18+ mdni

“baby, be quiet.”

you whisper as your hands frame each side of his head. you lean down, your breasts pressed warmly against his chest. you kiss michael deeply, lips crashing to muffle his needy whimpers. you can’t be caught today.

“oh my gosh,” he breathes against your mouth, his voice trembling and already breaking.

his hands grip your thighs hard, fingers digging in as he tries to ram up into you from below. but this isn’t enough for him. he needs more.

you keep riding, your walls clenching tight around his thick length. his eyes are glistening beneath you, wet and shining in the low light. you assume it’s just sweat, the heat of your bodies making everything slick and shiny.

but he keeps whimpering, soft broken sounds spilling out no matter how hard you kiss him.

yet for micheal you riding him wasn’t cutting it.

he flips you onto your back with a desperate groan. you yelp in shock as he hooks your left leg high over his shoulder, stretching you open in ways you didn’t even know were possible. he thrusts in hard, his cock kissing deep inside you and pressing right against that perfect spot.

relentless strokes follow. sweat slicks your bodies, pressing hot and slippery together. the room smells heavily of musk and sex. in this new position his whimpers grow louder, the deeper sensation driving him wild.

“shh, sweetheart,” you murmur, covering his mouth with your open palm and pulling him closer. “you have to be real quiet.”

even then he keeps moaning into your hand, trying his hardest. he bites gently down on your palm. your eyes roll back at the overwhelming feeling. your palm slips.

he buries his face in your neck, lips pressing desperately against your skin while his hips keep driving deep. the slick slide of skin on skin is filthy, your sweaty bodies gliding together with every thrust. the pressure against your pussy makes your body pulse while the tight heat of your walls squeezes him relentlessly.

you turn your head, spot your discarded panties nearby, and think it’s brilliant—the smartest idea. stuffing them in his mouth should finally shut him up.

you reach for them and push the soft fabric between his lips. you expect it to quiet him down, to finally give you some control.

instead, the opposite happens. michael moans even louder around the panties, the sound vibrating through you. to him this is the best of both worlds—he gets to taste your sweet essence and fuck you at the exact same time. it’s basically his dream come true.

being completely surrounded by you, wrapped in your tight heat while your taste floods his mouth, overwhelming him in a way nothing else ever has.

that’s when you feel it—warm teardrops landing on your cheeks, sliding down your skin.

your eyes flutter open. when you look up, michael’s face is completely fucked out, eyes glassy and half-lidded, tears steadily rolling down his flushed cheeks. his lips are spit-stricken and abused around the bunched fabric, trembling as he bites down hard on the panties trying to hold back the noises.

his hair is a total mess, sticking to his forehead in sweaty strands. he looks so pathetic whimpering over you like this, every thrust making fresh tears slip free because the pleasure is simply too much.

“mikey… sweetie, are you okay?” you whisper, panic cutting through the heat.

he nods quickly, whimpering around the panties, voice muffled. “it just feels… s’good,” he chokes out, tears spilling faster.

“m’sorry baby… i don’t know why… its too much… you feel—“

you reach up to pull the panties from his mouth, worried, but his hand shoots down, grabbing your wrist and interlacing his fingers with yours. he pushes your joined hands down onto the mattress beside your head, pinning you there gently but firmly. he shakes his head, eyes pleading even as more tears slip free.

“no.. no please just..,” he takes in a breath, trying to regain any sense of composure. “just keep them in..”

he keeps driving into you with slow, grinding rolls of his hips, chasing that all-consuming sensation. he’s so overwhelmed—completely wrapped in your slick heat, your taste on his tongue, every sense drowning in you.

your breath hitches, your toes curling as the white-hot tension in your lower stomach threatens to snap. you are completely at his mercy, his whimpers and tears only turning you on more.

“mikey… stop crying, baby, you’re gonna—” you gasp, your fingers tightening around his as your own climax rushes up to meet him.

the desperate squeeze of your walls wrapping around him like a vice is the final trigger. michael’s eyes roll back, more tears spilling as his entire body locks up in a rigid, trembling line.

at the exact moment your body fractures into a violent, pulsing orgasm, he drives into you one last, impossibly deep time.

a choked, muffled cry of absolute surrender is strangled in his throat by the panties as his release floods hot and deep inside you.

your contractions clamp down on him relentlessly, milking him dry as you both shudder together, completely spent drowning in the post-sex sensation.

you brush a tear from his cheek with your free thumb, still catching your breath,

“m’aww such a crybaby”

✧˖°.

ᯓ!mdni!

ᯓcontent: religious guilt, mentions of masturbation, oral f!receiving, oral m!receiving, breeding kink, some fluff but mostly smut, slight angst if you squint?

ᯓa/n: apologies for any grammatical errors— proofreading is my worst enemy.

Currently thinking about...

How maybe otw era!michael would vow to be holy at all times. He never had sex— he’d even silently reprimand himself whenever he “accidentally” looked at a woman’s cleavage for too long, watching the way her breasts bounced a little when she walked. Even if he’d glimpse at the curve of a woman’s ass, he’d pinch his skin, as if to warn himself to stay pure.

He would masturbate, however. He had to, to relieve himself of all the stress regarding his new album and growing perfectionist habits. He’d fist his bulge through his pants as he laid in bed at night, wondering if he should defy the lord or give in to his unholy thoughts. In the end, he’d usually give in, pulling himself out of his pajama pants. He’d whimper and moan into the pillow, as if trying to keep quiet so a higher power wouldn’t hear him. He’d get completely lost in the feeling, shooting his load all over his hand just a few minutes later. As he caught his breath, guilt would immediately consume him, and he’d pray the rest of the night for God to forgive him.

Thriller era!michael would be a little less strict with himself. At this point in life, he’d made you his girlfriend, and so he’d discover his addiction with eating pussy. He would find any reason to eat his girl out, no matter the time or place. His new favorite taste would be your juices on his tongue as you convulsed around his fingers, your thighs clamping at the sides of his head.

His excuse for committing these obscene acts would be that he has to satisfy you; that was his duty as your boyfriend. And at first, when you asked to suck him off, you’d practically have to beg. He was hesitant at first, but told himself that this was a normal thing in relationships— everyone did it. So, when he felt your lips around his dick and his tip hitting the back of your warm mouth, he just couldn’t help himself. He’d bury his hands in your hair, greedily bobbing your head up and down his length.

However, he wouldn’t let you have all of him, still convinced sex was a sacred thing between only a wife and husband. Anytime you’d ask for more than his fingers, he’d act all innocent and confused— partly because he was. He’d become shy and even upset with you that you’d ever ask something like that knowing his beliefs.

Bad era!michael would have a new founded sense of confidence, with his first solo tour and all. Since he’d been touring for almost two years straight, he’d grown to miss you so much that he’d masturbate in his hotel room every night, fantasizing about his dick in your warmth. And not just your mouth— your cunt, too.

So, when he finally came home after weeks of this routine, he’d wasted no time, immediately pulling you into an emotional and passionate kiss. He laid you down on the bed, still so gentle with you, and finally acted out all of his desires. He’d feel guilty after, sure, but when he remembered how good you felt, those prior emotions would soon disappear.

After that, you would constantly be getting it, usually in missionary or you riding him because Michael loved seeing your face during sex. Anytime you asked to try a new position, especially if it was one where he couldn’t see you, he’d shut it down immediately. He’d also physically cringe if you called it “fucking”, as he preferred the term “love making” instead.

Dangerous era!michael would finally branch out, trying any and every position known to man. He’d become more vocal, too, telling you how “your pussy was practically begging for him” as the tips of his fingers teased your sensitive clit.

All lingering feelings of guilt passed at this point, replaced with desire and yearning as he thrived in this new era of his life because maybe he’d married you at this point. On your honeymoon, whether the sun was up or the moon shined down through the windows and into your bedroom, he was all up in that. He simply couldn’t get enough of you.

