drove you two somewhere just outside of town. Sliding into linoleum booths of an old diner as you caught up with each other’s day, smiling absentmindedly as he went on a rant about something new he had read about.
You showing up at his house, walking in to see your favorite flowers on the kitchen table and a bottle of wine when you found out you had won the competition he had encouraged you to enter.
The rest of the night spent with your back arching off his sheets and Michael’s head between your thighs.
He’d bring you books often, leaving little notes on parts he thought you would like. Taking you art exhibitions that opened and not muttering a single complaint as he walked slowly with you to each painting. Bending down and sliding his reading glasses on as he read each description with interest.
Curled up in one of his sweaters, sprawled out on the couch with your back against his chest as he showed you his favorite old Hollywood movies. You found it adorable when he would giggle, trying to hide it behind a hand but you’d tug his wrist away. Muttering how much you loved his smile and watching as he would blush slightly, his doe eyes softening before pulling you in for a kiss.
You adored him. The finality and truth of it hitting you sharply as the semester came to a close and he wished everyone a safe holiday break. Staying long after everyone else had left and not bothering to get up from your chair.
Michael’s shoes clicked sharply against the tile as he neared you, his smile small and knowing. Hands in his pockets as he came to a stop just shy of the table.
Your fingers thrummed on the wood.
“What now?”
You didn’t know why you were nervous. Though neither of you had said it out loud, you cared for each other. It wasn’t something to be easily discarded.
Michael’s finger hooked just beneath your chin, tilting your head up and he leant down to kiss you. The pressure of it even and firm.
He then pulled back and straightened, holding his hand out and looking at you expectantly.
“What—“
“C’mon.”
You slid your bag on your shoulder, fingers twining with his and you walked hand in hand out of the building and into your new life together, no longer having to be confided to hidden touches and stolen glances.
professor! michael jackson x grad student f! reader
cw/tw: 1991, michael teaches a graduate literature course at uc berkeley, no use of y/n, slight age gap — reader is mid 20s michael is 33, fluff, forbidden romance, praise, drunk makeouts, 18+ mdni, thigh riding, m!masturbation, semi-public oral (m! receiving), mention of semi-public sex, use of yes sir, soft dom! michael
wc: 3.9k
Everyone was drawn to him.
That became apparent with each passing lecture. The way he was able to hold the attention of the room as he spoke and moved, your eyes catching on the way his hand flexed as he wrote on the chalkboard. Not being able to help it.
The cadence he spoke in, a lull on the ears that kept the attention easily. He didn’t even have to try.
His smile infectious and when he’d lean against his desk with his hands in his pockets, cracking a joke only one with knowledge in fifteenth century literature would understand — the entire lecture hall laughed. Even if they didn’t get it, there was just something about him.
Despite how distracting Professor Jackson was, you were one of, if not the, top of his.
Your gaze would catch his as he handed back assignments, forcing back a shiver as your fingers brushed when you took the paper from him. Practically melting when he winked at you and muttered a Good work.
Your face feeling warm as you looked down to see the familiar scrawl of his hand writing. You didn’t even bother to look at your grade, knowing it was an A.
Instead your attention was pulled to the annotations he had left.
He was probably one of the best professors to give feedback on work. He was honest, but he wasn’t cruel and he didn’t have the ego to withhold a compliment when it was due.
You smiled to yourself as you read what he’d written in the margins. His handwriting slanted and borderline messy and telling yourself his praise didn’t mean all that much. He was just doing his job.
Then your eyes caught on the smiley face he’d drawn next to one paragraph. Nothing else.
It made your stomach flip.
The infatuation was normal and you were sure half of the other students shared your sentiments. Professor Jackson was handsome and young. Soft spoken and intelligent. Kind and charming. A silly side to him that made him all the more endearing. He ticked every box.
Though you’d never admit it out loud, the small crush you had on him drove you to work harder. Desperate to win his approval in a way only academics knew. The hunger for it practically insatiable because you knew those brief interactions were all you were going to get.
At least, that’s what you had initially thought.
He’d mentioned two weeks ago that there was an essay competition and left a list pinned to the bulletin board outside of the lecture hall for people to sign up.
