🌸🌸 FAE 🌸🌸

content/warnings: FINGERS FINGERS FINGERS. fingering, fingers in mouth, basically fingers everywhere. nasty smut, ofc. mdni pls and thx u. public sex, kinda. mirror sex if ur into that ;) dom! michael, sub reader. fem anatomy described. WC: 4k A/N: his fingers ohemgee.

The first time you found out you were a whore for fingers, specifically Michael’s fingers, was when you first met him. 

You reminisce about the moment almost every day. Yes, because it was where you met the love of your life, but because you found out something about yourself you didn’t know you had in you. 

┈┈•༶ 1986

You were actually on a double date with one of your friends and were at one of Encino’s current popular nightlife clubs. The large, marbled floor was filled with crowded movement, sweat in the air, pressed tightly against the dancing bodies as the music flowed loudly through the room. You’re swirling the straw in your vodka Sprite rested on the wooden table, head in hand as your coworker’s talking her date’s ear off about some new song she’d be obsessed with. 

You feel your date, whose name you keep forgetting, watching you like a hungry businessman ready to take advantage of whatever poor employee’s wiling to work underpaid as long as they have a job. You feel small, almost like he wasn’t interested in getting to know you, just interested in adding another name to his list of women he’s slept with. You look up, giving him a tight smile as you scan your eyes around the room. You had a love for dancing, being blessed with the ability to match the sway of your hips to whatever beat you’re given. The pulchritudinous beat of “Move Your Body” by Marshall Jefferson has your leg instinctively move up and down, betraying you as you rest your hand on it, attempting to calm it down. The last thing you want is for Randall (or Robert, whatever his name is) to think you want to dance with him. 

“We’re going to go dance, feel free to join us!” Your coworker unexpectedly yells and uses all her force to get you up and walking towards the floor. You grab your bag with you, clutching it tight against your shoulder as you hurrily drag your feet to follow your coworker’s heeled ones. 

She turns to you and gives you a look. “You looked miserable. I had to get you out of there. Is Riley not your type?” 

“I thought his name was Roman.” 

“Whatever its name is, I thought you two would hit it off. He has a thing for girls like you.” She shrugs, but drops it once she fully turns to you and begins moving her shoulders to the words of the song. You finally break out a genuine smile for the first time that night, following her rhythm as you hold onto her waist, rolling your hips, letting the music reach your soul, directing you to choreograph as you wish. 

You were so busy rocking your body to the beat of the song that the pair of eyes on you from across the room went unnoticed on your behalf. Michael, whose eyes lay on you the moment you walked into the club, was seated alone. He had an unopened water bottle in front of him, security disguised as civilians around him as a precaution. He had his shades on, so his appearance hadn’t been announced yet. His thighs are parted, hand rested a bit below his crotch. His fingers tap along the muscle of his thigh to the drums of the song, humming along to the one his brothers were obsessed with recently. 

He watched as you walked into the bar, hands crossed against your stomach as your dates found you a table to sit at, walking to the bar and bringing the four of you drinks. He felt a slight pang of disappointment hit his heart as he assumed he was your man, and of course, he wouldn’t publicly hit on a taken girl. However, he studied you. He let his eyes focus on the lines of your smile, spotting no hint of veracity behind it, only boredom. He watched as your eyes avoided looking at the guy next to you, whose body kept “accidentally” touching your shoulder. He let a smile peek onto his face as you scooted away every time. He watched as the girl across from you didn’t notice the details on your facial expression, simply working her way for free drinks. Michael let out a small chuckle as he watched you attempt to stop your body from moving along to the songs as they played throughout the club. He didn’t feel shame as he noticed the curves of your body, and the way he wanted to trace his fingers oh-so-delicately along the softness of your arms, turning your chin to him, running his tongue along the curve of your lips. 

Your friend makes a spin, laughter erupting out of her as she continues dancing. Your hands are flowing freely in the air, fingertips dancing with one another as the smile on your face begins to numb your jaw. You don’t care, however, because the music makes you feel free. Roland isn’t on your mind anymore, and you couldn’t care less about going back to him once the song is over. You plan to stay on the floor, spinning and frisking till they have to escort you out. Your eyes take in every detail of the room, memorizing the warm lights on the ceiling, counting the chairs, and even admiring the jewelry on the bodies across from you. Your eyes fall onto one particular person across from you, whose fingers are matching the dancing of your own. You recognize the identity of the man immediately, but instead of freaking out like any other person normally would, you offer him an amorous smile. He gives you a nod, and your eyes fall away, and onto your friend, who’s now pressed up against another man. You shake your head, sweat building up on your collarbone as the tepid intensity reaches you. 

