moonlight girl

With love for my dearest (Michael Jackson x black OC)

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

I was on Pinterest looking at things about Michael and I found this image that really caught my attention.

I found the way Michael emphasizes looks quite intriguing. Michael lived under the abuse of his father for a long period of time. Joe Jackson judged his nose, his face, his skin color, and his appearance, and this obviously shaped how Michael viewed beauty.

I truly believe he saw beauty in black beauty. It's no coincidence that he chose many black women as the stars of his short films. I also think he always associated Black women with the Black women in his life, like Diana Ross herself (however bad an influence she may be) and his own mother, whom he saw as almost a saint.

But I believe the verbal and physical abuse he suffered in childhood put him in a position where he saw black beauty as something black people needed to strive for to be successful, we needed to have a type of beauty that was accepted by white people.

He himself didn't see himself as beautiful; there was an internalized racism stemming from the abuse.

This makes me a little sad, like most of the painful facts surrounding Michael's life. I really wish he could see how beautiful he was.

I've always found it interesting how Lisa Marie Presley always tried her best to be the perfect match for her husbands and dates.

Riley, her daughter, said that Lisa never never saw herself as beautiful. She also said that Lisa always tried her best to be a perfect person in Michael's eyes when they were married, to the point that Michael never knew that Lisa smoked.

I believe that much of this behavior stems from her own insecurity growing up with a narcissistic mother in a dysfunctional family. Lisa always had perfectly manicured nails, impeccable hair, and classic clothes that fit the stereotypical ideal of the perfect wife when she was with Michael. Her style reminded me a lot of Princess Diana herself, whom Michael always said he greatly admired and believed this to be his ideal of beauty in life.

Javon and Bill, Michael's former bodyguards, spoke about how Michael seemed to like women with curly hair. Lisa, for her part, always curled her own hair during her marriage with Michael.

Another interesting thing is that Michael, in his interview with Rabbi Shmuley, said he liked women who were a bit tomboyish. I really think he saw a bit of that in Lisa when he married her because of her firm and direct manner (We're talking about a time when this could be considered a tomboy trait, even if it wasn't necessarily that), Lisa, for her part, always strived to look impeccable in every photo with Michael, and I believe that even at home (my personal impression), stemming from an insecurity that masked her true taste, which she didn't consider beautiful enough for him.

I read a lot of people saying that they love her appearance when she was with Michael, but I particularly like her style when she's in her own element:

Doing her art and being a good mother, which, according to what she herself wrote in her book, seemed to be what she aspired to be in her life.

synopsis: michael always tries to suppress himself because the pleasure of having you is always greater.

tags. explicit s*x description, +18, nsfw. written with a black female person in mind (halle bailey more specifically)

You collapsed onto the pillow, pushing your hips back toward him as Michael grabbed a fistful of your hair, his warm body pressing down over yours. He began rocking forward and back with a steady, firm rhythm. You muffled your staccato moans into the pillow, gripping the sheets tightly. Your breasts flattened against the mattress, sensitive nipples dragging against the fabric, making everything even more overwhelmingly stimulating.

“Yes, yes. That’s good, isn’t it?” Michael’s soft voice asked near your ear, low and breathless.

“Hmm— Mike, Mike, wait—” You could feel the heat building, echoing through your thighs and pelvis. “I’m… I’m—”

The orgasm hit you like a cyclone, a whirlwind of pleasure tearing through your body. Goosebumps erupted across your mahogany skin, an intense shiver running down your spine as your inner walls clenched tightly around his dick. The mere awareness of it made you moan his name while your entire body pulsed, trembled, and convulsed deliciously.

“Gosh, fuck, you—” he groaned in pure ecstasy, deepening his thrusts. The sharp slap of his hips against your ass grew more intense, accompanied by the wet, obscene sounds filling the room.

His stamina allowed him to do this and to ride out your orgasm while delaying his own. Michael’s pleasure was now held back only by his immense willpower, determined to make you tremble for him again and again that night.

He gripped your hips and flipped you with ease. You were now on your back, staring up at him. Michael hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, leaning down to kiss you with everything he had, tongue caressing yours, pleasure building once more. He almost came from the sound of your moan vibrating into his mouth.

You clenched around him with your inner walls, giving him a brief taste of heaven.

“Babe… No, not yet, don’t do that,” he babbled against your lips, still kissing you. “I want to last, hm? I want you to come again, just like this, I—”

He rose slightly, holding your knee over his shoulder while folding your other leg closer to your chest. The wet, rhythmic sound of his skin slapping against yours started again, deeper and more intense.