You’d been curious, of course. But the thought of people reading your work outside of a classroom setting made your bones slightly itch. The act of putting yourself out there like that too vulnerable. Saying you’d do it eventually, just not now.
Yet as the hour wrapped up and you were half way through packing your bag to leave, you heard your name.
Glancing up, convinced you were hearing things, you found him looking at you expectantly as he leaned against the desk, his arms on show given he’d rolled the sleeves up and you tried to ignore how dry your mouth suddenly got.
“Yes, sir?”
You had never actually talked to him before besides asking questions now and then during seminars.
“Do you have a minute?”
You nodded, blushing as he gestured for you to come over with his hand.
Sliding your bag onto your shoulder, you held the strap of it like a life line as you approached him.
His smile was lazy at the corners, his eyes just slightly narrowed as he looked at you. Debating something in his head and you felt like the world had stopped moving.
“Why didn’t you sign up for the competition?” He finally said.
You blinked at him. “Sorry?”
“The essay comp. You didn’t sign up.”
“Oh…” you continued to stare at him like an idiot. Not knowing what to say in a way that wouldn’t make it sound childish. “I just… I’m busy.”
“You get two weeks until the deadline.”
You bit the inside of your cheek. “I’m really busy.”
Professor Jackson raised a brow at you.
His direct and prolonged attention was overwhelming and you suddenly started to panic if you were breathing normally.
“I really think you should give it a shot, there’s no need to be nervous about submitting something. You’re a wonderful writer.”
You physically felt your chest bloom in warmth at the compliment. “Thank you, but I don’t know. I’ve never,” you shifted on your feet. His gaze was so intense. “I’m not sure if it’s right for me, is all.”
“That’s exactly why you should do it. If it would help ease some nerves, I’d be happy to look over your work before you submit it.”
Your brows rose a little bit. “You would?”
He shrugged. “Why not?”
“Is that allowed?”
He winked at you as he turned around to grab something, a moment later the sign up sheet and a pen were being handed to you.
You looked at him and held your breath as he leaned down a little closer. The smell of his cologne swirling around you in a comforting haze.
His voice was low as he spoke. “Our little secret.”
And because it was him and he was looking at you like that, you signed your name. Trying to ignore the way heat pooled in your stomach at how pleased he looked that you were doing it.
“Just let me know when you’d like me to review it, my door’s always open. Do you know where my office is?”
You nodded, your mind spinning at the thought of being alone with him in such a small space.
The next week and a half was spent practically tearing your hair out over the essay. Being abhorrently self critical as always and you were terrified to go to Professor Jackson’s office.
Not for any valid reason. You were simply nervous. The school girl crush you had on him practically rendering you useless.
It was pathetic.
You paced outside of the liberal arts building that his office was in. Your paper in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Half tempted to shove the blazing stick of tobacco into the header and watch it shrivel up into ash.
With a shaking hand, you brought the cigarette to your lips. Willing the nicotine to calm you down enough so you didn’t look like a blundering idiot in front of him.
Apparently the cigarette calmed you down too much.
You had sat there watching him flick through the paper just fine, but when he started lecturing you on your need to get over your childish stage fright of sharing your work or else you’d never make it as a writer, something apparently shifted in your common sense.
“Don’t be such a pretentious asshole, I’m perfectly capable of deciding when and what I want to do with my writing.”
He froze.
So did you. Watching as the sharp words swirled in the air, practically taunting you with regret.
“Sorry,” you mumbled.
At the stretch of silence in the small office you began to worry you’d royally fucked up.
Professor Jackson’s voice was quiet, his voice nearly as warm as the heat blowing out of the vent in the ceiling. "That mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble one day."
You stilled for a moment before your fingers tightened on the hem of your skirt. Your stomach swirled a bit, a combination of worry and something else that was wholly inappropriate. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"
A light laugh left him, though it seemed more of an exhale.
He wouldn't look at you. His gaze was focused pointedly at something over your shoulder.
"It's fine, your bluntness is appreciated. That being said, I prefer you didn't call me anything such as a pretentious ass in front of my students."
You were being let in. Only a little bit.
You couldn't help it as you started to smile. "So only in private, then?"
