𝖆𝖑𝖊𝖘𝖐𝖆

OFF THE WALL

𝓜𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝓶𝓮 𝔀𝓪𝓷𝓽 𝓼𝓸𝓶𝓮' 𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓮

Pt.1

Pt.2

Girlfriend, show them.

Pt.1

𝙄'𝙢 𝙩𝙤𝙤 𝙚𝙭𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚

Pt.1

𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓮𝓻

When i get this feeling.

Pt.1

Lay back in my tenderness

Pt.1

My baby, baby, baby

Pt.1

Ｂａｄ

Fight The Power ✊🏿

Pt.1

𝖣𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗌

𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓰𝓲𝓿𝓮 𝓶𝓮 𝓯𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻

Pt.1

𝙷𝙸𝚂𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢/ɮօȶɖ

Rocket till waterfalls

Pt.1

I'ma go Thriller on you.

Pt.1

Pt.2

Pt.3

A girl like me

Pt.1

Pt.2

𝙈𝙖𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙚

'Cause I'm the baddest.

Pt.1

Pt.2

On my videophone

Pt.1

Morning dew

Pt.1

Christmas could not shut the fuck up. For months, every time he and Michael hung out, Chris was constantly talking about this girl he met at a party in Beverly Hills. He went on and on about her until Michael got a little too curious.

Fast forward a couple of months, Chris gets an invite to this big, exclusive mansion party, and by their luck, you’re actually there. You’re out on the floor with a couple of your girlfriends, completely dancing your ass off to "It's Like That" by Mariah Carey. What you don't know is that from across the room, you’re being stared at by Michael Jackson and Chris Tucker.

After you guys have a couple of drinks, Chris smoothly invites you and your girlfriends up to the VIP section and introduces you to Michael. You start totally gushing, telling him how much you’re such a BIG fan.

You drink a little more and just chat away, sitting right in between both of them. Michael keeps asking you a million questions, and since the music is so damn loud, you can constantly feel his breath on your neck when he speaks. On your other side, Chris is being smooth as hell, rubbing his hands on your legs all the way up to the seams of your jean shorts.

Eventually, you say you're tired. Michael immediately offers you a ride home in his limousine. You look over to say bye to your friends, but they're already hooking up with some rich guys at the party anyway, so you say sure.

Walking out, Chris holds your waist, helping your tipsy self get safely down the stairs and into the car. Inside the limo, you’re feeling a little wild from the alcohol, so you keep rubbing yourself on Chris. You notice his funny ass got so handsome over the years, and you start grabbing his biceps while Michael just sits across from you guys, laughing his head off.

Suddenly, you notice they never actually asked for your address, and before you know it, you reach Michael’s estate in Beverly Hills.

They bring you inside and try to sober you up with some water, but when you get a little more conscious of where you actually are, you look around like, wait a minute.

"What is this about?" you ask, looking between them.

Michael’s shy vibe completely drops. He steps closer, while Chris closes the distance right behind you. Michael looks you dead in the eyes and tells you straight up that they want to have a threesome with you.

You don't even hesitate. You say yes, of course.

Upstairs

Chris doesn't waste any time. He takes charge completely, being the dominant one, and carries you straight upstairs. The second the bedroom door shuts, he strips your jean shorts and your underwear off in one hard tug, leaving you completely bare. He looks over at Michael.

"Come look at her, Mike," Chris commands, his voice deep.

Michael steps up, his breathing already heavy as his long fingers grip your hips, pulling you against him so you can feel his hard 7-inch length straining against his pants.

Chris gets behind you, pressing his chest to your back and grabbing your boobs heavy-handed, squeezing them until you moan out loud. At the same time, Michael drops to his knees. He parts your legs wide and buries his face right into your pussy, licking you all over and sucking on your clit, shoving his tongue deep inside you until you're completely dripping and lapping up your juices.

You're holding onto Michael’s hair, losing your mind, but Chris pulls you back onto the bed. He makes you straddle his lap, and he shoves his thick dick inside you in one heavy thrust. You scream from the stretch, and Chris starts slamming his hips upward, setting a brutal, deep rhythm. While Chris is pounding you from below, Michael climbs up next to you, grabbing your ass and squeezing the flesh while he sucks and bites on your nipples, making you completely cross-eyed.

"You like that? You're so tight," Michael rasps, his voice a dirty growl as you lean forward to sloppy kiss him, your tongues tangling while Chris devours you from behind. Chris grips your hips hard, taking you to his limit before he gives a few more deep, bottoming-out thrusts and comes hard inside you with a loud grunt.

Before you can even breathe, Chris moves out of the way. Michael is already over you, his clothes gone and his dick glistening. He grips your ankles, pressing your legs all the way to your chest, and shoves it fully in, ball-deep.

That massive hip movement of his drives you absolutely crazy. He hammers into you, his hot sweat dripping onto your skin, and the dirty talk starts flowing to get you even more horny.

"Yeah, take it all, baby," Michael chokes out, his hips slamming with a wet, heavy rhythm. "You're ours tonight. You look so pretty like this... I'm gonna cum".

"Yes, Michael, please!" you scream, tears in your eyes from the pleasure.

Hearing you beg completely pushes him over the edge. Your walls clamp down tight around him, and you fall into a screaming, shattering orgasm. Michael lets out a loud, breathless cry, his eyes rolling back as he drives in fast and hard, stiffening completely as he squirts his warm load deep inside you, filling you to the brim.

A few weeks after meeting michael jackson at that record store, your phone finally rang. It was Michael, calling to officially invite you out to the Neverland ranch. He wanted to keep his promise he wanted to see you again, give you a proper welcome, and finally hear the music you’d been working on.

When the gates of Neverland Ranch opened for you, the size of the property took your breath away, shit was massive, but the big exterior faded the moment you walked into his house. Michael was waiting for you, and cradled carefully in his arms was his baby son, Prince.

"Look who’s here Applehead, isn't she pretty uh" Michael whispered softly, a brilliant, proud smile lighting up his face as he gently rocked the baby boy.

Prince was easily the cutest baby you had ever seen, blinking up at you with wide, curious eyes. Michael let you hold him for a little bit, watching with soft eyes as you cooed over his cute son, (little did you know, he's the devil himself) completely touched by how natural and sweet he was as a father. After a nanny came to take the baby for his nap, Michael grabbed your hand to show you around his home. He took you on a full tour of the breathtaking ranch past the the lake, the beautiful flower beds, and the exotic animals, completely enjoying the peacefulness of the chilly afternoon.

The tour ended where both of your hearts truly belonged: his private recording studio.

The studio was cold and dark, yet completely cozy, filled with warm lighting. You both sat down near the mixing console, mingling and chatting up easily about your music. You explained to him that your sound was deeply rooted in the underground R&B and hip-hop scene in Brooklyn, street, and soulful. You told him how much you loved collaborating, specifically making features with underground rappers to beautifully blend your smooth, melodic vocals with their sharp, heavy raps.

To show him exactly what you meant, you pulled out a cassette demo you had brought along.

"This one is called 'A Girl Like You,'" you said, slipping the tape into the studio’s console. "It features Treach, hes like a big brother to me."

As the track started playing, the heavy, gritty hip-hop beat filled the studio, perfectly contrasting with the effortless, velvety warmth of your vocals. Treach’s rhythmic rap flowed seamlessly around your chorus. Michael sat back in his chair, his eyes wide as his head started bobbing perfectly to the rhythm. He was completely locked into the groove, snapping his fingers.