HIStory era!michael would be similar, but with new intentions. He's still a freak, don't get me wrong, but the biggest thing he thinks about is having a child with you. The past few months, he'd even developed a breeding kink. The only thing he could think about on tour or in the studio is shooting his seed deep in you, even becoming possessive of the idea.

He finally does it one night, groaning deeply in your ear as he cums in your warm cunt. After he pulled out, he watched the white seed drip from your entrance before gently pushing it back in with two fingers, making sure you take every last bit of him, making sure he breeds you.

Mature era!michael is definitely more thorough with his actions, constantly prioritizing your pleasure over his. He knows when to be dominant, like when you're acting like a brat in public or giving him the silent treatment after an argument. He'll snake his arms around your waist, squeezing slightly as he patiently waits for you to fix your attitude.

He'd love it when you'd ride him, being able to stare up at you while you moan and whimper above him. You'd plant your hands on his chest for balance, his own large hands guiding your hips just how he likes it.

He'd be THE BIGGEST EATER, just after thriller era!michael. After a long day and you're too tired to even move, he'd sink to his knees without hesitation, gently pushing your thighs apart. He'd know your body so well that you'd be coming in just minutes, body trembling as uncontrollable moans fell from your lips. Afterwards, he'd run you a warm bath, mixing in your favorite soaps and planting a soft kiss on your forehead after you settled in the water.

.☘︎ ݁˖

NOW SHOWING…

TELL YOUR FRIENDS, michael jackson

synopsis— older men were unexplored territory for this housewife, but your dad’s newfound best friend michael jackson has a way turning every assumption you’d had about older men on its head.

content— SMUT (18+) MDNI. baby angst, dbsf!michael, readers kind of inconsiderate, pet names (peach, sweet thing, princess, mama, papa causee duh!), soft!dom michael, two clit spanks, p in v, foot kink, dirty talk, missionary (he gives it to you on the kitchen counter ughh), creampiee.

🪽junkie— was this inspired by this post. also this video too! as always mwuah! hope you enjoyyy.

Michael took some getting used to in the beginning.

Most of your life, you never quite understood women’s fascination with older men.

Your girlfriends swore older men were more patient. More intentional. That they opened car doors without being asked, remembered the little things, called when they said they would instead of playing games. They’d laugh about salt and pepper beards and expensive watches, claiming a man with a little gray in his hair knew exactly what he wanted.

You’d only ever roll your eyes, maybe they were all suffering from a collective psychosis.

Because after watching your father jeopardize nearly thirty years of marriage over some twenty six year old receptionist who made him feel ‘alive’ again… You simply just didn’t see the appeal. If anything, older men had become the cautionary tale. Men who woke up one morning convinced commitment had stolen their youth. They traded loyalty for excitement and confused selfishness with freedom.

So no, you didn't get it. Not until your father met Michael.

Somewhere between the lawyers, custody schedules, and awkward family dinners, your father had insisted on introducing you to one of the few friendships he'd managed to build after divorce. It was a desperate hail mary really. His way of proving he’d become a different man, that he finally surrounded himself with men worth looking up to.

Little by Little this newfound consistency chipped away at every word you were forced to eat before he came around. Michael was nearly fifteen years your senior, and you wouldn't have dreamed of entertaining an older man who'd suck the excitement out of your twenties. Especially not after barely escaping your own marriage in one piece.

You thought you were living the dream.

A husband before twenty five, a sprawling buckhead home with wraparound porches, invitations to every charity gala worth attending, cameras following your every move as one of Atlanta's newest housewives. But everything that glittered wasn't gold. Your marriage had become a beautiful cage, your husband loved the idea of a wife just not the woman you happened to be. He wanted homemade dinners and quiet obedience. Eventually your marriage surrounded everything about him. His last name, his image, and opinions. Somewhere between becoming his wife and becoming his reflection, You had almost lost your voice, identity, your peach.

By the time you met Michael, you had been legally separated for over a year. The divorce dragging on because your husband refused to sign the papers. Divorce mocked everything that he believed in apparently, the ultimate betrayal of God. Which was funny, considering he’d committed one of the oldest betrayals known to man. After all that, you’d learned firsthand that younger men were no better than the older ones you’d spent years criticizing. Maybe age had never been the problem after all. Maybe it had been their character. Still, you preferred sticking with the young cats you’d already known, at least they were familiar, or thats what you thought.

Months later, Michael Jackson had somehow become your favorite familiarity. The private get together had been winding down for the evening, the house humming with low conversation and the soft clink of champagne flute. Friends gathered throughout the living room, music drifting through the speakers while laughter bounced between stories only old friends could appreciate. You stood in the kitchen assembling another tray of fruit when something suddenly came to mind.

“Oh!” you turned toward Michael, who sat comfortably at the island nursing what had to be his second or perhaps third mimosa of the evening, “Baby?”

Michael turned instantly, that soft, attentive affection already written all over his handsome face. Despite being nearly fifteen years your senior, his reaction to that single syllable was immediate. His smooth strands loose, his expensive watch catching the kitchen light, and those dark eyes settled solely on you.

"Mhm, peach?" he answered softly, tapping his long fingers against the glass rim.

“Can you check my phone real quick? Tasha sent me the name of the caterer she used for her anniversary. “I can't remember which conversations it was in”

“Mmkay let me see,” Michael nodded without question, eyes squinting at the screen. “Why is everything moving?”

His long fingers already reaching for your phone resting on the counter. He was already scrolling through your messages with practiced patience—he never made you dig through conversations yourself, never made you hunt for simple things. That was the thing about men like him; they actually remembered the little things.

“Moving? The screen shouldn’t be moving mikey..”

“I swear these phones get smaller every year..” he mumbled, fumbling around with the key pad.

“it’s a smartphone michael.” one of your girlfriends laughed.

“it’s a smart pain in my neck!”

a few people nearly choked on their drinks as the room erupted into laughter as he kept checking through the phone, tapping the screen with a surprising determination. Till eventually a small breath of relief escaped his lips, “There it is..”

His thumb has pressed the group chat and the first few messages made him smile.

‘Girl, He looks so GOOD tonight.’

‘She drooling over mr. jackson again.’

And since Michael is somewhere between pleasantly buzzed and just plain nosy, he kept scrolling. Too distracted to look for Tasha’s caterer recommendation because his sweet girl talked about him more than he’d realized. Each lazy click of his thumb uncovered another conversation, another little glimpse into that pretty mind of yours whenever he wasn't around.

It made something deep inside him swell with pride, each message making him twitch in his pants. It held date ideas, pictures of funky silk ties that brought out the warmth of his handsome complexion, your excitement over what dress you’d wear. The nerves before your first official date, and your girlfriends practically convincing you stop overthinking every little detail. it was all wrapped into those text messages and Michael loved every single second of it.

Then he scrolled too far.

‘It is taking me FOREVER to warm up to Mr. Jackson.’

‘& the names… sweet thing, princess, Peach.’

‘Feels like someone’s uncle is courting me..’

which was funny cause peach especially was one of the same names you gushed over. Whenever it rolled off his tongue. The same name that somehow coaxed that little smile before he even stepped into the room. A name that had you clenching around his fingers each time listened to the juiciest one. The name you answered without a second thought. Time had such a funny way of proving people wrong.

‘and don’t laugh! Be serious!’

‘He’s FIFTEEN years older, what if he can’t keep up with me?’

That’s when his smile disappeared and the room suddenly felt much louder than before. It wasn’t the teasing, the pet names, it was the uncertainty. He quietly clicked your phone shut, handing it back with an echo of your messages ringing through his mind.

His thumb lingered over the bedazzled gems for another second before he finally extended it back towards you “…Found it”

You thanked him without a second thought. Never noticing how much quieter he’d become. By the time the last of the guests disappeared through his front door, the silence between you had become impossible to ignore.