You watched in fascination as a string pulled slightly at his mouth, his dark eyes sliding over to you for only a moment and it made your head spin.
"Only in private," Professor Jackson hummed.
He then stood up, gesturing for you to follow him and he opened the door for you. The warm light from the hall sweeping into the room and your legs shook a bit as you walked.
“Michael.”
“What?” You paused just in front of him, your eyes flicking up to meet his. He was looking at you intently now.
“Call me Michael.”
You wet your bottom lip, “only in private?”
He observed you for another moment, a quiet storm behind his eyes before he nodded once.
“Only in private.”
You felt like a line was being crossed. A boundary being carefully tread. Invaded. Redrawn. You knew better. Then again, maybe you were just delusional.
It probably didn’t mean anything.
When the weekend rolled around, you and your roommate headed to a popular bar that was only a few blocks away from the apartment.
You were in desperate need for a drink, your mind constantly spinning over the interaction between you and Prof— Michael, from the other day.
Nothing had technically happened. Yet it felt like the world had slipped off its axis since then.
“Why is it so busy?” You groaned as you rounded the corner, seeing the line to get in.
“It’s Friday. And it’s lecture night.”
You raised a brow. “Lecture night?“
“Yeah, a bunch of professors come here on Friday’s, give a lecture on whatever they want, and everyone gets progressively more wasted as the night goes on.”
You hummed, the idea growing more entertaining.
You were three dirty martinis in when Michael stepped up on stage. Your eyes widening at the sight of him.
He looked so… casual.
He wore a sweater with the sleeves rolled up, a white collar peeking out at his neck and navy jeans. His curls looking a little messier than usual and his gaze was a little glossy as he brought a glass of wine to his lips.
Michael stepped closer to the microphone, clearing his throat. “I had one too many before this, so if I start randomly slipping into old English, just throw something at me.”
Laughs bubbled up around the bar followed by applause as he started his lecture of choice.
It was something about Medieval depictions of hell and how it was really just a dogmatic idea of the working class, but your mind trailed off as you watched him move.
Mesmerized by his drunken and lazy smile, the way his eyes were set a little heavier as he squinted against the stage light. He was so easily able to take control of any room he walked into and he didn’t even have to do anything but be himself.
You turned to your friend, taking another sip of your martini.
“He’s so hot.”
They nodded in agreement, looking starstruck themselves as they watched him.
He concluded his lecture with a slight bow and a muttered Thank you through the mic. Stumbling a bit as he walked off the stage and his laugh was loud as someone helped steady him.
You weren’t thinking.
Clearly.
The room spinning slightly as you stood up and made your way over to him.
You could blame the bad decision making on the vodka when you were sober enough to care.
★
Michael spun you around the second the bathroom door shut, his mouth on yours, the sudden contact almost violent as he backed you against the wood of the door.
Your head would've slammed into it, but his hand had snaked into your hair and absorbed the impact.
His fingers twining, tight, and yanked. Making your mouth fall open in a moan and he all but lunged on the opportunity. Tongue slipping into your mouth and exploring, his own groan leaving him as his rationality left him with its tail between its legs.
His mouth slid down to your jaw, his teeth sinking in, biting and soothing. Caught up in a wave of want that felt borderline primal.
There was a small voice in the back of his mind telling him how wrong this was. You were his student. You were both drunk. This was inappropriate.
He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about before.
His imagination outrunning his better judgement as he’d think about you when the hour ran late. Grading papers but getting too distracted at the mere thought of you. Wondering what you would sound like. What you would look like… either being spread out in his bed or bent over his desk.
Waking up one too many nights in a thin layer of sweat, hips grinding into his mattress and wishing it was you.
It was wrong and he was horrible for thinking such things.
But he couldn’t stop.
It’s like you had infested his fucking soul, if he were to be so dramatic.
Not even realizing what he was doing half the time as his hand slipped beneath his boxers to take hold of his hardened cock. Picturing your pretty face and eyes as he started to jack off. Head rolling back and hitting the headboard of his bed as his fantasies ran wild, your name tumbling from his lips as his hips thrusted up into his own hand, hot cum making a mess on his stomach.