"Oh, wow, that was so good, you too are a great mix together. I clearly can hear the connection. " Michael gasped, hitting the stop button when the demo finished, his eyes shining with genuine excitement. "The textures in your voice... they’re beautiful. And the way you lock into that hip-hop pocket with treach? that’s incredibly smart. Your vocals are so pure, i loved it babygirl."

He sat there for a second, tapping his chin as his creative wheels started turning. Suddenly, a spark lit up his face.

"I want to try something," Michael said, standing up and heading over to a tape vault. "I’ve been working on this track. It's just a demo right now, completely in the early stages, but hearing your tone... I need to hear what you sound like on it."

He loaded a fresh reel onto the machine. The song was "Butterflies" a track that wouldn't see the light of day for years until his next album if it didn't get scraped, but right now, in the quiet of Neverland, it was a beautiful, unreleased secret.

The track began to play, a gorgeous, mid-tempo R&B groove with lush chords that perfectly matched your own musical sensibilities. Michael’s pre-recorded guide vocals floated through the studio monitors, sweet, airy, and breathtakingly romantic.

He handed you a pair of headphones and pointed toward the tracking room’s microphone. "I want you to go in there and sing the harmonies with me. Let's see how our voices blend."

You walked into the booth, your heart hammering a bit as you adjusted the mic. Looking through the glass, you saw Michael giving you a warm, encouraging thumbs-up from the console. The music swelled in your ears, and as Michael's recorded voice sang the sweet lyrics about butterflies, you leaned into the mic, letting your raw, Brooklyn bred R&B soul bleed into his track, your smooth vocals weaving perfectly around his iconic voice.

Michael was in his Dangerous World Tour and it was sweeping across Europe. To the public, Michael was an untouchable, larger-than-life figure, but behind closed doors, he was completely consumed by a secret. For a few months now, the two of you had been dating, carefully keeping your relationship hidden from the sick eyes of the press. You were a rising sitcom actress, playing the brilliantly funny, boy-crazy, and slightly eccentric daughter of a chaotic television family, and Michael was your absolute biggest fan.

One grueling night in his hotel suite, his mind simply refused to shut off. He couldn't stop thinking about you the scent of your skin, the sound of your laugh, the way you looked when you were teased him. After taking a long, freezing-cold shower to try and shock his system into relaxing, his chronic insomnia still kept him completely restless.

Sighing, he padded over to tv on the bedroom. Luckily for him, his security team had traveled with a box of recorded VHS tapes containing the last two seasons of your show. Michael climbed into the massive hotel bed, propping the pillows behind his back, and popped a tape into the VCR just to see your face.

As the episodes rolled, he watched you being effortlessly funny, but his eyes kept lingering on the wardrobe choices the stylists picked for your character. Because you played the wild, rebellious daughter, your outfits were incredibly cocky and revealing short skirts, tight crop tops, and low-cut necklines that showed off your curves. Michael’s throat went dry. He stared at the screen, his chest aching with a fierce, heavy longing. He caught himself thinking about you a little too much, missing the feeling of touching you, smelling your hair, and just talking to you face-to-face.

He let out a breathless, disbelieving chuckle, burying his face in his hands. He couldn't believe how completely pussy-whipped he was after only a couple of months of dating. He was Michael Jackson, yet he was losing his mind over a girl on a videotape.

Unable to take the distance for another second, he grabbed the bedside telephone. He didn't even bother to check the time zones between Europe and Los Angeles; he just needed to hear your voice.

The phone rang three times before you picked up, sounding surprisingly alert. "Hello?"

"Hey, baby," Michael murmured, his voice soft, velvety, and deep with exhaustion. "Why aren't you sleeping?"

You let out a soft laugh through the receiver, a sound that instantly eased the tight knot in his chest. "Well, I figured I'd be woken up regardless by a certain someone calling me from halfway across the world. Plus, I'm really not that tired anyway."

Michael smiled, twisting the telephone cord around his long fingers. "I just miss you. I miss my baby so much. I wanted desperately to hear your voice... tell me about your day. How was it?"

You settled into your own bed, giving him a sweet little recap of your afternoon like getting your hair done at the salon, running a few boring errands, and softly admitting that you spent a good chunk of the afternoon thinking about him, too.

"How's the tour, Mike?" you asked softly.

Michael’s smile faded a bit, his shoulders dropping as he leaned his head back against the headboard. "I'm tired, sweetheart. So restless. My mind won't stop racing, and I just... I wish so badly you were here with me. I need you here."

There was a brief pause on the line, and then you spoke with a playful, comforting warmth. "Well, my schedule is clearing up next month. What would you say if I flew out to your Germany date?"

Michael virtually bolted upright in bed, his dark eyes instantly lighting up with pure thrill. "Are you serious? You promise? Oh, girl, you don't know what that does to me. I can't wait to see you."

The month dragged by in a blur of stadium lights, people fainting and screaming crowds, but finally, the time arrived. Your filming hiatus had begun, and you boarded a flight straight to Germany, determined to see your man perform and finally do something about his terrible insomnia.

The night of the concert, you were a permanent fixture backstage. While nearly eighty thousand fans roared out in the stadium, you watched the entire breathtaking performance from the wings. During his lightning-fast wardrobe changes, you stayed right by his side in the quick-change tent. While wardrobe assistants frantically zipped him into his gold leotards and black jackets, you were right there, holding his hand, wiping the heavy sweat from his forehead with a towel, and constantly refilling his paper cup with fresh orange juice to keep his energy up. Michael kept looking at you between songs, his eyes wide and bursting with a silent, profound gratitude.

By the time the final explosions echoed and the concert ended, it was time to escape. Security rushed you both into the back of a sleek, tinted limousine, the adrenaline still vibrating through Michael’s body.

As the car pulled away toward the hotel, the smooth, sultry notes of Madonna’s cover of "Fever" started playing through the radio speakers. Now, it was a well-known secret between you two that Michael wasn't exactly the biggest fan of Madonna’s artistic style or as a person, which made the moment perfect for teasing.

You looked over at him, a wicked, playful glint in your eyes. You slid across the leather seat, straddling his lap, and began to rhythmically rub your hands all over his chest and thighs, leaning in until your lips were brushing against the shell of his ear.

"Never know how much I love you... never know how much I care..." you sang along in a low, breathy, mocking whisper, letting your voice trail down his neck.

Michael let out a low groan, his jaw clenching tightly as he tried with everything in him to suppress a massive smile. "Stop it, you're terrible," he muttered, though his hands automatically gripped your hips, pulling you flush against his lap where his hardness was already forming.

The second the limousine pulled into the hotel’s private, underground park area, Michael didn't wait. He practically dragged you out of the car by your hand, pulling you toward the private elevator. The moment the metal doors slid shut and the elevator began its ascent, he slammed you gently against the wall, kicking off an incredibly intense, bruising make-out session. Michael’s large hands went straight to your backside, gripping and lifting your butt tightly, while your fingers tangled deep into his loose, damp curls, pulling him closer.

When the elevator chimed at the penthouse floor, you ran hand-in-hand down the quiet hallway like two teenagers, practically tripping over each other to get into the suite.

The moment the heavy door clicked locked behind you, the clothes began to fly. Pieces of denim, silk, and cotton were discarded in a messy trail leading straight toward the king-sized bed. Michael pushed you gently onto the plush mattress, his eyes completely dark with an intense, burning hunger.

