đàŸàœČPOOL PARTYđàŸàœČ - MICHAEL J
michael jackson x blackfem!reader
warning: smut
a/n: I love Michael so much itâs not even funtyyyyy
The California sun was blazing overhead, painting the Hayvenhurst estate in shades of gold and green.
The sound of laughter and splashing water echoed from the backyard, where the Jackson family pool party was in full swing.
You stepped out of your car, your sundress light and breezy, a towel draped over your shoulder.
Your heart was pounding, but you took a deep breath and smoothed down your dress.
You'd been to the Jackson family home before, but never for something like this.
You spotted La Toya almost immediately, her warm smile spreading wide as she waved you over.
She was lounging by the pool, her sunglasses perched on her nose, looking every bit the queen she was.
"Girl, you made it!" she exclaimed, pulling you into a hug.
The pool was full of the Jackson siblings, their laughter and shouts filling the air.
You peeled off your sundress, revealing the bikini underneath, a simple two-piece that you'd been nervous to wear, but La Toya had assured you it was perfect.
As you settled onto a lounge chair next to her, you felt a pair of eyes on you. You glanced up, and your breath caught in your throat.
Michael was standing on the other side of the pool, a can of soda in his hand, his dark curls damp and clinging to his forehead.
He was wearing a pair of swim trunks, his lean chest bare, and he was staring at you like you were the only person in the world.
His brothers saw this too.
"Ooooh, Mike's got his eyes on somebody," Jermaine teased, nudging Michael's shoulder.
"Shut up," Michael muttered, but a faint blush crept up his cheeks.
"Don't be shy, baby brother," Jackie added with a grin. "Go on over there and talk to her."
Michael ignored them, but you saw the way his fingers tightened around his can, the way his eyes never left you.
You offered him a small smile, and he returned it, shy and sweet.
After a few minutes, you excused yourself from La Toya and made your way over to him.
He straightened up as you approached, his smile widening.
"Hey," you said, your voice soft.
"Hey," he replied, his voice that familiar, gentle whisper. "I'm glad you came."
"Me too."
You both fell into step, walking to the edge of the pool where you sat down, your feet dangling into the cool water.
The chaos of the party seemed to fade away as you talked about music, about movies, about nothing and everything.
He laughed at everything you said, that beautiful, infectious laugh that made your heart soar.
"You look really beautiful today," he said quietly, his eyes meeting yours.
You felt your cheeks warm. "Thank you, Michael."
He was about to say something else when a wave of water crashed over both of you, soaking your hair and your face.
You sputtered, turning to see Marlon standing behind you, a mischievous grin on his face, a bucket in his hands.
"Gotcha!" he yelled before running off.
Michael's eyes widened, and then a playful smirk crossed his face. "Oh, it's on."
What followed was an all-out water war. Water guns appeared from seemingly nowhere, buckets were filled, and all the siblings turned on each other.
You found yourself ducking behind a lounge chair, a water pistol in hand, laughing so hard your stomach hurt.
At some point, you lost track of where everyone was. You rounded a corner near the side of the house, your water gun raised, only to find Michael pressed against the wall, his own gun dripping at his side.
He was breathing hard, his curls plastered to his forehead, a grin on his face.
"I think we lost them," he said, his voice low.
You lowered your gun, your heart pounding for an entirely different reason now. "Looks like it."
He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to brush a wet strand of hair from your face. His touch was electric, sending a shiver down your spine.
"Come with me," he whispered, taking your hand.
He led you through a side door into a quiet sitting room, the sounds of the party muffled by the walls.
The room was decorated in soft creams and golds, a large sofa sitting in the center.
The afternoon light filtered through sheer curtains, casting everything in a warm, hazy glow.
He turned to face you, his hands cupping your cheeks, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was soft at first, then deeper, more urgent.
You melted into him, your hands sliding up his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palms.
"Michael," you breathed, your voice barely a whisper.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and hooded, a soft smile playing on his lips.
"I've been watching you all day," he admitted, his voice low and intimate.
"Every time you moved, every time you laughed... I couldn't think straight."
Your cheeks flushed, but a thrill shot through you. "You could've come over sooner."
"I had to wait for the right moment." His fingers hooked under the strings of your bikini top, loosening them with deliberate slowness. "And this is it."
The fabric fell away, and his breath caught. His eyes roamed over your bare chest with an intensity that made you feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.
He cupped your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, sending shivers down your spine.
"Perfect," he murmured, more to himself than to you. "Absolutely perfect."
He lowered his head, taking one nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak.