Michael still helped collect glasses. He still thanked everyone for coming. I still smiled but something had changed. He wasn’t avoiding you, he just simply wasn't reaching for you anymore. You found him in the back of the kitchen pouring himself another mimosa, barely acknowledging your presence.

“You alright?” You questioned, leaning against the cool marble counter of his sprawling kitchen island.

“Mhm..” Michael barely looked up, opting instead to swirl the mimosa around inside his glass as though the answer might be waiting somewhere beneath the champagne bubbles.

‘You’ve been acting funny all night.” you pressed gently.

“I’m fine.”

The words came easy enough. Convincing to some, however, if you learned anything about Michael in your time spent with him. Was that he physically wasn’t capable of hiding his emotions and with no shaded frames in sight, the words weren’t convincing enough. It was a bruised pride and a quiet frustration that he hadn’t quite figured out how to tuck away.

“You don't sound fine.” Confusion knitted in your brows, the shift had been so sudden it made your stomach tighten.

One minute he’d been smiling across crowded rooms, reaching for your hand whenever he passed by. The next? He became almost impossible to read. It reminded you far too much of growing up inside a home where affection could disappear without warning. Where the silence always arrived before your parents' arguments. Where your mother learned to study your father’s moods before speaking. Old habits died hard and apparently, so did old anxieties.

The glass touched the marble countertop with a quiet clink, Michael stood there for another moment, jaw flexed before he finally turned towards you. Time had mellowed many things about Michael. The fame, impatience, and the need to prove himself. But if anything, age had only shortened his tolerance for sitting inside uncomfortable feelings. Especially when they involved you. He’d spent the better half of the evening pretending none if it bothered him, and unfortunately, his patience had run out.

“So…” His voice was unusually calm, dangerously so. “From what I gathered from that sparkly little phone of yours, I’m corny.’

Your stomach dropped, lifting from the counter as shock etched itself in your face. “...What?”

“Too old,” Michael shrugged, taking another quick sip of the chilled mimosa sitting along the counter all while bringing himself closer to you with a dry laugh. “Can’t keep up?

“As if I'm not the one who’s worked a stage since 5 and you’ve somehow convinced yourself I need a nap. ”

Every ounce of warmth drained from your face, the words barely audible as your lips parted. “Y–You read my messages?”

“Wasn’t looking for them,” He confessed, taking yet another nervewrecking step. “You asked me to find something, but once I stumbled across ‘em…”

“Couldn’t exactly stop reading.”

Those soft doe eyes never left yours and before you realized it, your back met the edge of the sink. Michael settled behind you, just close enough that the warmth of him made your pulse stumble. Every instinct told you to turn around, to hide your face, to explain but his hand settled against the countertop beside yours before you had the chance.

“You had me sounding like somebody’s washed up old man.”

A nervous laugh escaped you, as the words rushed out. A bad habit Michael took the time to understand. “Michael, t–they’re old.”

“So old…”

“That you apparently needed your girlfriends to talk you off a ledge?” he countered smoothly, his thumb brushing the side of your neck, feeling your pulse hammer against his skin. “Old enough that you convinced yourself I was lookin’ for a distraction?”

“like my life needs to be any more complicated..”

“m—michael..” you stutter out, a gentle finger of his slipping a strap free from your shoulder, peppering wet kisses along the warm skin. all while the flushed color of your nipple peaks past the fabric, hardening from the cool graze of his silk top.

tilting his head just right as he sucks at your collarbone, soothing it over with a soft lick of his tongue.

"Mmh..." He hummed directly against your throat, reading your stutter exactly for what it was—an old childhood defense mechanism. You reverted to nervous giggles and stumbling explanations whenever you felt overwhelmed, caught, or exposed.

And Michael understood that. He understood you better than anyone. But right now? He wasn't having it.

"You had plenty to say, to your little friends Peach." He murmured against your skin, sucking another slow, devastating kiss right into the hollow of your throat.

Michael’s voice was dipped in a honeyed bluntness that curled around your spine and dripped sweetly in your ear. His hand slid to your waist, fingers dipping gently beneath the fabric of your dress. The pads grazing your skin as they run along your thigh. Pooling the champagne slip dress around your waist.

Gnawing at the inside of your cheek as he reveals the trimmed lace resting along your hip. Tracing the thin band of your underwear, stretching it aside just enough to expose the soft skin beneath.

Then letting the fabric snap back into place with a quick *pop*, massaging soothing circles over the sting. "you keep up just fine mikey.

You inhaled sharply, the vibration of his laugh brushing against your ear. The nickname left your lips raw and desperate, the heat of the kitchen suddenly unbearable as your knuckles turned white gripping the marble behind you.

“How would you know?” He challenged, pressing another lazy kiss to your shoulder. Pulling the second strap down with his nose, his large hand traced along the exposed curve of your waist and dipping into the crease that rested just beside where you needed him. “Haven’t even given you every part of me..”

“You’d like that huh?”

That spoiled little sound in the back of your throat telling Michael everything he needed to know. A whiny plea for him to give you something, anything to soften the buzzing in your clit.

Michael sat you atop of the counter prettily, your thighs twitch with thinning patience. Shivering beneath his cool thumbs as they dipping beneath the lace . Groaning out at the slicked fabric outline your pouty lips as he teasingly spread you apart.

“look at this..” Michael crooned, voice thick with satisfaction tracing your glossy folds with a slow, devastating reverence. pressing a thumb directly over your clit and holding it there—firm, Torturously still. "All wet, all bothered..."

He was being deliberately cruel, the kind of cruelty that only someone who knew every single one of your buttons could deliver.

“You know maybe i’m just too old,” the cool graze of his silk pants catching on your delicate lace, doing very little to mask the hard line of him grinding against you. “But as a friend of your father, i’m sure father has told you about assuming."

"You know what sayin' i'm referring to peach?"

You watched two of michael’s fingers hook into the lace, with a bite of your manicured nail. Stretching it just far enough to reveal the smooth skin, running his thumb through your flooded slit and coating your clit in the slippery essence.

It was embarrassing how wet you were really, slick dripping down the delicate fabric, and he swore he could hear you clenching stickily around nothing already. He snapped his wrist, big hands giving your clit two smacks before melting instantly into a throbbing heat under the soothing touch of him swirling lazily around the bud.

“D—Don’t make assumptions..”

"Thatsss right sweet thing, because it makes what?" Michael questioned, his thumb continued that agonizingly slow swirl, never pressing hard enough to push you over the edge—just enough to keep you hovering until he took it all away. “An ass out of you and me..”

“And don’t worry sweet girl..” Michael’s hands slid under your thighs, keeping you hooked and tilted forward. “M’gonna show you what an ass I can be.”

Michael’s long fingers curled beneath your knee, hiking your leg up just right for him to leave a scorching trail of kisses along your calf. Tugging you to the edge as soon as his hand found your ankle, pressing a wet messy kisses up the side of your foot.

All while your own fingers fumbled at his waistband, stretching the hem just enough for him to spring free. Dribbling a bead above your clit at the sight of your fresh french styled pedi.

Michael’s long fingers curled beneath your knee, hiking your leg up just right for him to leave a scorching trail of kisses along your calf. Tugging you to the edge as soon as his hand found your ankle, pressing a wet messy kisses up the side of your foot.

All while your own fingers fumbled at his waistband, stretching the hem just enough for him to spring free. Dribbling a bead above your clit at the sight of your fresh french styled pedi.

A low, ragged groan vibrated through his chest as his dark eyes locked onto the fresh French tip polish gleaming under the kitchen lights.

"S'grown n sexy." Michael murmured, dropping sloppy kisses to the acrylic tips, sucking your big toe into his mouth before his gaze trailed to his flushed tip drooling that pearlescent bead right over your pretty clit.