Michael’s eyes were locked on your face, dark and completely mesmerized. Every thrust made your breasts bounce, your belly tighten, and soft, desperate moans spill from your lips. He was breathing hard, sweat glistening on his skin, but he kept the pace steady and powerful, determined to push you over the edge once more.

“You’re so beautiful when you come for me,” he whispered, voice rough but full of adoration. “I can feel you getting close again… let go, baby. I’ve got you.”

Your second orgasm crashed over you even harder than the first. You cried out, back arching sharply off the bed, nails digging into his arms as your body convulsed around him. Michael groaned deeply, the feeling of you pulsing around his dick nearly breaking his control.

But he held back.

He slowed his thrusts, riding you through the pleasure with deep, deliberate strokes, watching every expression on your face with rapt fascination. Only when your tremors began to fade did he finally let himself go.

With a low, shuddering groan, he buried himself as deep as possible and came hard, pulsing inside you in long, powerful waves. His hips stuttered, soft, overwhelmed sounds escaping his lips as he filled you completely, holding you tight through every throb.

Afterward, he collapsed gently on top of you, careful not to crush you. His arms wrapped around you immediately, face buried in your neck as he tried to catch his breath. One hand stroked your hair, the other rested protectively on your belly.

“Are you okay?” he whispered, voice soft and hoarse, pressing gentle kisses to your damp skin. “I didn't want to overstep the mark. I just couldn’t stop wanting you.”

You smiled tiredly, wrapping your arms around him, still trembling from the aftershocks.

“I always love this, I always love you” you murmured, then you looked up and stared at him with a mischievous expression. “Can we do it again?”

synopsis

trying to having a baby was for you and michael, always a beautiful pleasure.

tags. +18, nsfw, explicit descriptions of s*x, drabble.

He moves you with ease, lifting and positioning your body exactly how he wants. You don’t even know when or how he became such a skilled lover. With all the time you’ve had to explore each other and the way you’ve both been actively trying to get pregnant, it makes sense. Your legs start to tremble as you realize the position he’s putting you in: arms pulled behind your back, wrists held together in one of his large hands, keeping you arched and helpless on the bed. Your legs stay wrapped around his torso, but the angle is so intense you feel every single thrust with devastating depth.

He uses his grip on your joined wrists as leverage, pulling your body back onto him again and again, impaling you with powerful, controlled strokes. You can’t hold back your moans anymore, they spill from your throat, raw and needy.

“Yes! like that, like that, like that,” you babble in drunken whispers, pleasure pushing you right to the edge. But he seems to enjoy surprising himself with what he can do to you. He’s utterly fascinated by the way your body responds to his, sweat glistening like dew on your skin between the curves of your breasts.

He lets out a shaky, stunned moan, eyes wide and bright with disbelief. You want so badly to kiss him, but you can barely do anything except take what he’s giving you, feeling pleasure throb through every inch of your body.

“Gosh, you—” he stammers, pulling you back onto him again. “Yes, baby, it’s good, isn’t it? Fuck, yes, you’re so wet…”

The last words come out as a drunk, breathless murmur, his eyes wide with surprise and hunger barely hidden behind his beautiful features.

He keeps going, deep and relentless, using his grip on your wrists to control the rhythm completely. Your moans turn into broken cries as another orgasm builds fast and sharp inside you. He watches you with rapt fascination, lips parted, sweat dripping down his chest as he drives into you again and again.

When you come, it hits you like a storm, your back arches violently, a loud, shattered moan tearing from your throat as your walls clench tightly around him. He groans deeply, the sound vibrating through his chest, but he doesn’t stop. He keeps thrusting through your climax, slower now but somehow even deeper, savoring every pulse and flutter of your body around him.

Only when your tremors begin to fade does he finally let himself go.

With a low, shuddering groan, he buries himself as deep as possible, hips stuttering as he comes hard, spilling inside you in long, powerful waves. His grip on your wrists tightens for a moment, then loosens as pleasure overtakes him. He presses his face into the curve of your neck, breathing hard, soft, almost overwhelmed sounds escaping him with every pulse.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the room are your ragged breathing and the faint creak of the bed.

He gently releases your wrists and wraps his arms around you, pulling you close against his chest. He’s still inside you, softening slowly, but he makes no move to pull out. Instead, he kisses your temple, your cheek, your swollen lips tenderly and almost shy now that the intensity has passed.

“Are you okay?” he whispers, voice soft and hoarse, one hand gently stroking your hair. “I didn’t mean to be so… much.”

You smile tiredly, curling into him, still trembling from the aftershocks.

“I loved it,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “You feel so good when you let go like that.”