Michael, whose fingers are now on his chin, begins to nod his head to the groove of your hips. You look back and lick your lips, aware of the message he’s trying to send you. Any other day, and you would’ve ignored him, but the lyrics of the music become the buzz you’ve been searching for since you entered the club, and so you feel no shame as you turn around, giving him a perfect view of the sensual movement of your hips as you match every beat. Michael appreciates this, moving his hand to his hard-on, as he feels the throb of his tip begin to quicken his heartbeat. 

You feel the flush crawl up your neck, and you bring your hand to it, feeling the heat of your hand tickle so slightly. You only had three sips of your drink, and yet you feel the most intoxicated you’ve ever been. It feels right, however, and so this gut-approving feeling encourages you to lower your knees to the floor, nodding along so passively. You smile against your shoulder, eyes locking with Michael’s, whose glasses are now closed next to his drink. You like that he doesn’t have shame in hiding the fact that he appreciates your little show, because in a way, and maybe you’re overreaching, it’s demanding. And of course, how could you ever deny the beautiful man a taste of compliance and sweetness? 

Your eyes fall onto how Michael traces his tongue over his pointer finger, and your legs slightly tremble. There’s not one ounce of shame in Michael’s eyes as he dips his head, muscles moving on their own as his wet finger begins slowly tracing an invisible circle in the air. You take the hint, the spin of his finger directing your hips. You feel desire ignite in your pelvis as Michael’s finger doesn’t stop dominating you, every twirl becoming a promise. Your nipples harden as they sway against the fabric of your top, and the jolts bring your core to a leak. Michael’s dark eyes never leave yours, and it takes every intelligent neuron in his brain to stop him from walking across the floor and caressing you right then and there.  

Both of you are so deep in your trance that neither of you notices the room has begun to clear out, the crowd growing bored with the demands of the requirement dancing. Your coworker walks up to you, embracing you in a tight hug as she whispers in your ear. “I’m going to call it a night with Mr. Tourist. Stay safe, and call me when you get home, yeah?” You give her a thumbs-up, eyeing the guy who’s a few inches away, waiting. “Also, girl, maybe I’m going crazy, but I’m pretty sure that’s Michael Jackson eye-fucking you across the room.” She shrugs her shoulders, leaving you with a raised brow and a suppressed smirk. You bend down, readjusting the strap of your heel, breath hitching as Michael hovers over you, hands in his pocket. Your eyes instinctively search for his fingers, and he notices this, softly breathing a laugh as he takes his hand out, resting it on top of his chest. 

“Your hips carry the gift of being perfectly synced and sensual. Do you dance professionally, girl?” Are the first words he ever spoke to you. You repeated them over and over again, trying to find the courage to answer him. Instead, you shake your head, hand on your bag as you nervously run your fingertips up and down the strap. 

“You should. I’ve never seen anyone have that… perfection. It must be appreciated, worshipped, even.” 

“Be my guest, then.” You murmur, taking a step closer to him. You smile softly as he nods his head in an approving way and points to the door. 

“Walking out that door is a guarantee you won’t ever forget, not for a long time,” Michael responds, a thrilling hint behind his words. You brush off any rules you’ve adapted for yourself, because you tilt your head, nodding, the thick atmosphere prickling on your skin so tempting, it’s an offer you’re glad you never refused. 

┈┈•༶ 1987

A night of passion became a year of passion. After that night in the club, Michael encouraged you to join his tour for his upcoming album, Bad. He teased you, whispering the sensuality of his songs into your ears as he traced his fingers across your thigh, robbing you of any pleasure from his fondling. You fell in love first, but Michael fell harder.  You were the stimulus that ran constantly in his busy mind. He loved the way your hips grinded against his wet cock, watching you with fire etched onto his eyes as he watched you beg for more. 

“Go on, baby. Rub yourself on me like a deprived little animal in heat,” He’d grunt, feeling the wetness of your cunt seep through your underwear. He was a bit nervous at first, unsure whether he was going too far with his commands. But when he noticed that you drenched a tiny bit more when he was more demanding, he had all the confirmation he needed that you loved being bossed around. 

Lucky for you and your pussy, because Michael loved to boss those around him. Taking control in every aspect of his life, including in bed, fueled him and reminded him that he was indeed above all. 

He loved to probe his hands on you, even if his intentions were innocent. There was something about seeing you so willingly give up all your control to him that excited him. You didn’t question him, ever. You complied with every direct, every command. You didn’t complain when he asked all his dancers to work 7 days a week, ensuring the performances they’d give around the world were perfect. He’d be turned on the moment he saw you dance on stage, hips constantly matching the tempo of his songs. He’d excuse himself, calling a mini-break so he could lock himself into the bathroom, rutting his leaking cock into his hand, eyes closed as he pictured your hips dancing in front of his face, your ass softly grazing across his lips.