Gripping at his thick base, giving him a stuttered rolled of your hips at the praise. Tapping the heavy tip of him against your swollen clit, every wet *plap, plap, plap* making your entire pussy flutter and clench. Sweet voice whining out for the full length as you tapped it one last time, digging into his shoulder with a curl of your toes.

"Sound s'pretty..."

Michael drops your leg over his shoulder, eyes dropping to watch your clit bounce under the heavy weight of him. pressing the wet tip right against your opening, softness spreading over him— pink flesh blooming around his dick. “Talk to me princess, what is it?”

“Want all of you Michael..” lashes fluttering to his, pushing back against him enough for your slick to leave a clinging string. a possessive marking of you both.

Tugging his handsome face closer to your to capture your lips with his, the curve of him snagging just as he nips at your bottom lip before soothing the dizzying sting with his tongue. He groaned against your mouth, swallowing your desperate plea with a languid swipe of his tongue, his hips rolling in a slow, devastating grind that fed the thick, slick head into your tight, fluttering heat.

“Mm, i’ll give you all that i’ve got..” stretching that tight little ring of muscle until it gave way, sucking him in inch by greedy inch. giving him the most intimate view possible—your glistening, needy pussy barely containing him. “All that i’ve got sweet girl..”

“Just relax and open her up for me..”

“Ooh my g—” you mewled, listening to each stirring squelching as he settles on a steady pace.

Michael gave you just a few inches, hips chasing after his to mold around the curve of him. face crumbling beautifully as he works you open, welcoming him with a airy squelch and a deep roll of your dazed eyes. “Y’giving it to me s’good papa..”

"Such a good girl.." Michael praised, watching your face crumble with each agonizingly slow inch, his thumbs anchoring your thighs as he worked you open. Pulling out slower this time, giving you the full view of his thick, glistening dick sliding free.

Revealing a streaky, white cream before sinking back in and stuffing you breathless with a grinding circle that kept him buried balls deep inside you. He loved how you struggled to take the slow, deep strokes that had you whimpering and begging. You clung to him like he was your entire world. The strokes so devastating—long, deliberate, and deep, hitting that spot inside you that made your brain melt. Your thighs were shaking, your pretty little mouth hanging open as he fucked you stupid.

“Yeah? Feels good huh, such a pretty thing..” Michael whined, his forehead pressing against yours. pressing a wet, open-mouthed kiss to your slack lips, relishing the glazed look in your eyes.

Dragging every thick inch out until just the tip remained, before rolling his hips deep and grinding into your spongey spot.

“S—So fuckingg good!” greeting your cervix with a devastating whine— slow and deep enough for you to whimper into his mouth.

Both your eyes dropping to watch the way your creamy ring slid down the thick length of Michael, dragging his lip beneath those gorgeous teeth as His pace picked up—deep and punishing strokes that slapped your sensitive clit against his base.

“J—Just wanna love ya y’know..” Michael panted, one hand leaving your thigh to grip the back of your hip, pulling you onto him harder. “Always wanted a pretty girl just like you..”

He caught your gaze again, hips snapped forward one more time. holding himself inside you, making you feel every pulsating inch of him as he bottomed out. “To make you feel all good inside… Yeah, like that.. just like that”

“It’s so good, s’good inside fu—“ A broken, desperate whine tore from your throat. nails digging into his shoulders, completely overwhelmed. “even when you mad papa..”

Giving him a sloppy kiss to the corner of his lips, moaning into each other’s mouths the moment those soft lips connected. Sucking your tongue into his mouth, timed perfectly with his deep strokes. Each one harder and deeper than the last as you cling around his neck, nipples brushing against the hard line of his chest.

"Especially when I’m mad mama," he purred against your lips, sucking your lip between his. a sharp, sweet pain that sends a dizzying throb straight to your pussy, tugging deep in your belly till it snapped. watching your juices gush around his shaft, soaking him and the marble beneath you.

“F—fuck Michael they were before I fell for you!” Coming so beautifully undone, so completely his—made every thought of the evening's frustration dissolve into nothing but raw, desperate need. “M’so sorry papa..”

“Giving me everything and moree.”

Untangling months of feelings you’d never quite put into sentences before. you’d stopped noticing Michael’s age altogether. It had quietly become the least interesting thing about him. Instead, you’d found yourself falling for the man who listened without trying to correct you. The man who never asked you to make yourself smaller just so he could feel bigger. The one who encouraged every dream your marriage had convinced you was too much, too loud, or too unrealistic for a wife to have.

Until you met Michael and for the first time in a long time, you felt seen.

And Michael didn't stop—didn't slow down—just kept fucking through every splattering squirt. Every sobbing confession. He was making love to your entire soul, breaking you down to rebuild you. To reminded you that you were allowed to take up space. Fucking you with a patience that dismantled every insecurity your marriage had drilled into your head and replacing it with absolute safety.

“Forgive you.. god— I forgive you peach..” every broken moan hot against your skin hold you right where he wanted you, forcing you to take every heavy rope of his hot cum flooding your womb. “Shhh, I got you... I got you, pretty girl..”

“So perfect, pretty little thing giving me everything I ever wanted.. nghh— everything pretty girl."

he’s made you cum over three times now with his tongue and fingers, and it still wasn’t enough for him. you haven’t wept for him enough, you haven’t squirmed against his body enough, your hips hiking up and slamming back down to the mattress as you hold onto his shoulder. michael’s favorite sight to see when his tongue is deep inside your hole, curled and tasting you.

his weakness is you, his shame is you, his purpose is you.

you feel that reminder with every kiss, every lick, every thrust, your entire body covered with his hickies and saliva. michael will never be done with you, he’s under your control, you tell him everything he should do, and he does it. so when you’re crying to michael, your free hand positioning his dick to your hole, michael’s hips finally give in and let his dick push inside your slicked pussy, his cum coating all over, dripping down to your ass and bedsheets.

‧₊˚ pervy.michael head cannons ྀ

༯ He is hyper-aware of your skincare. He makes a game out of applying lotion or body oil to your skin after you get out of the shower. What starts as a "helpful favor" quickly turns into him taking an agonizingly long time to massage your thighs, your lower back, and your hips, letting his hands linger in places that have absolutely nothing to do with dry skin.

༯ He has a specific habit of tracing the edge of your underwear line through your clothes when you're sitting next to each other in the back of the car. His fingers are long and highly sensitive; he likes to test your reaction to see how long you can stay composed before you have to swat his hand away.

༯ Michael is a master of vocal control when he sings, but in bed, that completely breaks down. He is loud. He whimpers, he groans deep in his chest, and he breathes your name like a prayer. If you ride him, he will grip your hips so hard his knuckles go white, his head thrown back, letting out those signature, breathless gasps—but raw, unedited, and incredibly deep.

michael jackson x f!reader ────୨ৎ──── ♡ wc: 6.2k

synopsis: michael has always believed intimacy belongs in marriage. but as temptation becomes harder to resist, he starts convincing himself that maaaybe some things just don’t count

cw: smut, established relationship, mutual pining, religious/moral conflict, manipulation if u squint ?, poor decision making n even worse excuses, pathetic!michael lowk, v nasty... like actually nasty as hell, loud whiny michael, thriller!michael

michael’s mother had drummed very specific principles into him since he was young, and they always stayed in the back of his mind. he’d grown up believing that a woman was someone you treated with total reverence — someone you protected and cherished. to him, saving the ultimate intimacy for a marriage wasn't just a rule. it was a way to keep something holy.