When Michael’s thigh wedged between your legs, a moan broke past your lips and it made him feel dizzy.
He didn’t think about how he was your professor. Didn't think about how he was too old for you. Didn't think about how you two were in the bathroom of a bar as you started to ride his thigh and his hands were pulling up your skirt.
A groan leaving him as his eyes flicked down to see your pretty underwear already soaked as you dragged your clothed cunt against his jeans.
One of his hands took hold of your hip, helping you grind against him while his other wrapped around your throat. Pulling your mouth back to his in a bruising kiss.
It was a mess. Wet with teeth hitting against each other and he couldn’t get enough.
The whimpers leaving your mouth as you started to go faster and harder going straight to his dick and he wished he could just bend you over the sink and fuck you. The idea was lewd and woefully unromantic, but his drunken mind had lost any semblance of self control.
He pulled back from your mouth, his teeth tugging your bottom lip as he did so and your skin was flushed with liquor and arousal.
“You’re so fuckin’ pretty.” He said it quietly, mostly to himself as he admired you.
“Michael, I—“ You choked out in a whine, your pupils blown. Reflecting his own desire.
“That’s it. You’re doing so good.”
His praise, though small, seemed to topple you over the edge and you buried your face in the crook of his neck as you came.
The sound was akin to the trumpets of heaven, he was sure of it.
His hands settled heavily on your hips, gently working you through your orgasm.
Before another thought could even cross his hand, your own hands were buried in his hair, pulling his mouth back to yours.
The following Monday as he got ready for work, Michael’s eyes kept catching on the hickey that was placed just between the curve of his neck and above his clavicle.
His jaw rolling at the memory of you putting there Friday night.
He’d hardly slept since then.
A mixture of guilt and reruns of the night that only led to more sinful thoughts.
Although you were both adults completely capable of making decisions… he was your professor for God’s sake.
He couldn’t even blame it on the alcohol, knowing damn well he had thought about you in a plethora of more erotic ways— Michael just didn’t think he’d actually ever act on it.
But like a dog with a bone thrown in front of it, he’d leapt at the first opportunity.
He felt even worse because he knew he didn’t regret it.
Didn’t regret it at all as he asked you stay after class, muttering an apology for his behavior in case you regretted it.
Tying to ignore the flood of relief he felt when you shyly admitted it wasn’t just a drunken mistake on your behalf.
Shoving his rationality to the side when you’d come visit him during office hours, asking questions about a course you both knew you didn’t need help with.
His common sense shutting off with the click of the lock on the door as he undid his belt, eyes dark as he watched you.
“Get on your knees.”
Your gaze slipped to the window covered by half drawn blinds. “What if—“
“Do as your told.”
Your pupils were so blown as you slowly lowered yourself. “Yes, sir.”
He hated how much he loved hearing that.
Wrong wrong wrong, the voice would chant.
But the sound of it got drowned out as his hand wound in your hair and his cock slid into your mouth. His eyes never leaving yours and a broken sound tore right up from his diaphragm as your throat constricted around him.
Michael bent over slightly, his chest heaving as one hand caught on the edge of his desk so his knees didn’t buckle.
Your mouth was so fucking warm.
You pulled back a bit, tongue swirling around him and curious but it wasn’t nearly enough.
“Please, you can go a bit more.” His words were rough at the edges, his heart pounding as your brows furrowed in concern. Your mouth too full to try and talk, but you shook your head slightly.
“I know you can, you wanna make me proud, don’t you?”
He was definitely going to hell.
Michael’s thumb gently brushed against your cheek, feeling the head of his cock and he shuddered.
“I know you can do it.”
He rolled his hips forward slightly, the tip of his cock nudging the back of your throat and your nails dug into the exposed skin of his hips.
“Nice and slow,” he muttered.
He let you set the pace as you did as told, your throat eventually relaxing a bit and he was able to thrust a little further in but his patience was teetering on the edge of ruin.
His teeth sunk into his bottom lip, his grip on the desk tight as his dark eyes met yours.
The trust in your gaze made his chest ache.
You nodded at him once, the movement small.
Not a moment later his hand was back in your hair as his hips rolled forward, the surprised gagging sound you made as his cock slid all the way down your throat made his ears ring. His vision going blurry at the edges as he watched himself slide in and out your swollen lips, his cock covered in your salvia.