You gasped, your fingers threading through his damp curls, holding him there.
He lavished attention on both breasts, alternating between gentle sucks and teasing licks, until you were writhing beneath his touch.
"Michael... please..."
He pulled back, a knowing glint in his eye. "Please what, baby?"
You couldn't find the words, but you didn't need to. He understood.
He guided you down onto the sofa, the cushions cool against your heated skin.
He knelt before you, his hands sliding down your stomach, hooking into the sides of your bikini bottoms.
"Lift your hips for me," he instructed softly.
You obeyed, and he slid the fabric down your legs, leaving you completely bare before him.
He sat back on his heels, his gaze traveling over your body with reverent appreciation.
"Youâre so beautiful," he whispered. "Every inch of you."
He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. Then another, higher.
His lips trailed a slow, torturous path toward your core, his breath warm against your sensitive skin.
When he finally reached your center, he pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss to your folds, and you gasped, your hips bucking instinctively.
He chuckled, a low, velvety sound. "Impatient, are we?"
"Michael touch me, please..."
He didn't make you wait any longer. He parted your folds with his thumbs, revealing your slick, glistening center.
He leaned in, his tongue flat against your clit, licking a slow, deliberate stripe from bottom to top.
The sensation was electric, a jolt of pleasure that made your back arch off the cushions.
He found a rhythm, his tongue circling your clit with practiced precision, alternating between soft flicks and firm pressure.
He teased your entrance, dipping his tongue inside you before returning to your clit, building a steady, relentless pace.
"Oh, God... Michael..."
He hummed against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your body.
He slipped one finger inside you, then two, curling them just right, hitting that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes.
His mouth never stopped, his tongue working in tandem with his fingers, driving you higher and higher.
"That's it, baby," he murmured against your skin. "Let go for me. I want to feel you cum."
The sound of his voice, the feel of his mouth, the pressure of his fingers, it was too much.
Your orgasm crashed over you like a wave, your body shuddering, a cry of his name escaping your lips.
He worked you through it, gentle and soothing, until your trembling subsided.
But he wasn't done.
He rose, his hands gripping your hips, turning you over.
You found yourself on your hands and knees, the sofa creaking beneath your weight.
You looked back over your shoulder, watching as he positioned himself behind you.
He leaned over, pressing a kiss to the small of your back. "You ready, baby?"
"Yes," you breathed. "Please, Michael."
He guided himself to your entrance, the head of his cock pressing against your slick folds.
He entered you slowly, inch by inch, letting you feel every moment of his intrusion.
You gasped at the stretch, your fingers gripping the sofa armrest.
"You feel so good," he groaned, his voice strained. "So tight... so perfect."
He paused once he was fully sheathed inside you, giving you time to adjust.
His hands gripped your hips, his thumbs pressing into the soft flesh, grounding you both.
Then he began to move.
His thrusts were slow and deliberate, each one deep and measured, hitting a spot that made your knees weak.
He set a rhythm, a steady, hypnotic pace that had you moaning with every stroke.
His hand slid around your waist, finding your clit, rubbing in tight circles that sent sparks of pleasure through your already sensitive body.
"Look at you," he breathed, his voice thick with desire. "Taking me so well. You're so beautiful like this."
You could only whimper in response, lost in the sensation of him filling you, stretching you, claiming you.
His pace quickened, his thrusts becoming more urgent, more desperate.
"I'm close," he warned, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Cum with me, baby. Cum for me again."
His fingers worked your clit faster, his thrusts deeper, and the combined stimulation pushed you over the edge.
Your orgasm ripped through you, your body clenching around him, a cry of pure ecstasy escaping your lips.
The feeling of you tightening around him was his undoing. He groaned, a deep, guttural sound, as he spilled inside you, his hips stuttering, his grip on your hips tightening.
He rode out both your climaxes, his movements slowing until he was still, buried deep inside you.
For a long moment, neither of you moved. The only sounds were your ragged breaths and the distant echoes of the party outside.
He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, his lips lingering against your skin.
"I love you," he whispered, the words soft and sincere.
You turned your head, meeting his gaze. "I love you too, Michael."
He pulled out gently, and you both collapsed onto the sofa, your bodies tangled together, your skin slick with sweat.
He pulled a throw blanket from the back of the sofa, draping it over your naked forms, his arm wrapping around your waist.
"We should probably go back soon," you murmured, your eyes already growing heavy.
"Five more minutes," he said, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Just five more minutes."
You smiled, nestling into his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear.
Outside, the party raged on, but in here, in this quiet moment, it was just the two of you. And that was more than enough.