He didn't rush. He slid down your body, his lips kissing a path down your stomach before parting your thighs wide. Michael went down on you with a slow, agonizingly thorough passion. He licked and sucked at your wet pussy, listening intently to your loud moans echoing through the quiet suite, whispering low, possessive compliments against your sensitive skin every time your hips twitched.

When you were completely dripping and begging for him, Michael slid back up your body. His thick, heavy length was completely hard, throbbing against your thigh. He hovered over you, looking deeply into your eyes, and slowly, sensually guided himself all the way inside you.

The stretch was deep, hot, and breathtaking. Michael began to move with a slow, rocking hip motion, kissing you deeply, his tongue sliding into your mouth in perfect sync with his thrusts. It wasn't the frantic pace of a man in a rush; it was a slow, heavy, soul-binding rhythm that made you arch your back and cry out his name into the quiet room. He held you tight, rolling his hips against yours until the overwhelming pleasure crested, sending both of you crashing into a orgasm that left you both breathless and covered in sweat.

An hour later, the room was completely still. The heavy curtains were drawn, blocking out the German night. You were completely tangled together in the crisp white sheets, your head resting securely on his bare chest.

You smiled softly into the dark, listening to the deep, slow, and completely rhythmic sound of his breathing. Michael was completely knocked out, his face relaxed and peaceful, his long arms wrapped protectively around your waist even in his sleep.

You leaned up, pressing a tiny, soft kiss to his jawline before snuggling back down. You had definitely taken care of that insomnia.

Like Maddona said "and I'm not sorry, is human nature".

It was right around the time Michael was releasing his Forever Michael album. Despite the bright lights of the stage and the growing success of his career, there was a quiet, lingering sadness in his heart. Back before the fame completely consumed his world, he’d had a very dear girlfriend in Gary, Indiana someone who knew him simply as Michael, before the world knew him as a superstar. Sadly, as the Jacksons' schedule grew thigter and the family moved away to California, he had completely lost contact with you.

For months, Michael did his absolute best to find you. He’d ask around, writing down old numbers and pulling at whatever threads he could find, desperate to see you again and make sure you were okay.

Finally, his persistence paid off. He found out that you had moved away from the cold winters of Indiana and was now living in Texas. By absolute stroke of luck, the universe aligned perfectly him and his brothers had an upcoming concert scheduled right there in the Lone Star State.

Michael immediately arranged a meetup, his heart hammering with a mixture of intense excitement and nervous anticipation in the days leading up to the trip.

The night of the show, the backstage area was the usual chaotic mess of security, family, and tuning instruments. But the moment the door to the dressing room opened and you stepped inside, the noise completely stopped for him. It had been so many years, but the second your eyes met, the time apart instantly evaporated.

Michael froze for a beat, his jaw dropping slightly, before a brilliant, beautiful smile broke across his face the kind of pure, un-shy smile he only saved for the people who truly knew his soul.

He rushed over to you, completely bypassing the backstage crowd, and wrapped his arms tightly around your neck. He held onto you like a lifeline, burying his face into your shoulder as the familiar comfort of your presence washed over him.

Pulling back just a fraction, his large, dark eyes shone with a mixture of relief and deep emotion. He looked at your face, taking in every detail to make sure this was finally real.

"I looked everywhere for you," Michael whispered, his voice cracking slightly with emotion as he kept his hands resting gently on your shoulders. He shook his head, his fro brushing against your cheek. "I’m never letting us drift apart like that again. I promise you, I won't leave your life again."

You smiled, tears stinging your eyes as you squeezed his hands, knowing that no matter how big the world got, your sweet boy from Gary had finally found his way back to you.

I'm sorry that i dissappear for a while (literally 2 days) but my book on wattpad just hit a 100k so I had to go over there for a while. So you guys won't be seeing me over here.

It's 1978 and the jackson brothers are working on their destiny album, and the heavy atmosphere of the Epic Records reunion was completely tense. Down the hall, your father one of the label’s top executive producers, was lock in a serious boardroom meeting with the Jackson brothers and Joseph to discuss the rollout of the Destiny album.

But you and Michael already ignoring the corporate talk. Catching your eye from across the room, Michael gave you a subtle nod, and the two of you quietly sneaked out into the quiet corridors.

You wandered through the labyrinth of the building until you found a heavy door leading into a dark archive room, completely packed from floor to ceiling with master tapes. It was small, quiet, and completely hidden from the rest of the workers.

The two of you sat down close together on a couple of equipment crates. The sudden privacy made Michael instantly nervous, his fingers twitching against his knees as the weight of what he wanted to say hung in the air. Seeing his anxiety, you leaned in closer, reaching out to gently rub his thigh. It was a familiar, soothing gesture you always did to help him relax whenever the pressure of the anything going around him got to be too much.

This time though, Michael didn't just relax. He sucked up all of his usual shyness, took a deep breath, and leaned in until his face was inches from yours.

"Will you... will you take my virginity?" he asked, his voice so soft and breathy that you could barely hear him over the hum of the building's ventilation. "I like you... I like you a lot y/n."

You blinked, surprised by his sudden boldness, and looked deeply into his large, doe eyes. "Michael, are you absolutely sure? Because of your religion... I don't want you to feel guilty about this later."

Michael didn't hesitate. He shook his head, his black curls brushing against his forehead. "I don't care," he whispered fiercely. "I just want you, please."

The last of the hesitation melted away. You reached up, cupping his face, and pulled him into a deep, sweet kiss. Michael’s lips were soft and plump, tasting exactly like the sweet boy he was, but as the kiss deepened, you couldn't help but let out a low, breathy moan against his mouth. The sound immediately got him a little too excited, his breathing hitching instantly.

You slid your hands down his chest, feeling his heart hammering wildly beneath his shirt, before sliding one hand lower, resting your palm right over the hard bulge growing in his jeans. You stroked him gently through the hard fabric, never breaking the kiss, before trailing your lips down to his neck, his jawline, and his ears.

As you kissed him, you started talking dirty to him, your voice a low whisper that made him shiver. "Do you touch yourself thinking about me, Mikey? Every time I came over to your house to play in the pool, were you looking at my ass in those tiny bikini shorts? Tell me... do you want to fuck me hard michael?"

Michael gasped, a dark look taking over his features as the dirty talk completely shattered his mind. He grabbed your thigh with a surprisingly strong grip, lifting you effortlessly and sitting you right on top of his lap. He helped you grind your hips against his heavy bulge while he buried his face deeply into your breast, inhaling the sweet, intoxicating scent of your perfume.

Breathing heavily, you unfastened your pants, pulling them down past your hips. You shifted, turning around so that your back was pressed firmly against his chest, finishing the job of kicking your pants and panties away. Wanting to guide him, you took his long, slender fingers and shoved them right into your mouth, sucking on them wetly while letting out a tight moan.

Once his fingers were wet, you reached down, helping him touch your wet pussy, guiding his hand to show him exactly what to do. Michael caught on instantly. He shoved his fingers deep inside you, moving them around in a slow, exploratory rhythm. He paid close attention to your breathing, staying in the parts where you moaned the loudest, knowing that meant he was doing it right.

The rhythmic friction was entirely too much for your sensitive walls. You arched your back against his chest, letting out a cry as you came into a nice orgasm, your body trembling against his.

When the wave passed, you stood up to catch your breath. Michael remained seated, his eyes completely wide and glazed with desire as he stared directly at your bare ass. He reached out, his large palms passing smoothly over the round curves before squeezing the soft flesh tightly, letting out a sharp slap that echoed in the quiet room.