You’d keep your eyes on him as he walked back to the stage, apologizing for the sudden break. You’d notice his zipper was partially up, and you’d feel your clit throb as you imagined he’d fuck his hand to pleasure. You weren’t oblivious- you knew the effect you had on him. You felt like her, a woman whose life was stuck in an unhappy love, to now living your dream life with your dream man. It was surreal, how quickly your life altered. But you had no regrets. You had the job of a lifetime, and you got to work with the one you loved the most. 

It was another late night, an hour after Michael called it a night. All the dancers packed their bags and greeted you goodnight, exhausted as they walked out of the buildings. You continued practicing in front of the mirror Michael had on stage, working on some small critiques Michael had kindly given you. You appreciated that he didn’t treat you differently or privilege you just because you happened to be his girl; he wanted the best for you, and that meant being honest. 

Your hands are swaying in the hair, a song of Michael’s softly humming in the back. You’re stuck on a current move, and your attempts to perfect it have begun to grow tiresome. Your eyes are on yourself through the mirror, eyes studying every decision your body intuitively makes. You’re so focused, you don’t notice Michael walking back onstage, eyes on your body as you move so effortlessly. 

He grazes your exposed stomach, lips brushing against your neck. “I like it when you dance for me.” 

Your breath stutters, and the song fades into the background as you focus on the beat of your heart. “How am I doing?” 

Michael hums, pulling out his taped fingers from his back and onto the softness of your neck, lazily dragging those fingertips that’ve become your favorite part of Michael in a memzorming pattern. “I think my baby needs her rest, doesn’t she?” 

Michael looks at you through the mirror, tongue lapping at the beat in your neck. You let out an involuntary moan, goosebumps thrumming from your blood and to the soft shivers your flushed body begins experiencing. Your mouth is open, and your eyes are beginning to close when Michael tuts, teeth softly nipping your skin. “No. I want you to look at me the entire time. You need to see how bad you get for me when you want to get fucked like a desperate girl. Actin’ like you haven’t gotten any cock inside that pussy, when it’s still swollen from this morning, hm.” 

His words make your eyes roll back, but the small smack against your ass brings you to your senses. You stand straight, eyes beginning to betray you as you ponder if anyone is left in the building. A pinch on your lip reminds you to behave, so you wet your top lip, thirst becoming overbearing. “I’ll be good, I promise.” 

Your whines are becoming almost amusing to Michael; the pleas are so persistent. He shakes his head, lips curling against your skin as he runs his fingers over your shoulder, lowering the strap down your shoulder. “I don’t even have to take your clothes off to ruin you. How pathetic of you, honey. But I know you love that, don’t you, baby?” You nod, whimpering as you begin grinding against the cloth of your underwear. It’s a desperate and pathetic move on your part, but you lost that side of your self-respect a long time ago. 

Michael grasps onto your chin, turning it slightly to shove his tongue into your warm mouth. Your mouth has become his favorite taste, and the familiar rhythm you both fall into every time you kiss is still his forever favorite thing you’ve both ever done. Your tongue doesn’t even attempt to search for dominance; you didn’t want it. Michael hummed at this revelation, smirking into the kiss. He brings his fingers to your exposed collarbone and tugs at your shirt. Every rasp you attempt to take gets cut off by Michael’s lips, never leaving yours, and if it weren’t for the fact that his fingers were toying with the top of your breasts, you’d almost melt onto the floor. Every broad stroke against your tongue is a reason to indeed melt, and you feel the tears swell up in your eyes. Michael finally lets go and cups your cheek, tongue lapping at your fallen tears. “Get naked.” 

You keep your gaze on him as you nod, taking a step away from him as he watches you through the mirror. He’s become familiar with every curve on your body, with every hidden birthmark on your skin. His eyes still over the lovebites he’s given you in the past week, a reminder that there’s never been a day where’s never made love to you. You stand exposed in front of him, naked body on display on the stage. You no longer care to be caught; the thought of someone walking in and seeing Michael worship you isn’t so bad. 

Michael presses your back to the front of his body, and he licks his fingers in the same way he did the day you met, and it brings you to a lewd moan. You bring your hand to your mouth, but he shakes his head. “Let whoever’s there hear us. I want them to know everything about you is mine, and every part of me is yours.” 

He brings his salivated fingers down your hardened nipples and to your stomach, softly running his palm below your belly. He finally makes his way to your opening, and he softly sighs. “Spread em’, baby.” 