Content: Thrad Era! Michael Jackson x Black Fem! Reader

Warnings: 18+ minors dni, cunnilingus, insatiable Michael Jackson, pussy drunk, facial hair growing, established relationship (always and ♾️)

Wc: 740

He A Seat, Barely Ever Heard The Nigga Speak

ᥫ᭡. description: one stubborn argument, a pair of vibrating panties, and a crowded paris restaurant. trapped in the back of a luxury sedan, the remote control turns a petty power struggle into a breathless, desperate surrender.

content: 18+, smut, vibrating panties, bad!michael, public, car sex, dryhumping, feet play???, arguing, extreme teasing, THIS FREAKY ASF …

˗ˋˏ༺❤︎༻ˎˊ˗

the rain was tapping against the hotel window in paris, a soft, steady rhythm that did absolutely nothing to calm the storm brewing inside the luxurious suite. the air was thick, heavy with the kind of silence that makes your ears ring.

you and michael had been arguing for forty-eight hours straight. it had started over something incredibly stupid. he was being impatient, rushing you to get ready for some big press event he had to attend, and your stubborn streak had kicked in hard. you had refused to let him hurry you, digging your heels in, and before either of you knew it, the whole thing had blown up into a massive, exhausting argument. you had spent the last two days sleeping on opposite sides of the massive king bed, barely even making eye contact.

but tonight was different. tonight, you had reservations at one of the most exclusive, hardest-to-get-into restaurants in all of paris. it had taken michael’s team months of pulling favors to secure a table, and despite the heavy wall of anger between you, neither of you wanted to back down and cancel. it was a matter of pride. you were both going to see this through, even if it meant sitting in icy silence across from each other all night.

you stood in front of the gold-trimmed vanity mirror, carefully zipping up a gorgeous, backless silk dress. it hugged every curve of your body, the dark fabric making your skin glow under the warm lights of the dressing room. in the reflection, you saw michael step into the room. he stopped dead in his tracks.

for a split second, his jaw slackened. his dark eyes softened, melting from the hard, annoyed expression he’d been wearing for days into pure, unfiltered admiration. he looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

"you look beautiful, baby," he murmured, his voice soft, husky, and filled with a quiet sincerity that almost made you want to drop your guard right then and there.

for a moment, the thick ice between you started to thaw. you felt a blush creep up your neck. but instead of saying anything, you just turned around to grab your undergarments from the vanity drawer, wanting to keep up your protective wall.

michael always had his team stock your wardrobe with beautiful things whenever you traveled together. there were boxes of designer clothes, shoes, and lingerie waiting for you in every city. so, when you reached into the drawer and pulled out a pair of silky black panties you didn't quite recognize, you didn't think twice. you liked the lace detailing and the sleek look of them, so you stepped into them and pulled them up.

michael’s eyes went wide. his jaw practically dropped to the floor, his entire demeanor shifting in an instant from romantic admiration to sheer panic.

"wait, no, no. don't put those on," he said, his voice suddenly urgent as he stepped toward you, holding his hands up as if to stop you.

you snapped your head up, your stubbornness flaring right back to life. "why not? they're cute. and you bought them, didn't you?"

"yes, i bought them, but they aren't for going out," he said, a sudden flush of red creeping up his neck and dusting his cheekbones. he looked incredibly flustered, trying to maintain his polite, gentlemanly composure while clearly panicking. "they're... they are different, sweetheart. please, just take them off and put on a normal pair. we have to go, and those are not suitable for a restaurant."

"suitable?" you scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. "you've been rushing me and being impatient all day, michael. now i finally find something i actually want to wear, and you're telling me no? what is your problem?"

"i'm not trying to be difficult," he said, taking a deep, steadying breath, trying to keep his voice calm and gentle even though his eyes were wide. "i am telling you, as a gentleman, that wearing those tonight is a very, very bad idea. please, listen to me just this once. change into something else."

your stubbornness was like a brick wall. the more he pushed, the more you wanted to resist. "no. you don't get to tell me what to do just because you're in a bad mood. you're always trying to control everything around you, michael. i'm wearing them, and that's final."

"i am not trying to control you!" he argued, his voice rising an octave in pure frustration, though he still kept his hands neatly tucked near his sides, trying not to look aggressive. "you are being incredibly stubborn right now, and you don't even know what you're doing. just listen to me!"

"i'm leaving," you snapped, grabbing your small clutch purse from the vanity. "the reservation is in twenty minutes. meet me in the car if you're actually coming."

you turned on your heel, your heels clicking loudly against the hardwood floor as you marched out of the suite and slammed the door behind you.

michael stood alone in the dressing room, running a hand through his curls, letting out a long, stressed exhale. his eyes fell on the nightstand, landing on a tiny, sleek black remote control that had been hidden behind a jewelry box. a sudden, dark, mischievous look crossed his handsome face. the perfect gentleman in him knew he shouldn't, but the frustrated, teased man in him won out. he walked over, snatched up the remote, slipped it deep into his trousers pocket, and headed out to catch up with you.

the ride to the restaurant in the back of the town car was completely, painfully silent. you stared out the window at the glowing lights of the eiffel tower, refusing to look at him. michael sat on his side of the seat, his hands resting on his knees, his face a mask of polite calm, though his fingers occasionally twitched against his thighs.

when you arrived at the restaurant, it was everything you expected. the lighting was low and romantic, the air smelled of expensive truffles and aged wine, and the dining room was filled with the soft murmur of wealthy patrons and a few very recognizable celebrities. you both kept it casual, nodding politely to a couple of people who recognized michael, putting on a perfect front for the public.

the host led you to a cozy, secluded booth in the corner, offering a bit of privacy while still keeping you in view of the rest of the room. you sat down across from each other, the small table with its crisp white tablecloth the only thing separating you.

"are you still going to pout all night?" michael asked quietly, leaning forward slightly, his dark eyes locked onto yours. his voice was soft, but there was a sharp edge of frustration underneath it.

"i'm not pouting. i'm enjoying the silence," you shot back, keeping your voice low as you gave him a sweet, incredibly fake smile. "it's much better than listening to you rush me."

before michael could reply, a waitress smoothly approached the table. "bonsoir, welcome to l'ambroisie. i am celline, and i will be taking care of you tonight. can i start you with some of our finest champagne before the first course?"

as the waitress spoke, you kept your eyes on michael, giving him another defiant, stubborn look.

michael didn't say a word. instead, he kept his polite, gentle smile fixed on the waitress, but his right hand slipped slowly into his pants pocket.

his thumb found the power button. he clicked it. a sudden, violent, buzzing hum exploded right against your clit.

"ah—!" the gasp ripped out of your throat before you could stop it. your eyes flew wide, your pupils dilating instantly as a massive shockwave of intense, concentrated heat shot straight up your spine and buzzed through your brain. your body reacted instantly; your thighs clamped shut so hard and fast that your knees knocked against the underside of the table with a sharp thud, causing the water glasses to jingle.

the waitress paused, her pen hovering over her pad. she blinked, looking at you with concern. "are you alright, madame?"

you looked at michael in absolute, horrified shock. your heart was hammering against your ribs, and your breath was suddenly shallow. you couldn't believe it. the panties. they were vibrating. and he had the remote.

michael didn't even flinch. his face was a picture of pure, gentlemanly innocence. he looked at the waitress with a soft, reassuring smile. "she's quite alright, thank you, celline. the paris air is just a bit chilly tonight, and she's a little sensitive to the draft. we will gladly take the champagne, please. and perhaps you could keep the ice water coming throughout the evening?"

"of course, monsieur. right away," celline nodded warmly, completely charmed by his polite demeanor, and turned to walk toward the bar.

the very second her back was turned, you leaned across the table as far as you could, your knuckles turning white as you gripped the edge of the mahogany wood. the low, steady hum between your legs was relentless, sending continuous, warm waves of friction directly against your most sensitive spot. you could already feel a heavy dampness blooming in the silk fabric.

"michael," you hissed, your voice shaking so hard you could barely get the words out. "what is this? what did you do to me?"

michael leaned in, resting his elbows on the table, clasping his hands together right under his chin. he looked incredibly handsome, but his eyes were dancing with a dark, wicked amusement that made your stomach flip.