He stood up, his chest heaving, and pressed his hard length right against your backside. You leaned back into him, grinding your bare ass against his pants, a teasing smirk on your face. "Do you like that, Mikey?"

"Yes... oh god, yes," he gasped.

You turned around to face him, leaning down to unbuckle his belt and slide his trousers and underwear to the floor, all while pressing sweet, lingering kisses to his lips. "Are you going to be my good boy tonight?" you whispered against his mouth.

"Yes, baby... I'll do anything you tell me," he whimpered.

When you got a good look at his dick, your eyes widened. The old rumors about skinny guys having big dicks were absolutely true, he was thick, heavy, and beautifully formed. Droping to your knees on the archive floor, you maintained intense eye contact with him as you took the warm head into your mouth, stroking his length with your hand. You didn't hold back, going further down his shaft until the depth made you gag slightly.

The wet, sucking and the deep vibrations of your throat immediately pushed Michael right to the edge of cumming. Realizing he was close, you slid out of his mouth and forced him to sit back down on the equipment crate, wanting for you too ride him gooood.

You climbed back onto his lap, straddling his thighs as he gripped your ass in his large hands. Holding his thick dick right at your entrance, you slowly lowered yourself down, taking him all the way to the absolute base in one smooth, tight stretch.

You were a complete moaning mess, the sheer fullness of him taking your breath away. Fearing the noise would echo down the hallway, Michael immediately placed his large hand gently over your mouth, muffling your cute sounds while you began to bounce your body heavily on top of him.

The overstimulation of your tight walls and your relentless, heavy riding completely overwhelmed him. Michael’s eyes rolled back, his fingers digging deep into your waist as he hit his limit. He let out a low, gravelly groan, burying his face directly into your plush breasts to hide his sweet, ecstatic moans as he came hard, pouring himself deep inside you.

You slowly came to a rest against him, both of your chests heaving in the dim light of the tape room. You smiled into his neck, whispering softly, "Did you like it, Michael?"

Michael didn't say a word. He just nodded his head eagerly against your skin, wrapping his strong arms even tighter around your waist, refusing to let you go.

It was 1996, and the air in the city of Los angeles was thick with the usual craziness that followed Michael wherever he went. Despite the amount of paparazzi and fans hitting against the glass windows, watching his every move like he was a animal in a cage, Michael remained focused on the rows of cds and vinyls in the record store. He moved around browsing, his eyes scanning the titles, until he spotted you.

He stopped in his dead in his tracks, struck by how effortlessly stunning you looked browsing the shelves. To him, you were definitely some good fish 😌, you were stunning and wearing a very reaviling outfit but at the same time classy. He wanted to say something, but the feeling of shyness washed over him. He spent several minutes pretending to look at the R&B row, glancing your way every second been a total weirdo, waiting for the right moment.

Finally, you moved into his side. Michael cleared his throat, trying to come up with conversation.

"That’s a great album," he murmured, nodding toward the CD in your hand.

You looked up, offered a polite smile, and nodded. "It is," you said simply, before turning and continuing down the aisle.

Michael stood there for a beat, completely embarrassed. He wasn't used to being ignored so easily, and his cheeks burned under his mask. Not backing down, he went on to make a better second impression, he followed you to the counter at a distance. When you reached the front to pay, Michael stepped forward, surprising both you and the cashier.

"I’d like to take care of that for her please," he said softly but firmly.

You looked at him, your eyebrows raised in skepticism. You didn't need a stranger, even one who looked like a Michael Jackson wannabe to buy your stuff. But there was something so sincere and slightly desperate in his eyes that you eventually relented with a shrug. "If you insist. Thank you boo."

As you headed for the exit, the roar of the crowd grew louder. Michael leaned in close. "It's a bit of a circus out there. Would you like a ride? My car is right out front."

You looked at the sea of flashing cameras and then back at him thinking this is definitely Michael jackson. "Sure, Why not?"

It took several minutes for security to make a path through the crushing weight of the fans and photographers. The flashes were blinding, but once the door of the limousine clicked shut, the world went silent. The interior smelled of expensive leather and a hint of Michael’s cologne.

As the car pulled away, you were able to relax. "So," Michael said, settling into the seat, "do you just buy music, or do you make it too?"

"I'm a singer actually, not well known yet," you told him, a bit of pride in your voice. "I moved here from New York to work on my sound."

Michael’s eyes lit up. He spent the rest of the drive asking you about your influences, the New York scene, and what kind of stories you liked to tell through your lyrics. He listened intently, nodding as you spoke, clearly impressed by your ideas.

When the limo pulled up to your address, the car parked infront of your apartment. You reached for the door handle, but Michael held out a small slip of paper.

"Here," he said, handing you his private number. "I'd really like to hear your music sometime. Give me a call?"

You took the paper, glancing at the handwritten digits. "I might just do that. Goodbye, Michael."

"Goodbye," he whispered, watching through the tinted glass as you walked toward your building, a satisfied smile finally playing on his lips.

The silver silk of your dress caught the streetlights as Bill opened the door of the car. The dress was completely backless, dropping down to the curve of your waist, and your hair was set in beautiful, vintage waves that looked like they right out of a 50s silver screen.

The moment your heels hit the pavement, the camera flashes erupted. A small crowd of paparazzi and fans immediately swarmed the sidewalk, shouting Michael’s name. He instinctively ducked his head, his hand gripping yours tightly as he felt the familiar wave of overwhelm. You, however, loved it. You smiled brilliantly for the lenses, turning your back slightly toward the cameras there was no way a look this stunning was going to waste.

Once Bill safely guided you both inside the restaurant, the chaos melted away. The host led you to a private booth tucked into a quiet corner, hidden from the main dining room.

The second you sat down, Michael’s eyes locked onto you. He literally couldn't look away. His gaze traced the exposed skin of your shoulders and you breasts, his teeth biting down on his lower lip with an intense stare that made your stomach churn. To tease him, you slid your heels off beneath the table, running your bare feet slowly up his leg while your fingers lightly traced the veins of his arms.

A waiter appeared, and the contrast between you two showed immediately. You ordered a glass of red wine and a thick, juicy steak with greens. Michael, been a "vegetarian", quietly ordered an orange juice and a plain green salad.

When the food arrived, you couldn't resist playing with him. You cut a piece of the juicy meat, speared it with your fork, and started flying it through the air toward his face like an airplane, making little engine noises the way someone would to a toddler hihihi.

"Open up, Mikey baby, here comes the plane," you teased, laughing as he leaned back.

Michael chuckled, but his dark eyes were burning with a completely different kind of hunger. He wasn't thinking about the food at all. He was looking at your lips, completely consumed by the thought of taking you home and burying himself so deep inside you that you wouldn't be able to walk straight tomorrow. Lately, a fierce, thought had been taking over his mind he didn't just want to make love to you anymore, he wanted to put a baby in you. He wanted to claim you completely.

After you finished, Michael paid the bill. Leaving took fifteen minutes because the owner practically begged to take billions of pictures with you both, desperate to brag to the world that Michael Jackson had diner at his restaurant. You posed beautifully, Michael’s arm wrapped securely around your waist, his fingers digging into your hip just a little too hard.

The drive back to Hayvenhurst was agonizingly quiet. By the time you finally reached the safety of his bedroom.

