Riri

my top 3 mj songs from last month:

she/her / black / 21 / off the wall era enthusiast

my tag: #thoughtsfromriri

masterlist | req rules

newest writing: High Heeled Lover

sure, I'm apart of a million fandoms but I only write for michael atm

I'm a full-time student, so I do not have a writing schedule. I do this for fun and on whim, so my posting will forever be inconsistent.

I do not EVER use AI in my writings, and I never will, so do not accuse me of using up all our fresh water. Good, bad, or otherwise, I take pride in the works I produce. Please do not steal my writing, post my writing anywhere else as your own, or feed it to AI. All rights reserved to me @ladyofmjslife. All content featured is purely fictional and created for entertainment purposes only.

— Requests are: open, have at it!

Thriller!Michael loves your feet. That's been established. But he particularly loves your feet in heels. So much so that he bought you another pair after buying you four pairs yesterday. “What am I going to do with all these shoes? there is no more room in our closet,” you whine. he cant help but let out a soft laugh “well then I'll have a bigger closet built.” you frown at his frivolity, “im serious Michael. you don’t need to keep buying me things.” the playful smile he had been wearing left his face, now full of seriousness. “i know baby, but i love the way you smile when wear a new pair for the first time.” and he was right there was no better feeling than putting on a brand new shoe.

If only his motives were that innocent. 

Michael loves when you wear heels. He loves it when you come home after buying a few new pairs with his card. The best part is when you walk around the room as you model them for him. But he especially loves when he takes you out. In a restaurant sat a table for two, as your foot innocently rubbed against his calf. Michael tried to ignore the sensation of arousal building inside him as he listened to you tell him about your day. But as your stiletto clad foot traveled higher up his leg, the shell of his resolve began to crack. And when your foot settled on the top of his jeans just above his cock he let out a breathy whine. You loved watching him try to hold his composure like this when you were under the public eye. The whole situation was sinful, and you reveled in every second of it.

Michael's cock was unbearably hard, straining tight against his jeans. He gripped the edge of the white clothed table as his eyes pleaded with you. Whether he was begging you to stop or give him more, he was unsure of. You rubbed the bulge in his jeans, adding just a bit more pressure. And he lost it. The tablecloth bunched beneath his palms as he spilled his load into his boxers. He could feel the dark spot forming on the front of his jeans. The sound that Michael let out wasn't a moan, so much as a whimper. It was obscene and desperate. He didn't care. He wasn't even trying to hide his desperation anymore

God, he loved when you wore heels. 

wait are we soulmates????💍👰🏾‍♀️

It was a quarter past three. The world was quiet, and time felt as if it stood still—the moonlight dancing across Michael and your shared bedroom. You had been sleeping, lying tangled in the sheets. Even in your half-asleep state, you realized you could no longer feel the warmth of Michael’s chest pressed against your back. Eyes unopened, you threw your hand behind you, searching for the warmth of his body. Your hand was met with nothing but the coolness of the cotton sheets where Michael should have been. As you sat up and reached to rub your bleary eyes, you immediately knew where Michael was.

This wasn't the first time you woke in the dead of night to the other side of your bed, cold and empty. And it wouldn't be the last. Oftentimes, Michael’s best ideas found him in dreamland. When inspiration came knocking, Michael was never one to ignore the call. He would slip out of bed in hopes of not waking you to head to his home studio. Every time his attempts prove futile. You always woke not long after his disappearance. Much like tonight. 

Following the same routine, you untangled yourself from the bed sheets. Abandoning the sweet dreams you had been having. Finding your robe in the dark room with no illumination other than the moon. You open the bedroom door, roaming through the halls until you inevitably find the studio door. The metal of the handle is cold to the touch against your palm as you turn it and press the door open. Your eyes take a moment to adjust to the light of the studio. But when they do, you find Michael sitting at the soundboard with his back turned to you. to consumed by whatever song pulled him from the bed to notice your presence. Smiling to no one besides yourself, you walk softly behind him. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “Hi, baby,” he breathes. “Did I wake you?” 

You didn't answer, but you didn't need to. He knew that not long after he left, you were bound to come searching for him. “Do you want to hear what I've been working on?” he asks as he erases something from his notepad. “Mhm,” you hum pressing a kiss to his neck. Michael stands as he turns to face you, arms wrapping around your waist. As he sang, the two of you swayed back and forth to the rhythm of his voice, something falling just short of dancing. 

The air in the studio was reminiscent of the scent of Quincy’s cigarettes and Michael’s cologne. Many sleepless nights had been spent in this room, producing the very music that paid for it. Michael had stopped singing, but the two of you stayed wrapped up in each other. His arms were tight around you as he pressed a kiss to your neck. You felt so safe when he held you like this. “Come back to bed, Michael,” you plead. Hoping that this time he might actually listen. 

“Can we stay like this a little longer? Then I promise we can go back to bed,” he whispered, his breath fanning against your neck. So you stayed with him until he was ready, as long as he had you here with him like this. Then he had everything he needed. God could give the song to Prince. Just this once, though.