Hot tears slipped out of your eyes, leaving a ruddy trail of mascara down your cheeks and he groaned at the sight.
You were devastating in all the right ways to ruin him.
A broken sound tore up your throat and around his cock, making him throw his head back as the muscles in his stomach tightened when he came down your throat.
“Fuck, mama.” His hips mindlessly continue to roll as he rode out his orgasm.
Michael was mesmerized as he pulled out of your mouth, long strings of your saliva and his cum stretching from his tip and your tongue as he did so.
A pathetic sound left him when you swallowed his cum and he pulled you up gently by throat, lips crashing into yours and muttering a Good girl.
★
There was a thrill to stolen glances as he gave a lecture, his eyes catching knowingly on the way you’d bite your pencil and your thighs would clench beneath the table as you crossed them. Your skirt just a bit too short.
The day you had risked not wearing any underwear, he had casually asked you to stay after. His gaze dark and looking a little angry with you.
Not muttering a word as you followed him to his office.
You spent the next hour bent over his desk as he lectured you about it.
How inappropriate it was that you showed up to class like that, but you couldn’t summon single thought as his hands took hold of your hips, slamming your pussy back down onto his cock.
Mumbling a broken string of apologies you didn’t mean as you moaned his name.
Your chest tightening when there was a quiet knock on the front door of the apartment well around two in the morning.
Your smile small as you opened it, seeing Michael in a Berkeley crewneck and jeans as you snuck him into your room.
It was ridiculous. It’s not like what you two were doing was illegal, you just didn’t want the drama of it.
Spending the night wrapped up in your sheets, falling asleep to the sound of his heart beat as your head rested against his chest. His fingers running gently up and down your spine as he read whatever book you had on the nightstand that evening.
Getting into the passenger seat of Michael’s car on weekends as he drove you two somewhere just outside of town. Sliding into linoleum booths of an old diner as you caught up with each other’s day, smiling absentmindedly as he went on a rant about something new he had read about.
You showing up at his house, walking in to see your favorite flowers on the kitchen table and a bottle of wine when you found out you had won the competition he had encouraged you to enter.
The rest of the night spent with your back arching off his sheets and Michael’s head between your thighs.
He’d bring you books often, leaving little notes on parts he thought you would like. Taking you art exhibitions that opened and not muttering a single complaint as he walked slowly with you to each painting. Bending down and sliding his reading glasses on as he read each description with interest.
Curled up in one of his sweaters, sprawled out on the couch with your back against his chest as he showed you his favorite old Hollywood movies. You found it adorable when he would giggle, trying to hide it behind a hand but you’d tug his wrist away. Muttering how much you loved his smile and watching as he would blush slightly, his doe eyes softening before pulling you in for a kiss.
You adored him. The finality and truth of it hitting you sharply as the semester came to a close and he wished everyone a safe holiday break. Staying long after everyone else had left and not bothering to get up from your chair.
Michael’s shoes clicked sharply against the tile as he neared you, his smile small and knowing. Hands in his pockets as he came to a stop just shy of the table.
Your fingers thrummed on the wood.
“What now?”
You didn’t know why you were nervous. Though neither of you had said it out loud, you cared for each other. It wasn’t something to be easily discarded.
Michael’s finger hooked just beneath your chin, tilting your head up and he leant down to kiss you. The pressure of it even and firm.
He then pulled back and straightened, holding his hand out and looking at you expectantly.
“What—“
“C’mon.”
You slid your bag on your shoulder, fingers twining with his and you walked hand in hand out of the building and into your new life together, no longer having to be confided to hidden touches and stolen glances.
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High off thinking about this particular picture…reader is actually the one listening to Michael’s heartbeat through a stethoscope for the recording of Smooth Criminal. The studio is empty, nobody else around, just the two of you. The quiet buzz of the room fills the silence as you focus on the steady beat in your ears. Michael stays perfectly still, watching you with a small smile as he reaches for your hand. Too caught up in listening, you don’t even notice your hand slowly wandering lower and lower down his torso. Before it can go any further, he gently stops it with his own. “Careful, mama…watch those hands of yours.” His voice is low, smooth, and full of quiet amusement.