You walked into the room ahead of him, moving your hips slowly, teasing him. Keeping your back to him, you reached up and unfastened the dress, letting the silver fabric slide down your body in agonizing slow motion. Right before it pooled at your ankles, you turned your head over your shoulder, making eye contact. You weren't wearing nothing underneath.

You crawled onto the mattress on all fours, your hips moving in a slow, hypnotic rhythm that made Michael’s breath completely hitch. You slid backward until you were sitting right on the edge of the bed. Reaching out, you grabbed the leather of Michael’s belt, tugging him forward until he was standing right between your thighs, your bare breasts pressing heavily against his lower belly.

Hands trembling with urgency, you unbuckled his belt, sliding his pants and underwear down to the floor before pulling his shirt over his head. Michael didn't waste another second. He climbed onto the bed, hovering over you, his sweaty chest pressing against yours as he devoured your mouth in a deep, harsh kiss.

He moved down your body, his lips leaving marks along your neck, your chest, and your stomach. Michael dropped to his knees at the foot of the bed, parting your thighs wide. He pressed his face into your soft skin, kissing your inner thighs before his tongue pass a wet, heavy stripe right up your pussy. You let out a loud moan, your fingers immediately grabbing into his jerry curl.

Michael went wild, sucking heavily on your clit, shoving his tongue deep inside you and lapping up your juices until you were dripping wet and shaking, right on the edge of a climax. Before you could have your orgasm, he got back up your body. You wrapped your hand around his thick dick, giving it a few hard strokes, and then he rub himself on your wet pussy and shoved it all the way in with one heavy, deep thrust.

The stretch was incredible. Michael immediately started using that rhythmic, heavy hip movement that always drove you completely crazy. He grabbed your legs, pressing your knees all the way up to your chest so he could penetrate you all the way, bottoming out balls deep in that ass with every single stroke.

The shyness he usually carried completely vanished. He leaned down, his hot breath brushing against your ear as he started talking to you, his voice a low.

"You like how deep that is, don't you baby?" Michael whispered, his hips slamming into yours with a heavy, wet rhythm. "Look at you... you're so tight for me. You're completely mine."

You groaned, arching your back as he hit your sweet spot over and over. "Michael... oh god, yes...baby, fuck me harder"

"I'm gonna put a baby in you," he rasped, his hands gripping your thighs tighter, forcing them wider. "I want to fill you up tonight. I want everyone to know you belong to me. Tell me you want it. Tell me you want my baby."

"I want it, Mike... please, give it to me," you cried out, tears of pleasure gathering in your eyes.

Michael growled, his pace turning frantic, his hips hammering against you with a desperate, primal hunger. "You're gonna look so beautiful with a swollen belly, sweetheart. I'm gonna take such good care of you when you're carrying my child. You're my girl... my classy, beautiful girl... and I'm gonna stretch you out until you can't take anyone else."

Him talking you trough it completely pushed you over the edge. Your walls clamped down around him tightly, and Michael let out a loud, breathless groan, his eyes rolling back as he felt you start to cum. He didn't hold back, pounding himself into you harder and faster, spelling your name with his hips until he stiffened completely, pouring himself deep inside you as you both crashed into an orgasm.

I had to ask Google if is wasn't or weren't my English teacher gon beat my ass.

I tried to do this writing a little more classy to fit the vibe, is just not the same as the others.

It was july 1981, and the heavy pressure of creating Thriller was completely draining Michael. Between the hours that he was stuck on the studio, the vocal takes, and the constant demand for perfection that he puts in his work, he was utterly exhausted, overworked, and overwhelmed, just everything in one.

You had just finished a long day classes with the stupidity personified that was your classmates, but your only thought was getting to him. When you got to the house, the hallway was completely quiet nobody else was home. Michael was sitting on the couch, looking incredibly small, with his head in his hands and the weight of the everything resting on his shoulders.

Without a word, you dropped your backpack and got to work. You went into the kitchen and made a warm pot of his favorite tea, fixing a quick, comforting plate of food for him. When you walked back into the living room, you slid a tape into the tv, turning on one of his absolute favorite movies to keep him entertained for a little while.

You sat down right beside him, handing him the warm mug. Michael looked up, his dark eyes tired, but the moment he smelled the tea and saw the movie playing, his entire posture softened.

"You didn't have to do all this," he whispered, his voice a little raspy from singing all day.

"I wanted to," you murmured, pulling a soft blanket over both of your laps.

Within minutes, the stress of the studio began to melt away. You leaned against him, completely cozy on the couch, sharing a bunch of snacks while the movie played in the background. You completely pampered him running your fingers gently through his curls, pressing soft, big kisses along his temple, his cheek, and his jawline. Between bites of food, you whispered sweet nothings, telling him how incredibly proud you were of him and how much you loved him just for who he was, not the superstar the world saw "you now i love you mikey, i dont want you to burn to exhaustion, you should take a break once in a while".

Eventually, you shifted, curling up together tightly in the oversized armchair. The movie was still running, but neither of you were paying a single bit of attention to the screen anymore. You were completely into each other, your faces inches apart as you shared quiet, lazy kisses and held each other close.

Michael wrapped his arms around your waist, burying his face into the crook of your neck with a deep, content sigh. He appreciated the pure, unconditional love you gave him so much, and as he squeezed you tighter against his chest, he whispered back how much he loved you, too. In the quiet safety of the living room, the overwhelming world outside stop to exist.

I just want to now how it felt to kiss michael 🥺.

I been wanting to use the "stupidity personified" phrase for so long.

After an exhausting day of appearing on tv with fans and visiting different places in japan, Michael was back in the quiet of his suite. He sat at the desk near his bed with the computer in front of him, waiting to see his favorite girl.

He asked his assistant to set up a video call on his laptop since he didnt now how to use it, needing to see your face before he could even go to sleep.

Once the assistant left, your face appeared on his screen. Michael started telling you everything about his day the fans, the meetings, the beautiful city that he never gets tired of visiting, but he stopped when he noticed you were spacing out, your eyes soft and distant.

"I just miss you mikey," you admitted quietly.

Michael let out a soft, warm laugh. "Baby, I’ve only been gone for two days".

"Still, i dont like waking up with out you here", You leaned back, adjusting the silk robe you were wearing. "I'm about to hop in the shower," you told him, a playful smirk touching your lips. "And I'm wearing absolutely nothing underneath this".

Michael’s expression shifted instantly, his dark eyes focusing intently on the screen. "Is that right? Well let me see baby".

You picked up the laptop and carried it into the bathroom, putting it up so he had a clear view through the glass shower door. Standing there, you let the robe slip off your shoulders slowly, moving very sexy for him before stepping into the shower. Michael watched, as the water hit your skin, making it glow under the bathroom light.

You grabbed your loofah, pouring your favorite scented dove body soap on to it. You took your time, rubbing the soap over your skin, squeezing your breasts and massaging your hands down the curves of your body while Michael watched in silence. When you turned around and bent over to wash your legs, the low, "Mmhmm, touch yourself for me baby" from his end of the call, just horny as usual you thought.

Putting a leg up on the shower step, you let your fingers slide between your thighs, touching yourself with a light touch. Your moans filled the space, and Michael leaned closer to his screen, his breathing heavy as he watched you lose yourself for a moment. After you squirted and rubbed your pussy, you finished your orgasm that left you breathless and wet, you stepped under the shower head to wash the soap away "you're the most beautiful woman i've ever seen, you now that princess".