"see why i told you not to wear those, baby?" he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, velvety purr that was meant for your ears only. "you never want to listen to me. you get so stubborn, and i really, really hate that."

he slid his hand back into his pocket. click. the frequency changed. instead of a steady hum, it began to pulse in a rhythmic, throbbing pattern—slow, then incredibly fast, then slow again.

"oh god," you whimpered, your head dropping. you squeezed your thighs together as hard as you could, desperately trying to stifle the physical sensation, but the pressure only pushed the small, hard motor of the toy directly against your swollen clit. you gasped, a tiny, breathless moan slipping past your lips. you had to bite your tongue to keep from making a scene in the middle of the crowded dining room.

"turn it off," you whispered, glaring at him through eyes that were already glazed over with sudden, intense arousal. "michael, i swear to god, turn it off right now. this isn't funny."

"i'm not laughing, sweetheart," michael replied, his voice still incredibly calm, polite, and steady, though his eyes were burning as he watched your chest heave. "you wanted to be a big girl and make your own decisions. now you have to live with them. i tried to warn you, but you just had to walk out that door."

"you're a jerk," you gasped out, your body trembling as a particularly strong pulse of vibration hit you, making your hips twitch slightly against the plush leather booth. "a selfish, impatient, petty jerk."

michael's jaw clenched. the smug, playful look on his face vanished, replaced by a flash of genuine, frustrated heat. he did not like being called names, especially when he was already running on forty-eight hours of sexual frustration from your arguments.

"is that what i am?" he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, becoming dangerously low. "well, if i'm so petty..."

he reached into his pocket to press the button again, but before he could, a loud, booming voice interrupted the quiet tension of your table.

"michael! my good friend! i cannot believe my eyes!"

you both snapped your heads up. walking toward your table was a very famous european film director, a man michael had worked with on a music video project a couple of years ago. he was loud, flamboyant, incredibly chatty, and loved nothing more than the sound of his own voice.

michael immediately stood up halfway, his professional, polite persona snapping back into place instantly. "pierre! what a wonderful surprise. i didn't know you were in paris."

"ah, just for a few days to scout locations!" pierre boomed, stepping close to the table and shaking michael's hand warmly. "and who is this lovely lady? you must introduce us!"

"this is my fiancée," michael said smoothly, his hand resting casually in his pants pocket. he shot you a quick, warning look. it was a silent command: behave yourself and act normal.

you forced a tight, polite smile onto your face, even though your entire lower body was buzzing like a live wire. "nice to meet you, pierre," you managed to say, though your voice sounded incredibly breathy and strained.

pierre didn't seem to notice. he launched into a long, incredibly detailed, and fast-paced story about his new film, his frustrations with his producers, and his love for french cuisine. he was clearly not going to leave anytime soon.

michael stood there, nodding along, offering polite "uh-huhs" and small smiles, keeping up the appearance of a perfect gentleman. but you could see the tension in his shoulders. his hand was still buried in his pocket, his thumb resting right on the remote.

a sudden, wicked wave of defiance washed over you. your stubbornness wasn't gone; it had just mutated into something far more dangerous. if michael wanted to play games with a remote control in a crowded restaurant, then two could play.

slowly, carefully, you slipped your right foot out of your designer high heel. the cool air of the restaurant felt like ice against your bare skin. under the cover of the long, heavy white tablecloth that draped all the way to the floor, you stretched your leg across the small gap between your seats.

you found his ankle first. you slowly slid your bare toes up his calf, feeling the fabric of his expensive trousers. the very moment your foot made contact, michael's entire body went rigid. his polite nod frozen for a microsecond.

he didn't break eye contact with pierre, but his breathing suddenly got noticeably heavier.

you smirked, feeling a rush of power. you kept going. your foot slid slowly past his knee, traveling up his inner thigh. the heat radiating from him was intense. you kept sliding your foot up until the arch of your bare foot pressed directly against the heavy, rapidly growing bulge in his pants.

michael choked on his own saliva mid-sentence. "...yes, the... the lighting in that scene was... very... creative, pierre."

pierre frowned slightly, looking at him. "are you alright, michael? you sound a bit choked up."

"just... dry throat," michael cleared his throat, his eyes darting down to glare at you with a mixture of shock, frustration, and intense lust.

in immediate retaliation, michael’s thumb aggressively mashed the button inside his pocket.

the vibrator instantly jumped to its absolute highest, wildest setting.

"mmph!" you bit your bottom lip so hard you could taste the metallic tang of copper. your eyes rolled back for a split second as a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure crashed over you like a tidal wave. your body shook, your toes curling as the high-powered vibrations literally buzzed through your entire nervous system. your core was pooling with heat, completely soaked, and your body was screaming for release.

but you refused to let him win. you refused to pull your foot away. instead, you curved your foot, gripping his hardness through the fabric of his suit. you began to slowly, deliberately stroke him. you rubbed the arch of your foot up and down his length, pressing hard, letting him feel exactly how much he was affecting you, and how much you were going to affect him in return.

michael's face flushed a bright, deep red. a thick vein popped out on his neck, and his knuckles turned completely white where he was gripping the edge of the table to keep his balance.

"michael?" pierre asked, now looking genuinely concerned. "mon ami, you look very hot. are you having a fever?"

"i... yes," michael gasped out, his voice incredibly husky, thick, and completely ruined. he couldn't keep his composure for another second. his hand in his pocket was shaking. "it is... very warm in here. pierre, please excuse us. my fiancée... she is feeling very ill. we must leave immediately."

"oh! of course, of course! take care of her!" pierre said, stepping back.

before the director could even finish his sentence, michael grabbed your hand, pulled you out of the booth, threw a messy fistful of hundred-dollar bills onto the table without even counting them, and practically dragged you out of the restaurant and into the cool, rainy paris night.

the moment the heavy door of the luxury town car slammed shut, the quiet interior of the vehicle felt like a pressure cooker ready to explode.

before the driver, jean, could even put the car in drive, michael reached forward with a sudden, aggressive jerk and slammed the black privacy partition shut. the sharp clack of the glass sealing you off was the starting gun.

"what the hell was that?!" michael turned on you, his voice deep, angry, and completely stripped of his usual gentle tone. but his eyes were wide, dark, and wild with a dangerous amount of lust. he grabbed your waist with both hands, pulling you across the leather seat until your chest slammed against his. "you almost embarrassed us in front of one of the biggest directors in europe! you are so incredibly stubborn, you never listen to a single word i say!"

"because you treat me like a child!" you yelled back, your voice cracking with a mix of anger and overstimulation. "you left those panties in my drawer on purpose! you wanted me to wear them!"

"i bought them for us to use in bed!" he growled, his gentlemanly restraint finally snapping. "not for you to tease me with under a table in public!"

before you could shoot another smart remark back at him, michael’s lips slammed down onto yours.

the kiss was rough, messy, and absolutely explosive. it was filled with the bitter taste of forty-eight hours of arguing, mixed with a desperate, starving hunger that had been building between you for weeks. you groaned loudly into his mouth, your hands flying to his hair, pulling him closer as his tongue demanded entry, tasting you deeply.

you couldn't take the distance anymore. you needed him. you scrambled up, swinging your leg over his lap until you were fully straddling his thighs, your dress riding up to your hips.

the very second your pelvis slammed down onto his hard length, you both let out a loud, breathless gasp.

the vibrating toy was trapped perfectly between your pubic bones. the heavy, intense vibrations from the high setting were transferring directly through the thin lace of your panties and right into his throbbing erection, while pressing relentlessly back against your swollen, wet clit.

"oh, god," michael groaned, his head falling back against the leather headrest. his grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into the flesh of your waist. "oh, baby... what are you doing to me?"