(An actual fic is in the making but I had this in my drafts :)
𝒔𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲. ━━ ༉‧ 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗁𝗈𝗆𝖾 ━ 𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗱𝗿𝘂𝗻𝗸. 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾'𝗌 𝖺 𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗌 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗳𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗹𝗶𝗮𝗿, 𝖻𝗎𝗍... 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝗈𝗍 𝖺 𝗯𝗼𝘆𝗳𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱 .ᐣ
𝒑𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠. ━━ ༉‧ 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗋.ᐟ𝗆𝗂𝖼𝗁𝖺𝖾𝗅 𝒙 𝗀𝗂𝗋𝗅𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽.ᐟ𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋.
𝒄𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬. ━━ ༉‧ 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿. 𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖺𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉. 𝖽𝗋𝗎𝗇𝗄!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋. 𝗅𝗈𝗒𝖺𝗅!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋. 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾!𝗆𝗂𝖼𝗁𝖺𝖾𝗅. 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗌 𝗆𝗂𝖼𝗁𝖺𝖾𝗅 𝗂𝗌 𝖺 𝗋𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗈𝗆. 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗋𝗇𝖾𝖽!𝗆𝗂𝖼𝗁𝖺𝖾𝗅. 𝖽𝗋𝗎𝗇𝗄 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖿𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌.
𝒂𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞. ━━ ༉‧ based on this thought i had at the beginning of the month. i believe it turned out fine .ᐣ and way cuter than i thought . . . also, writing a drunk person’s dialogue is harder than i thought it would be😭 enjoy .ᐟ thank you for reading and for the support .ᐟ
𝒕𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠. ━━ ༉‧ @unknwnbrii @moonwalker4you @platanita @holyfujjj @jenniversity @faerieglitter555 @trizixi1 @absdoesnothaveabs @ruby-angel052 @meowswrites @thebrunetteswan @peritinkers @mrsshamone @equallyshaw @hotnmysterious7 @parasolprincss @realgibby @emma3078 @feenin4dietcoke @eternal-life94 @miratate @edna-skiffens @michaelswifejackson @softformj @argentinemango @misscowboyhat @pytforever @a-motherfcking-fish @iwannarockwu @lestatress
WHEN MICHAEL CAST one last glance at the clock perched above the fireplace, he let out a tired sigh. The television screen was the only source of light in the room, its images throwing muted colours onto the singer’s exhausted face.
It was almost three o’clock in the morning.
Michael was no stranger to sleepless nights ━ those endless nights when he would sometimes find himself swamped with work. Yet tonight, it wasn’t that he lacked the desire to sleep. For once, he was utterly exhausted.
But you still hadn’t come home, so there was no way in hell he was going to go to bed without you.
His fingertips rolled over his thighs in a rhythm meant to be comforting and patient. He had been wearing his checked pyjama bottoms and his old white t-shirt ever since you had left the house a good six hours earlier.
Michael was slumped on the sofa, a plate of ice cream abandoned on the coffee table, his eyes darting back and forth between Some Like It Hot and the clock, which, over the course of those six long hours, had become his worst enemy.
He felt as though every tick-tock was actually mocking him, a way for it to remind him that you still weren’t there and that, despite the hours ticking by, time was passing oh so slowly.
Michael had hesitated over whether to hurl the remote control at it or throw it into the fire. He wanted to put a stop to the taunts, but something told him that you wouldn’t appreciate him destroying your Canetti, which you had paid a small fortune for to fill that wall that had seemed too bare to you.
He regretted not having invested in a dartboard instead…
The singer shot another glare at his arch-enemy and, realising that only two minutes had passed, threw his head back, his curls falling limp against the velvet sofa. His stomach seemed to knot up again, and he found his lip caught between his front teeth.
You should have been home at least a good fifteen minutes ago. Not that Michael was keeping tabs on you or expecting you to come home at a set time ━ no, you were perfectly entitled to have fun, he had complete faith in you ━ but your friend had phoned him from the bar where you were partying to let him know you were on your way home…
And that had been twenty minutes ago.