Stepping out, you moved the computer to the marble counter by the sink. You looked into the camera, tilting your head. "Did you like that, baby?"

"I loved it," he rasped, his voice thick with a hunger that made it clear he wished he was there eating you up instead of in Japan.

You started your usual skincare routine, acting innocent. You picked up your body oil, smoothing it over every inch of your skin slowly, rubbing and caressing, playing dumb as if you weren't felling that he was watching, no, staring on your every move.

Dating Michael meant your life was always full of music and laughter, but when you decided to start your own YouTube channel, things got even more interesting.

At first, your videos were just simple vlogs of you doing your makeup or going on shopping trips in LA. But Michael, was eager to appear when there was a camera around, he started bothering you to come up in your videos and that the people would love him.

It started with him getting into the frame while you were getting ready, making silly faces or complimenting your outfits for your dates.

Soon, you were recording your actual dates trips to the movies, late nights at the studio where he’d play you snippets of new tracks, and long afternoons at Hayvenhurst.

Your subscribers ate it up. The comment sections were flooded with people obsessed with how cute and loving he was around you.

They loved seeing him sitting on the grass feeding his llamas or laughing while you tried to teach him how to use a ring light.

Eventually, Michael started taking the videos very seriously. He became your unofficial creative director, coming to you with ideas for the next vlogs.

"We should do a 'GRWM' for our date to the zoo," he suggested one morning, getting excited.

Sometimes the rest of the family would crash in your videos. La Toya would join you for "What’s in My Bag" videos, and Janet would often do tik tok challenges with you, everyone in the house wanted to be part of your content.

Through the lens of your camera, the world got to see a side of Michael that was relaxed and happy. Whether you were traveling abroad or just rotting in the living room, your channel became a living scrapbook of your life together.

Michael didn't just want to be a guest anymore, he was your biggest fan and your favorite co-star.

A few months ago, you had been crying alone in a Moscow hotel room and fighting with your now ex-husband, wondering how your life had messed you up like that in such a short time.

Now, you were sitting beside Michael Jackson on top of his Ferris wheel at Neverland, sharing a bucket of popcorn with hot sauce while the California sunset painted the sky in streaks of pink and orange.

Life was weird. Beautiful, but definitely weird as hell.

The adjustment hadn't happened overnight. The first few days at the ranch had felt like a fever dream. Every morning, you’d wake up tangled in the sheets, staring at the ceiling and expecting to find yourself back in your shitty New York apartment, drowning in divorce papers and the heavy memories of a man who never knew how to love you nor appreciate you.

Instead, you’d pull back the heavy curtains and see giraffes casually wandering past your window. Or you'd hear the faint, sound of children's laughter echoing from the amusement park lines in the distance. More often than not, your bedside phone would ring by 8:00 AM, and Michael’s voice would drift through the receiver, claiming he was "starving to death" and asking if you wanted breakfast.

Which, you quickly learned, usually meant he’d been awake since dawn dancing or writing songs and had completely forgotten to eat for six hours.

Little by little, the crushing weight you’d carried for years started to leave your body. Michael had kept his word, too. Within a month, he’d used his connections to help land you a position at Sony Productions. For the first time in ages, you actually looked forward to your mornings. Your coworkers knew you lived at the ranch, but because Michael had handled it so quietly, they treated you like an equal. You felt capable again. Independent. Like the woman you used to be before you shrunk yourself to fit into a broken marriage.

And Michael noticed the change before you did.

"You smile more now, I'm happy for you princess. " he said one afternoon while the two of you wandered through the ranch's zoo.

You glanced over at him. He was standing in a shafts of sunlight, carefully feeding carrots to a giraffe that seemed entirely convinced Michael existed solely to provide it with snacks or at least that how bubbles is.

"You do too," you replied softly.

Michael’s fingers massage against the animal's chest, his smile softening into something incredibly private. "Yeah," he murmured.

The answer was simple,but it meant the world to you. You knew exactly why his smiles were reaching his eyes these days. Neither of you were lonely anymore.

Most evenings fell into a comfortable, easy rhythm. There were movie nights in his private theater where Michael would get so excited he’d quote half the dialogue before the actors could even get the words out. There were arcade competitions that turned ridiculously competitive 'cause michael loved doing to much, ending with him laughing so hard he had to lean against the Pac-Man machine for support. There were long, quiet walks after dark when the stars glittered like diamonds over the valley, and hours spent talking about absolutely everything and absolutely nothing at the same time.

But sometimes, your favorite moments were when the talking stopped. You’d sit together in a comfortable, heavy silence no expectations, no public personas to uphold, no pretending. Just peace and quiet and that what yall loved the most.

One evening, the two of you sat on a wooden bench near the lake long after the families visiting the ranch had gone home. The carnival rides had spun to a stop, the carousel music had died down, and the entire valley felt sleepy beneath the silver moonlight.

Suddenly, Michael winced, his breath catching in a sharp hitch as his hand moved instinctively toward his head.

You noticed immediately. "You hurting?"

He tried to brush it off, pulling his hand away and offering a tight, dismissive smile. "I'm okay."

"Michael." You gave him a look.

He let out a long, defeated sigh, his shoulders dropping. "A little bit."

You knew by now that a "little bit" in Michael-speak usually meant he was in agony. The decades of explosive choreography, the stage injuries, the stress, the surgeries it all lived deep inside his bones now, flaring up when the adrenaline wore off.

You shifted closer to him on the bench. "Come here. Turn around."

He looked at you suspiciously, though a playful glint entered his eyes. "You're very bossy, you know that?"

"And you complain every time you're in pain, so we're even."

"I do not!"

"You absolutely do. Now turn around."

Michael rolled his eyes dramatically, but he didn't argue. He shifted on the bench, resting his whole body on you. Gently, you placed your palms against his shoulders, using your thumbs to rub small, firm circles across his upper back and the tight muscles of his neck. You moved slowly, patiently, feeling the rock-hard tension begin to give way beneath your touch.

Slowly, his eyes drifted shut, his head tilting back slightly as a soft, breathless sigh escaped him.

"Better?" you whispered.

"Mm... a lot better."

For a long time, neither of you spoke. The only sound was the crickets in the grass and the gentle lapping of the lake water. Then, so quietly you almost missed it, Michael spoke into the dark.

"Nobody really takes care of me."

Your hands paused for a fraction of a second, a sharp ache burning in your chest. The words hurt more than they should have, mostly because you knew they were the absolute truth. Millions of people adored Michael Jackson. Millions of people wanted a piece of him, a sliver of his time, a fraction of his magic, a fraction of his money. But very few people ever stopped to just look at the man behind it all and ask if he was doing okay. If he was tired. If he was scared.

You resumed the gentle motion, your fingers sliding up the nape of his neck, comforting him. "You deserve that, you know. To be taken care of."

Michael’s eyes fluttered open, and he turned his head to look at you over his shoulder. "What?"

"You heard me," you said, your voice thick with a fierce, protective warmth. "You spend your whole life trying to heal the world, Michael. You're allowed to let someone take care of you, too."

Something incredibly vulnerable crossed his face the same raw, unguarded expression you had seen in that rainy Moscow café. The same deep-seated loneliness. Only now, looking at him under the California moon, that loneliness seemed smaller. Like it wasn't carrying the weight of his entire world by itself anymore.

A few days later, the roles reversed.