You comply and spread your legs apart, bringing your hand to hold onto Michael’s arm. Your gaze remains on his hand through the mirror, and you begin grinding on his fingers. Michael doesn’t reprimand you, not this time. By the quivers of your body against him, he can sense the stress you feel. He knows you’ve adapted yourself to a perfectionist mindset like his, and he understands you more than anyone when it comes to that. He wants to relieve you from your stress, so he begins to slowly pump his fingers inside your slippery cunt, watching in awe as the sounds of the contact fill his ears. He occasionally thrusts a little too deeply inside you, making sure your eyes stay open and on him. 

Your legs shake, the sensation becoming too much. His fingers are so filling, so comforting, so perfect. It’s like they were perfectly curated to always bring you to a finish. They’re the weakness Michael will always possess over you. He brings his free hand to fondle your breast, twisting the nipple. He watches your reactions, every crease of your forehead, and every open-mouthed moan, being the reason for his hot and leaking tip. Every tightening against his perfectly-veined, long, and filling fingers gives his cock a soft pulse, a heartbeat of its own.

“You’re taking me so good, baby. I’m so proud of you. So, so proud.” He murmurs against your ear, and you let out a filthy choke, the words reminding you of the passion Michael never tends to forget to integrate in every sexual act you both commit. 

Every glide makes your eyes roll back, and if it weren’t for Michael’s body to support you, you’d be on the floor, body quivering from the overstimulating pleasure. Michael’s own eyes softly roll back at your desperate cries. He feels his cock throbbing, and he’s almost sure he’ll spill himself in his pants. He doesn’t care, however, because every thrust he gives you, his eyes watch as your breasts bounce from the pressure. You fall back onto his chest, biting your lip, eyes still open. 

“I want to cum, please. Can I come?” You plead, hair disheveled, skin burning, face sweaty. To Michael, however, this is where he falls more and more in love with your beauty. Your natural ability to be in the most exposed state yet be the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid his eyes on, that’s what enropes his heart to follow yours. 

Michae’s fingertips trace over the prickles in your skin, and every throb he feels in his other fingers he feels reach his cock. He nods and watches as you let go, trembling as you finish on his fingers. “That’s it, baby. Just like that. Look at how beautiful you are, finishing on your man’s fingers. All of this, just for me?” 

You find all the energy in your body to nod, your pussy leaking down Michael’s long fingers and onto his palm. It reaches down your legs, and Michael hums.  “Sweet, sweet, beautiful candy.” 

Michael pulls his pants down, pumping his cum-covered cock a few times before slightly bending you over. Michael loved fucking you in whatever position he could, but standing up drove him wild. It was his weakness, and every thrust he would give was a thrust given with obligation and force. He aligns himself with your leaking cunt, and he slowly thrusts himself into you. His fingers trace down your spine, pleasuring you to the point where your eyes are rolled back, and your mouth is salivating. Michael looks at you through the mirror, and he hums, building a sensual rhythm inside you first.

“You fill me so good, baby. Thank you. Thank you.” You whimper, and Michael cooes, pushing himself in you all the way. As he goes in deeper, the urge to thrust back into him sparks in your mind, and you almost do it, but Michael’s grip on your back reminds you of your place. 

His cock slams inside you, so convulsing, so feverish, yet it is electric. The erotic feeling runs through while he’s inside you, and he laces his fingers with yours. The dominating passion of knowing you’re safe, all because of him, warms your heart, but it mostly ignites Michael’s. He’s proud of himself for being able to make his baby so happy and fulfilled. 

The drag of his cock along the heat of your walls makes your body begin to spasm against him, and the tingling of his fingertips begins beating against your own. Every whine and whimper you both let out is needy, urgent for more. 

“I’m going to spill inside you, okay, honey? Not a single drop will be spilled because I want it inside you for as long as you can hold it.” Michael breathes against your ear, and you shamelessly nod. Every thrust becomes deliberate, deep, and owning. His cock knew it claimed you from the moment it first thrusted inside you, and your pussy had no shame, perfectly molding around it. 

Michael’s hips begin stuttering, and you begin to cum. You begin to cry, the stimulation overbearing and hungry. Michael doesn’t slow, using every ounce of energy inside him to slam into you, the sounds of your skin slapping against each other filling the room. His knees buckle, and his vision blurs, coming undone as he spills inside you. His thrusts slow, but don’t stop. He lets out a stuttered moan as he makes sure he empties everything inside of you before pulling out. He brings his shaky finger down your legs, picking your face up to his chest as he pumps his fingers inside you, making sure every drop of his finish coats your walls. 

He watches as you whimper, wiping away your tears before finally taking his fingers out of you, resting below your breasts. He kisses the top of your head, eyes never leaving yours. “I’m so proud of you, baby. You’re perfect in every single way.”