All best friends fight occasionally. At least that's what Michael tried to convince himself.

You hadn't spoken to him in 6 days. Michael couldn't remember what he had done to piss you off. All he could recall was you yelling about something. Due to the summer heat, on the day of the argument, you had worn a tank top. It was hard to focus on you yelling at him because with each movement you made, your breasts bounced. He does remember you yelling about how he was clearly not listening to you. That was right before you kicked him out of your house. Who could expect him to pay attention when you looked so good? 

Which is why Michael now found himself lying on his bed, with your worn panties wrapped around his cock. he had taken them from your room the last time he was at your house. Michael knows it’s wrong. It was hard to feel any guilt about his wrongdoing when the piece of fabric smelled so much of your own arousal. As he dragged the black lace back and forth up his shaft, his mind went back to you.

He had tried to apologize. But he didn't know what he had done to upset you in the first place. He tried bringing you your favorite flowers. When that didn't work, he begged his mom to bake a cake for you. The one you raved about the first time you had it at his house. That didn't work either. He even had Janet call your house, to no avail. 

The grip on his cock was suffocating, his motions were abrasive. The fabric that had once adorned your body was now stained with the pre cum leaking from his tip. Michael thought about how delicious your warmth would feel wrapped around his cock when you were no longer mad at him. tears gathered in the corners of his eyes as he approached the edge of his orgasm. With one last stroke, the delicate lace caught on his tip, sending him over the edge. Ropes of his hot seed shot from his tip, embedding into the gaps in the lace of your now ruined panties. 

Michael would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t miss you. But he was done trying to get you to forgive him for whatever he had done. You would eventually have to talk to him, he was your best friend after all. And it’s not like you had any other friends.

The first time the two of you touched each other was a shock.

You and Michael had been friends since you were 12. His family had moved to Hayvenhurst, right into the house across from yours. You and Michael had become inseparable from that day forward. Over the years, you and Michael had managed to get into trouble together on many occasions. which was impressive considering you both belonged to devout families. Somewhere throughout the years, without you even noticing it, you had developed feelings for your best friend. Something far from innocent, and something you knew you could never share with anyone. You knew it was unrealistic. But you couldn't help but yearn for something more from Michael. 

You would do anything for him, and vice versa. That was what it meant to be best friends with someone. But when he stood in front of you, beet red and unable to make eye contact with you. With the idea of you two “experimenting” together. Saying that it would just be practice for both of you so that when the real time came, you could be prepared. You were hesitant to agree.

When he finally made eye contact with you with those enormous doe like eyes of his, looking as if he was on the verge of tears. Whining about how it wasn’t as if it would mean anything, and that it was normal for friends to help each other out. “We’re best friends, aren’t we?” he insisted, his eyes never breaking from yours. Only then do you nod your head, finally agreeing to his idea. How could you tell him no? “Just promise me that whatever we do to each other will stay between us?” you pleaded, your voice just barely above a whisper. Michael hummed in agreement, but the brief smirk that ghosted across his lips did not go unnoticed by you. And before you could truly comprehend what you had just agreed to, Michael's lips were on yours. connecting with such a fervor that it made you dizzy. It was messy at first, but the two of you eventually found your rhythm. The kiss went on for what felt like an eternity. When Michael finally broke it to catch his breath, all you could taste was his signature cinnamon gum.

Just as fast as the kiss was over, it began again. You can’t remember when you made it onto the bed. All you could focus on was the throbbing, hot ache growing between your thighs. His large hands boldly wandered across your body until Michael's hand slipped past the waistband of your jeans. His calloused palm was warm against your skin before stopping abruptly. His eyes found yours. “Tell me that you want this, that you want me. i need to hear you say it,” he whispered against your lips. Your throat ran dry with embarrassment. Just as his fingers brushed against the growing wet spot on your panties. “You have to say it, baby. you wouldn’t want to let your best friend down, would you?” he feigned. Of course you didn’t want to let him down; Michael was the most important person in the world to you. 

“I want you, Michael,” you breathlessly answered. That seemed to please him as he finally let his hand dip into your panties. His middle finger made a long and agonizingly slow stripe through your slit. causing you to let out a moan that died in your mouth as Michael’s own pressed against yours again. 

Remember, this is normal. Right? Best friends help each other out. Don’t you want your best friend to be happy?

i was working on my own fic last night cus i just feel like there can never be enough pervy mike so i'll probably post that sometime today😉

perv!bsf!michael drabble

pervy!bsf!mike x virgin reader

your first time

such a perv

manipulative!bsf!

panty stealer

honorable mention perv!boss!mike

this one is loooong

you go out with someone else

lessons from pervy!bsf!mike

i also love and really suggest you read @prettyangeliczz dad’s best friend fics!!

@iheartoldermen99

key | **18+ mdni

by era

off the wall

circus girl

Sweet talking'**

Panty thief**

thriller

michael jackson has a foot fetish

High Heeled Lover**

bad

Sleepless nights

history

mature

any era