Michael liked to tell himself that he wasn’t the sort of boyfriend who made his girlfriend feel as if she were in prison with him but ━ damn ━ right at that moment he regretted it.
He should have at least sent Bill.
That was what his mind kept repeating over and over. He should have asked him to come and pick you up to make sure you got home safely, but your friend had told him that you had slipped away in a taxi, and it had been too late to send anyone to fetch you.
Michael decided to wait another three short minutes before phoning Bill to ask him to come and pick him up so they could search the whole state for you.
If anything happened to you, it would kill him. You had been his whole world ever since he first met you a few years ago. Love at first sight, Michael had told you, and ever since then, he had been certain that if you looked up love in the dictionary, you would find your name in the definition.
You were going to walk through that door safe and sound, Michael was convinced of it; it couldn’t end like this. He took a twentieth deep breath, his foot unconsciously swaying from side to side on the coffee table.
Where the hell were you?
The metallic jingle of keys was enough to dispel the fear that was beginning to gnaw at him in the darkness of the living room.
Michael sprang to his feet and raced across the room, his long legs giving him the edge. His hands were trembling slightly as he grabbed the door handle and flung the door open. The wood banged against the wall; there would surely be a mark, but he didn’t care.
You had finally made it home safe and sound.
"Oh, God thank you," he whispered. "I was getting worried sick, baby…"
You had to cling to the door handle to stop yourself from falling. Your purse had slipped off your shoulder and was now dangling from your wrist, mirroring the pair of heels you were holding in your other hand. Your eyes were half-lidded, your lipstick had smudged and your eyeliner had run slightly at the corners of your eyes. You looked like a mess.
"’m fi… ne…" you hiccuped.
"Girl, you’re not fine," Michael chuckled, walking toward you. "Come here, let me help you get to bed━"
You flinched back, almost falling to the ground as you pressed yourself flat against the door.
"Noooooo!" you shouted suddenly. "Back… off! I have… a boyfriend, mis… mister. So… shoo!"
Michael blinked. He let his arms fall to his sides, his eyebrows gradually furrowing. He glanced behind him, as if to check that there was no one else there whom you might be addressing, before turning his gaze back to you, looking completely confused.
"You… you what now?"
"A boyfriend!" you declared, trying to stand up straighter. "He’s tall and… handsome and str… ong… and he will… beat your ass… if you get too close to… me."
If you hadn’t been so heavily intoxicated, Michael would probably have burst out laughing at the way you were talking. He wasn’t sure how you would react if he made fun of your hiccups.
He opened his mouth to try to talk some sense into you, but when he saw how close you were to collapsing to the floor, he decided to take a different approach instead.
"Oh, you got a man, huh?" he asked, taking a step closer to catch you just in case ━ he needed to get you to bed as soon as possible. "That’s a real shame, sweetheart. What’s he like, this boyfriend of yours?"
You beamed at the question, swaying lightly.
"The best… sings to… to me all the time…"
"Does he now?" Michael mused, taking another step. "And where’s that man of yours now, mmm?"
You face fell into a pout.
"Busy… works too much…" you answered sadly. "… but if you try anything he’ll ki… ck you!"
His amusement gave way to a sense of guilt. Michael knew he was working incredibly hard and was rarely at home these days. He had probably never realised just how much it might be affecting you until tonight, as he saw your eyes fill with tears. Michael panicked for a moment. He didn’t want to make you cry ━ he hated seeing you sad ━ so he stepped closer and placed a hand on your forearm.
"Alright. I hear you, I hear you. I’m not trying to steal you, I promise. I’m just here to get you to bed safely. Your man would want you safe, right?"
You looked at him suspiciously for a moment. His black hair curled around his face, with a stray lock resting against his forehead. He was looking at you with four large brown eyes that seemed strangely familiar to you. Surely, that wasn’t normal.
"You know… you kinda look like him… like, a little bit…"
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah…" you nodded, stepping closer. "… Same eyes… same… same smile…" you squinted harder. "… but my man is prettier… like way prettier… no offense…"
Michael let out a laugh.
"None taken. I’m sure he is, baby," he was smiling now. "Come on, pretty girl, let's get you to bed. I promise, I'm just helping, that's all."