You’d had a terrible, draining day at work. Nothing bad had happened, but it was one of those days where every minor inconvenience piled up until your chest felt tight and your eyes stung like you were close to slapping somebody. Instead of going back to the main house, you found yourself sitting alone on a bench near the shuttered amusement rides, fighting back tears of sheer exhaustion.

Michael found you twenty minutes later. Of course he did, he always possessed a strange, quiet radar when it came to you "nosy".

Without saying a word, he sat down beside you on the bench. He didn’t press you for details or tell you to cheer up. Instead, he reached into a paper bag he was holding and solemnly handed you a warm, sugar-dusted churro.

You blinked through your blurry vision, looking from the pastry to his face. "What is this?"

"Something that will make you feel much better, a sweet treat for another sweet thing" he said with a big smile that you love so much.

A watery laugh broke through your tight throat. "A churro is a solution?"

"A Neverland churro," Michael corrected, a small, triumphant grin tugging at the corner of his lips. "It has some pixie dust, Trust me."

The laugh turned into a genuine smile, the tight knot in your chest no longer there just from the sight of him trying so hard to fix your day. Michael’s grin widened, proud of himself. "See? Fixed it."

And just like that, the gray cloud over your head cleared. You took care of each other. It wasn't a game and neither of you asked for anything in return. It was completely unconditional love.

The deeper feelings grew quietly. It was the way Michael’s eyes would instantly scan a crowded room until they locked onto yours, calming down the moment he found you. It was the way you could identify the specific rhythm of his loafers clicking against the hardwood floor before he even entered a room. It was the way he remembered the most trivial details you whispered to him, and the way your stomach flipped with worry whenever he looked a little too pale or wouldn't talk at all.

One night, after a massive movie marathon, the two of you stayed wrapped in a heavy blanket in the private theater long after the credits had finished rolling. The silver screen glowed faintly, casting a soft, dim light over the room. Everyone else had gone to bed, and the sprawling ranch outside was dead silent.

Michael was curled up right beside you, his shoulder pressed against yours, looking completely content.

You turned your head to look at him, and for a second, you forgot to look away. You just studied the soft curl of his hair, the peaceful expression on his face, the way his breath rose and fell.

Maybe he felt the weight of your stare, because he turned his head toward you. Neither of you spoke. The silence between you stretched out, becoming something fragile, soft, and electric. Neither of you wanted to breathe too loudly and break it.

Michael smiled first. It was small, shy, so cuteee, the kind of look he never gave the cameras, the public, or anyone else in the world. It was a smile meant only for you, his sweet girl.

And suddenly, looking into his dark eyes, a profound wave of clarity washed over you. The lonely man you had sat with in Russia wasn't lonely anymore. And as you leaned your head gently against his shoulder, feeling the steady beat of his heart, you realized you weren't either.

Whatever this bond was becoming, it was growing slowly, carefully. Like two wounded hearts finally realizing that being loved wasn't supposed to hurt, but to be a fullfiment that nobody will get in between.

I friking loved this, I'm not gon lie i cried a little, don't judge me this is suppose to be a safe space. @vigilantlysassypact

The next week, Michael proved exactly what kind of sugar daddy he was. He had the entire mall completely shut down to the public no paparazzi, no crowds, just you, him, and an army of bodyguards carrying your bags.

When he rolled up to pick you up, you nearly lost it. Michael was leaning against the seat wearing a ridiculous, button-up shirt entirely printed with dollar bills that he definitely bought at salvation army.

"Michael, what is that shirt?" you laughed, stepping into his space and shaking your head. "Are you trying to looking like a pimp or sum?"

Michael just grinned, adjusting his sunglasses with a smirk. "I’m letting everyone know who's paying today, baby. You like it?"

You couldn't stop laughing, but Michael’s eyes were completely glued to your outfit. You were wearing white capris that hugged every new inch of your BBL, low-set kitten heels, and an open white blouse that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. He couldn't keep his hands to himself, his large palms immediately finding your waist, his thumbs tracing the flare of your hips as you walked into the first high-end boutique.

Finding jeans for your new booty was an absolute show. Every time you walked out of the fitting room to show him a pair, you deliberately turned around. The low cut of the denim perfectly showed off your tattoo, and when you stretched, your belly piercing glinted in the store lights. Michael sat on the velvet couch, chewing on his glasses, his eyes burning as he watched you pose.

"Take them. Take all of them baby," he muttered, completely entranced.

After securing the jeans, you dragged him to another boutique to stock up on the summer dresses you loved so much for the hot LA weather. From there, it was a blur of luxury walking around buying diamond jewelry, designer purses, and endless makeup, with Michael just waving his black card at every register.

Finally, you hit Victoria's Secret. Since the store was completely empty, you treated the main floor like your personal runway. You tried on different sets of every color some soft lace that covered everything, and others that definitely didn't.

Seeing that lace tightly hug your boobs and your new, round ass was turning Michael’s brain to mush. He was getting visibly hot and bothered, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes dark horny as hell.

Before you could even change into the next set, Michael snapped. He stood up, grabbed you by the wrist, and marched you right back into the spacious changing room, slamming the door shut behind him.

He didn't waste a single second. He spun you around so you were facing the large mirror, pressing your chest and palms flat against the cold glass. Looking at your reflection, Michael reached down, his breathing ragged as he pushed the lace panties to the side. He slid his long, slender fingers straight into your wet pussy, making you gasp at the sudden, slick feeling.

"Michael... oh god," you whimpered, watching his dark eyes in the mirror.

He pulled his fingers out, quickly freeing his hardness from his briefs. With one heavy, deep thrust, he shoved his dick all the way inside you, pressing your body firmly against the glass.

"Uhh shit, Mikey baby... fuck me harder," you begged, your breath fogging up the mirror as those full 7 inches filled you completely.

Michael growled, his hands flying to your hips. He started pounding into that ass from the back, the heavy weight of his strokes making your ass bounce back against him beautifully. The sight of it in the mirror was driving him insane. He began forcefully slapping your ass, the loud, wet smacks echoing in the small room until he reached his limit. With a low, gravelly groan, Michael pulled out at the last second, coming heavily all over the smooth, curved ass that belonged entirely to him.

He took his time cleaning you up gently with some tissues, his fingers lingering on your skin, before helping you put your clothes back on.

When you finally left the mall, the bodyguards looked mad as hell, having to carry a hundred designer shopping bags between them. Back in the privacy of the limo, you curled straight into Michael's lap. You wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing his jaw and throat, whispering over and over how much you loved him and thanking him for the perfect day.

Michael just wrapped his arms around your new curves, completely content, knowing every dollar bill on his shirt had been well spent.

Not gon liee, I need a sugar daddy by yesterday chilee. Been broke is not it, this is going to be the new broke girl summer.

The separation after that crazy night at Hayvenhurst were you nearly got caught didn't last long. Michael couldn't stand being away from you he grew dependant in needing to be around his girl, so for the New York leg of the Destiny Tour where the Jacksons were to stay for a whole week he took matters into his own hands. He bought your plane tickets himself, eager to have his girl by his side in NY.

​The very next day after your flight landed, Michael had a surprise for you. Knowing how much you loved a good party, and because he absolutely loved the place himself, he decided to take you to the legendary Studio 54.💫

​You got all doll up, looking effortlessly stunning, and headed out into the insane and chaotic New York nightlife. The moment you stepped inside, the energy was crazy. The bass thumb through the dance floor, and the room was packed with the most famous faces. You were in your element, mingling and meeting try not to look like a fangirl. But the mood shifted when Diana Ross strutted her ugly ass over.