"now you feel it," you whimpered, your head spinning as the crazy high vibration buzzed straight through your pelvis, vibrating through his hard shaft at the exact same time.

you began to grind your hips down on him in a slow, heavy circle, your wet heat rubbing ruthlessly against his zipper. the dual stimulation was so intense your vision blurred. you could feel him twitching under you, rock hard and straining against his pants.

"i was just so mad," michael confessed, his voice breaking, completely vulnerable as he looked up at you with blown-out, glassy eyes. his hand shook in his pocket, hitting the pulse button again, making the toy beat in deep, heavy thuds right against your clit. "i hated... i hated fighting with you so much. i didn't want us to be like this. i was just being impatient because i wanted everything to be perfect for us, and then you wouldn't even look at me."

you let out a soft cry, your body melting as the sheer pleasure of his words and the heavy thrumming between your legs began to break down all your anger. "i wanted you too, michael. i was just so stubborn... i thought you were just trying to control me, and it made me so angry."

"i would never want to control you, baby," he gasped, his hips bucking up slightly, sending a wave of electric friction right through your soaked lace. "i'm so sorry. i'm sorry i rushed you. i'm sorry i was so impatient."

"i'm sorry too," you cried out, tears of overwhelming pleasure finally leaking from your eyes as you buried your face in his neck, biting the soft skin there as you ground down harder. "i'm sorry... oh god, michael, it feels too good."

"yes, yes, grind on me, sweetheart," he groaned, his hands moving from your waist to grip your ass, squeezing the soft flesh and pulling you down hard against him. "show me how much you want me. tell me you're mine."

"i'm yours," you gasped, your body completely taking over as you began to dry hump him with a fast, desperate hunger. the thick fabric of his suit pants and the silk of your dress created a burning, tight friction that was driving you both insane. you were completely soaked, the wetness bleeding through your lace and dampening his trousers.

every time you slid down, the toy buzzed violently against your clit and his shaft, sending sharp, electric jolts of pleasure straight to your brain.

michael was panting heavily, his neck flushed red, his head tossing from side to side against the leather seat. "god, you're so wet... i can feel you soaking right through my pants, baby. you're driving me crazy. grind harder, yes, just like that."

you moved your hips faster, matching his desperate, upward thrusts. the car cabin was filled with the hot, heavy sound of your wet friction, the frantic buzzing of the toy, and your mingled, breathless moans. you could feel the tight coil of your climax wrapping tight in your lower stomach, threatening to snap.

"michael, i'm close... i'm going to come, oh god, i can't hold it," you sobbed, your hands clutching his broad shoulders, your fingernails digging into his skin through his jacket.

"come for me, baby. rub right against me and let it go," michael pleaded, his voice completely wrecked, his hips bucking up with a heavy, relentless force to meet every single downstroke. "let me feel you shake."

you let out a loud, uninhibited cry as your climax ripped through you. your internal muscles clamped down hard, pulsing in tight, desperate waves against him. the sheer, raw intensity of the orgasm made your entire body tremble, your head falling onto his shoulder as you sobbed from the pleasure.

seeing you undo like that broke michael completely. with a loud, guttural roar, he bucked his hips up hard, his body locking up as he came. his release came in heavy, hot surges, soaking completely through his underwear and the expensive grey wool of his trousers, staining them as he pumped desperately against your twitching body.

you both collapsed against each other, chests heaving in perfect sync, your hearts hammering wildly against each other's ribs. the car was quiet, save for your ragged breathing and the slow, dying hum of the vibrator as michael finally turned it off.

after a long, quiet minute, neither of you moved. you just held each other tightly, the lingering sparks of pleasure slowly fading into a warm, comfortable glow.

then, a soft, bubbly laugh escaped your lips, echoing in the quiet car. michael let out a breathless, beautiful chuckle of his own, burying his face in your messy hair and kissing your temple. "we are absolutely crazy."

"yeah, we are," you smiled, finally sitting up and smoothing your hair back, looking down at his lap. both of your eyes landed on the exact same spot at the exact same time.

right at the crotch of his expensive, custom-tailored grey trousers was a very large, very noticeable, dark wet spot.

michael stared at it, then looked up at you with a mix of utter disbelief, shock, and sheer amusement. "well. i definitely cannot walk through the main lobby of the hotel looking like this."

smiling warmly, he reached over and pressed the intercom button for the driver. "jean? change of plans. please pull into the VIP side entrance. the one with the private elevator."

𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓 ( 𝟏𝟖+ )

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ٠࣪⭑— 𝐦. 𝐣𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤!𝐟𝐞𝐦 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 ٠࣪⭑— 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 (𝟏𝟖+). 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫/𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫. 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭. 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 (𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡). 𝐜𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞 𝐬𝐦𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐞 (🤏🏾). 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝. 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐟. 𝐠𝐮𝐧𝐬.

Here it was, the big night of the century in Mississippi —the Juke Joint, hosted by..The Jacksons. All this dancing and drinking had you a bit loose, and this was your third bathroom break of the night. Crazy right?

Jackie, whose job was to guard the door, chewing on a toothpick, stared at you walking up to the door. Your kitten heels were clacking as you got closer to him. He eyed you up and down before he stood up in front of the door.

"Yo, where you think you goin'? Once again?" Jackie came close to you, inhaling the whiskey on your warm breath as he tilted his head. You rolled your eyes at him and attempted to push him out of the way, but he barely budged.

"Move, I gotta go pee," you whined, dragging your hand down his suit. Jackie followed your hand with his eyes as it dragged against him, looking a bit jocular. "Make it quick—I'm not bout' to keep watching over you, woman," You laughed a bit at his response before you slid passed him.

"Mmm, ya bet," you said, with your finger still lingering against Jackie's chest as you smiled back at him. He knew you were a bit tipsy, so he would watch you walk away from the club, swaying your hips in your silky dress.

Staring back at him as you slowly disappeared into the dark by the bushes.

"This girl, man," Jackie shook his head as he laughed when he sat back down on his stool.

You ducked down by a bush, pulling up your dress and squatting.

A soft breeze brushing against your face from the winds, releasing some pressure from how long you’ve been holding this in.

Bushes behind you sounded like they were being moved and someone was trying to fight through him.

Whispers felt like they were close, directly in your ear, “I’m not gonna hurt you, I promise,” the mysterious voice cooed.

“what?—hello?” you answered back, trying to keep quiet but at the same time freaking out.

Music and stomping feet filled the club with so much joy, as everyone danced, sweat dripping down the sides of their foreheads and hair sweating out. And the sweet smell of whiskeys and beers—roamed the musky air like a thick fog settling over a swamp.

Marlon, who was smoking a cig with his close one in age—Michael.

They both leaned against a wooden pillar, watching over the party while Tito watched from upstairs, also eyeing a couple fine ladies.

“Where’d miss..tootsie go?” Marlon asked with his tongue in his cheek to hide a smile, nudging on Michael’s right arm .

“She been drinkin’ since she got hea, I don’t know,” Michael acknowledged as he shrugged. “You don’t care?” Marlon crossed his arms when he leaned his head more forward to get a better look at Michael underneath his hat.

“Nah, I care—m’just tryna watch over my people,” Michael removed the cigarette from his lips as he slowly turned his head towards his brother with a smirk. Marlon just smiled and nodded and glanced elsewhere towards the crowd who was humming along to the music and instruments on stage.

As Marlon got a fair glance over at what was happen before him, he turned back towards Michael—as when he thought that Michael was still standing here. He was gone, leaving behind a hint of his signature scent.

“Michael..?” Marlon called out, looking behind the pillar.

Your bathroom break was finally over, you felt yourself walking more straighter than usual, and with more of a—strut.

Jackie’s head shot up once he heard footsteps become more prominent by the second; his leg stretched across the entrance as his head was rested against the wooden wall.

“Oh, hey! You’re back.” Jackie announced. He could see a hunger in your eyes, but couldn’t quite make it out. Your hands were elegantly resting in front of you as you stared at Jackie, his neck, and then back at his eyes.