You let him guide you, but you kept your distance, your body tense. He led you to the hallway, his hands firm but gentle around your waist. You were mumbling things, your head rolling down to the side opposite his neck. The guy smelled of sandalwood and musk just like your boyfriend and it was enough to send you spiralling.
"Miss him sooo much… like so, so much… you know how much?"
"I’ve a feeling you’re about to tell me," he murmured, walking you around a corner.
"He has those eyes… big, brown, doe eyes that just… he looks like Bambi, you know?"
Michael flashed you a smile.
"From Disney?"
"Oh, yeah… but Mike’s waay cuter…" you missed a step. "Love kissing his nose too... so perfect... and his hair… so soft… he likes when I… run my fingers through it… he even purrs."
"I do not purr," he chuckled sheepishly.
"’course you don’t… you don’t have nice hair like him…"
"Right, right."
"... And his hands... things he does with his hands and his mouth, oh━"
"Okay! Okay, wow," Michael cut you in, feeling the heat creeping up his neck. "That's enough detail, don't you think, sweetheart?"
"You're just jealous..." you hiccuped. "He's the best... so sweet to me... makes me breakfast in bed and lea... ves notes for me when he goes to wo... rk... and dances with me in the kit... chen..." you let out a lovesick sigh. "Just love him sooo much..."
He gently eased you down onto the edge of the bed, kneeling in front of you. Michael was looking at you with such a shy smile that he almost felt childish about it. No one had ever spoken of him as kindly and affectionately as you had.
He knew you loved him, even though you weren’t the sort to say it every day. In fact, you hardly ever said it, but he knew. It was written in all the small things you would do like giving him small things that made you think about him for no reasons at all or you staying up all night just to have a chance to see him after a long day at work.
"You really love that guy, huh?" he murmured, taking off your shoes delicately.
"With my whooole heart..." you patted your chest clumsily.
"He's very lucky to have you."
"’m luckier…" you hiccuped once more.
You peered down at him, your head tilted at an angle that was giving you a double chin. You could see white teeth flashing at you. Your eyes squinted, trying to focus on his face in the dim light.
"You look... familiar..."
"Do I?"
"Yeah... you kinda look like my Mi... ke... if i close one eye..." you squint harder. "... or both..."
Michael laughed at you, putting your shoes aside.
"Must be the lighting..." he bit his lips, trying to hide his giddiness. "Handsome guy?"
"Very..." you nodded eagerly. "... most handsomest of handsome perfectsome man..."
"Girl, that sentence makes no sense!" he threw his head back.
You simply hummed and sank into the mattress, your eyes already fluttering closed.
That was the moment Michael chose to get to his feet. He stood there for a moment, watching your chest rise and fall beneath your dress, which looked far too uncomfortable to sleep in. He would try to take it off you later, though Michael doubted you would let him in your current state. He was about to walk into the bathroom when he felt a hand grip his wrist.
He looked down at you.
"Tell him ‘m home... safe, 'kay? He gets so... worried when I go out... Don't want him to be mad..." you mumbled sleepily.
"Don't worry, baby, he's not mad at all," Michael reassured you, sitting on the bed next to you, the back of his fingers caressing your cheek lovingly. "He could never be mad at you."
"I know... he likes when I've fun... but... don't want to worry him..."
"It's okay, he's not worried anymore, sweetheart, you can sleep," he cooed, his hand never leaving your face.
For a moment, you seemed satisfied with his words, welcoming Morpheus gladly, but the very next second a wrinkle appeared between your eyebrows and your eyes flew open, your pupils almost swallowing your irises.
"You need to… back off... Told you I had a man... I'll tell him to... kick you..."
Michael laughed, pulling his hand away from your warm skin. He raised both hands in a gesture of peace.
"Alright, alright. I don't want any trouble."
He got to his feet and continued on his way to the bathroom. Standing in front of the mirror, as he reached for some cotton pads to remove your make-up, Michael looked at himself for a moment. His eyes scanned his face carefully and lingered on his nose. You had called it perfect, and it was true that you loved kissing him in that exact spot. Yet he was often embarrassed when you did it... But now that he had heard your drunken words, Michael couldn’t help thinking that perhaps... you were right.
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