​Diana, with her commanding presence, immediately tried to get Michael's attention, stepping in and attempting to pull him away from your side as if she owned the place. But you weren't having it at all.

​Stepping right up, you confronted the hoe, snapping at her face, "Listen, you bug-eyed bitch, you better stay away from my man!"

​Michael’s jaw practically dropped in a mix of shock and secret awe. Diana scoffed and swept away, leaving the two of you alone on the crowded floor. Flushed with adrenaline and a few drinks, you pulled Michael into the crowd. You began grinding heavily against him to the pulsing beat of whatever song was playing. You were drinking shot after shot and letting loose, while Michael stayed completely sober, his hands locked onto your waist, his eyes dark with hunger as he watched you move just for him.

​The grinding became too much to handle on the dance floor. Catching his eye, you grabbed his hand and dragged him through the crowd into the flashing lights of the bathroom, slamming the door shut.

​Instantly, you were in a full, desperate make-out session. You were touching him all over, your hands running under his shirt, pressing your body against his and moaning directly into his ear. Driven wild by the sound, Michael trapped you against the wall. While your lips stayed glued together in a kiss, his large hands moved down, swiftly pulling your pants out of the way.

​His voice dipped into a low, deep growl, completely dominant as he began talking you through it. "Whose pussy is this?" he demanded, his breath hot against your skin. "Nobody is going to take me away from you. You hear me?"

​He slapped your pussy gently, a sharp sting of pleasure that made you arch into him, before he leaned down to bite your neck and lips. He shoved his fingers directly into your mouth; you were incredibly eager, sucking on them hungrily, wrapping your tongue around his knuckles. Pulling his wet fingers from your mouth, Michael slid them straight down, shoving them deep into your soaked pussy.

​You absolutely loved it, throwing your head back against the wall. You started talking dirty, your voice raspy as you moaned his name. "Yes, baby... more, please, oh god, Michael..."

​After a breathless, intense finish in the stalls, you cleaned yourselves up and walked back out onto the club floor like nothing had happened. But by then, the alcohol had fully caught up to you, and you were far too drunk to keep dancing. Being the perfect gentleman, Michael wrapped an arm around your waist and took you out, taking you straight back to your hotel suite.

​The next morning, the glamour of Studio 54 was replaced by a pounding headache. You woke up groaning, squinting against the bright New York sunlight filtering through the curtains.

​Michael, however, was already up and fully in boyfriend mode. He immediately tended to you, bringing you a tall glass of water and some medicine for the pain. He sat at the edge of the bed, pulling your legs into his lap to gently massage your feet, coaxing the tension out of your body. He had already ordered everything of room service, filling the room with the scent of fresh coffee, eggs, and pancakes yummy.

​Watching him take care of you, looking a little messy but completely adored, you realized how lucky you were. Michael was completely, hopelessly in love with you his wild girl. You were fierce, protective, and unapologeticly yourself.

​Later that afternoon, as your hangover finally left your system, Michael surprised you with a beautiful bouquet of fresh flowers. He took your hand and led you out onto the private balcony, the bustling, iconic skyline of New York City stretching out infinitely beneath you.

​Sitting close together in the crisp afternoon air, Michael looked at you with pure devotion in his eyes. "I don't want to just keep saying you're mine," he said softly, holding your hand tightly. "I want to make things official. Will you be my girlfriend?"

​You looked at the flowers, then at his beautiful, hopeful face, and smiled brightly. "Yes, Michael. Absolutely."

The 2006 New York chill was nothing compared to the heat waiting for Michael on LA. His private jet reaches a stop, the engines whining down into a low hum as the stairs lowered. He’d been away for a couple of months, taking care of some business, and the one thing on his mind the entire flight back was getting home to his baby girl.

Michael stepped out into the crisp air, adjusting his aviators and pulling his jacket down. But the moment his eyes scanned the tarmac, his breath caught in his throat "what in the livin' hell".

Waiting by the sleek black Cadillac Escalade was a total bad bitch His bad bitch lets be clear.

You hadn't just waited for him, you’d made an entrance. While he was away, you’d taken that sugar daddy allowance and put it to the absolute best use possible. The healing process was over, the swelling was gone, and your new BBL was sitting perfectly. Shoutout to the surgeon, because the work was flawless no shade.

As you turned around and started walking toward the stairs, the shift in your silhouette was impossible to miss. Even from a distance, walking toward him, the roundness, the bounce, and the dangerous curve of your hips were on full display in your juicy couture track suit outfit, it definitely was juicy.

Michael nearly fell on the stairs. He kept his eyes glued to the view, his mind briefly short-circuiting.

"Michael baby!" you gushed, jogging up the last few steps to throw your arms around his neck, kissing his face all over and leaving lip gloss marks on his cheek. "I missed you so much, Daddy."

Michael’s hands instinctively went to your waist, but as his palms brushed the newly exaggerated flare of your hips, his eyes went wide behind his sunglasses. He tried to act completely normal, clearing his throat and putting on his best casual, gentlemanly smile, but his body was completely betraying him. Underneath his slacks, a massive boner was already pressing hard against the fabric.

"Well... hello there," Michael choked out, his voice a little higher than usual as he tried to adjust his stance. "Princess, you... you look different. You look fantastic baby, I'm surprised, when did you do this?."

"You like it?, i got the number of a surgeon from my friend kathy, she got he boobs done last year remember baby?." you teased, giving him a slow swirl and yapping before leading him down to the car.

"I love it and yes i do remember, is the literally the firts thing you see when she gets in a room." he murmured, his eyes locked onto the bounce of your walk "God damn".

The second the doors to the mansion closed, the professional boundary evaporated. You didn't even let the staff bring the bags upstairs before you grabbed Michael by his tie, pulling him into the grand living room.

"I know you noticed at the airport, i felt you staring at it daddy" you said, backing up against him and guiding his large hands right down to your hips. "I wanted to show my daddy exactly what I spent his money on."

Michael didn't hesitate this time. His hands cupped the full, heavy weight of your new booty, his fingers digging into the plush, firm curves. A low, gravelly groan escaped his throat as he pressed his hardness right against the back of your thigh. "Lord have mercy... you are soft. The doctor did a beautiful job, sweetheart. Every single dolar was definitely worth it."

You leaned back into his touch, purring at the praise, but then you let out a little sigh, looking down at yourself.

"The only bad thing," you pouted, looking at him over your shoulder, "is that none of my old clothes fit. I can't even get into my favorite low-rise jeans anymore. They won't go past my thighs."

Michael chuckled, a deep, confident sound that radiated Money mike. He squeezed your ass tightly, pulling you flush against his chest, his lips brushing against your neck.

"Oh, don't you worry your fine self about some old jeans, baby," Michael whispered, his voice smooth and commanding. "Daddy’s taking you shopping tomorrow. We're going to every boutique in the city. If they don't have clothes that fit these curves, we'll have them custom-made. I want to see this ass in the absolute best clothes money can buy."

You smudged your lipstick against his lips, completely satisfied, knowing your sugar daddy was wrapped entirely around your finger.

.......................

Like JT said " how the bbl fit? 'Cause is custom ho"

I just remember that picture with him wearing the dollar bill shirt lmao

Had to use the puertican princess as my face claim. Sorry that is kinda dry, I'm out of ideas lowkey.

Let me know if yall want pt.2, I need to start working on the other parts yall be asking for, my God help meee.