“You’re gonna let me in—or are you gonna keep your leg right there?” You said with your head tilted, teasingly. “Yes ma’am, my apologizes.” He immediately moved his leg and put his hands up in surrender. “That’s what I thought,” you snapped back underneath your breath as you cat-walked passed him.

A laugh was being heard from the bar as you peeked around to see who it was. The gentlemen, Michael jackson, who was known for his wonderful vocals and sweet spirit.

You stopped in your tracks as you gave yourself the time to remember his figure. Brown suit, brown slacks, and of course his shoes, can’t forget the shoes. His white socks with red and brown leather shoes. Your breath hitched a bit, you met him before—but the more you were around him, the way you could smell him from here, turned you on even more.

Confidence was taking over your body as you walked towards him, adjusting your hair in the process. “Michael?” You cooed. Michael slowly turned around at his name being questioned by such a doting voice, and there you were, glistening under the warm toned lights. “Mm, well hello,” Michael couldn’t hold back the smirk that was fighting to be expressed.

“Hi, whatcha drinkin’?” You said as you settled yourself down on the stool next to him, staring at the details of the deep arch in his hat being shown from the light.

“Oh, this isn’t mines, I’m watchin’ someone’s drink. You?” He now turned his body to fully face you, taking in the view. You were a bit dazed at how badly you were craving him right now, even the thought of him between your teeth was enough to arouse you.

“I’ve had enough for the night,” you joked around with a little giggle as you glided your hand down his thigh.

Michael was the easiest Jackson out of the five that was there, and additionally you wanted him badly and knew a way with your words—so this wouldn’t be a difficult task.

“Can I just-” You reached over for the glass. Slowly pushing up against Michael as you stretched across him. “Wait,” he grabbed onto your wrist as his fingers brushed against your jewelry. You turned your head, moving the hair out of your face while now staring deadly into his eyes. That look gave you meant business, and you wanted it handled now.

He immediately removed his hand off your wrist and you continued moving the drink away from his, handing it to the lady who was helping with drinks. “Thank you..” you said holding eye contact with her and then back at Michael, who looked amused at your seriousness and who clearly found your lips amusing too.

You went in for it, back arching in his lap, kissing him on his lips, letting a soft moan escape him. He pulled back, now giving both of your eyes their undivided attention as a smirk slowly formed on his face. Your finger trailed against his jawline, stroking it until your finger got to his chin and then hovered over his lip.

The way this feeling was taking over your body was crazy, Michael could feel himself growing at the way you touched him so softly and how you stared at him with such hunger.

He got up from his stool, still looking a bit dazed, and offered your hand. You immediately took the invite and followed him into a room with shelves and a rug.

You locked the door behind you smirking, and then dropped it once you turned around to him, once you got him alone—finally.

Michael watched you as you locked the door, taking off his suit jacket. “Y’know I love you, right?” you asked as you took off your heels while walking towards him. Michael raised an eyebrow, confused on how you have such a strong feeling when you two just met. “I just wanna—touch you, taste you, in all kinds of ways, Mikey..” you caressed the back of his neck as you whispered into his ear, licking and nibbling at it.

The way your voice sounded, so starved, but yet demanding—sent chills down his spine. “M-me too,” his breath hitched, as he has never been around a woman such as you, with this much tenderness but control. You laughed at how pussy whipped you had him and you haven’t even put anything on him yet, but the submissive actions coming from him caused an aching sensation between your legs.

You moaned at the way he folded so quickly. “Lay,” you demanded, pointing towards the floor. He took off his hat and sat it next to his jacket that was laying next to him. He watched you lower down on his crotch as his lip was caught in his teeth.

Soon as you lowered down on him, his hands flew to grasp onto your waist. His finger tips dug into the plush of your hips and then slowly gravitated to your ass. You could feel your mouth getting watery as drool slowly escapes your mouth when you stared at his abdomen and then his lips. “Mama, you droolin’,” he stared at the drool that was connected to your lips.

“Y’wanna taste?” You cooed as you got closer to his face. He nodded and collected the drool on his fingers, stuffing them in your mouth.

Tito and Marlon were scoping the party, keeping an eye on people, trying to make sure nothing bad was happening. Then there it was—the trouble. Two men were fighting over a game, and one stole the other man's knife.

"HEY—cut that out!" Tito yelled, and the whole room went silent. The two men froze and immediately backed off from each other. "Oh, so y'all fighting in our establishment?" Marlon and Tito both grabbed for their guns, and they looked around to see how much of a mess the men had made.

"No, sir," one man said, scared and shaking his head while being out of breath. "So, the fuck is y'all doin'?" Marlon cursed, furrowing his eyebrows. They both looked at each other before they both spoke.

"He stole my knife!" "He tried stabbing me because he being a punk ass bitch!" The men argued. Tito tilted his head as he tried to listen to both while tucking his lips. "Get the knife from em," Tito ordered Marlon. The man who held the knife held it up like he was trying to fight Marlon for attempting to grab it from him.

"Try it, and I'll shoot ya'," Tito announced as he held the gun up to get ready to shoot fire. Marlon tripped him as he pulled off his leg trip takedown, and instantly grabbed the knife from him. "Keep trying me, and y'all asses gon' be kicked out," Marlon said as he backed up with the knife and shoved it in his pocket. "You'll get this back once you leave," Tito added.

“Have y'all seen Michael?” Randy interrupted. Marlon turned his neck quickly. “he’s been gone for twenty minutes,” Randy adds on, looking around. “Oh my goodness, move, boy.” Marlon snapped back and Tito looked back at the men before he followed behind him.

They walked around the place, separating while their hands were on their gun for easy access. Randy, who was by the room that you and Michael were in, heard a noise. You didn’t mind being loud since music was blasting through the place and no one was worried about that part of the club.

Pornographic moans were leaving your mouth as you bounced on his dick, as he was constantly kissing your cervix like no other. “Oh, fuck—” you panted, groping onto one of your boobs. Michael went in for a kiss to muffle both of your whimpers as he bucked his hips into you to chase his climax.

“Y’feel—so so good,” Michael whined as he pulled away from the kiss. You were getting closer alongside him and couldn’t help yourself—he was now in a very vulnerable place and you took this as a chance to scan his neck and Adam’s apple fully when he threw his head back.

As your fingers moved his head to the side to let you get a good look at his neck, his prominent and juicy veins were now being shown. Your fangs fully formed as you mouth was now salivating more than usual, you licked the spot you were targeting to bite and numbed it. “Mikeyyy” was the last thing he heard, as you cooed, the way you said it still buzzing through his ear.

“Michael!?” Randy banged on the door using his two fists. All he heard was soft cries and whimpering—of pain or pure ecstasy?

“Aah!” Came out of Michael’s mouth as his fingers dug deep into your waist, attempting to pull you off.

“Marlon! Tito!” Randy yelled for his brothers as they came rushing to the scene. “He's in there,” Randy pointed to the door and backed up. “Michael! Open the damn door!” Tito ordered as he fully pulled his gun out of his pants and put it to the side of him.

No answer.

“Michael!” Marlon yelled for him.

No. Answer.

They all attempted to break down the door as it started to bend inward.

You stopped riding him as you nibbled at his neck as he slowly began to lose blood. Blood was staining your fangs, dripping now onto your chin, your collarbone, and then onto your silky brown dress.

The door finally caved in as the three men stared at your back as they slowly approached. Your eyes were glowing with a red tint as you wiped your mouth with the back of your hands, your silk press all messy and covered with blood across your face. Your chest was heaving from the adrenaline of sucking and eating away at Michael.

You rose to your feet, giving his brother a full view of his body. He was back dressed but was holding his neck as he tried to say something. “What the fuck?” Marlon snapped, as he raised his gun and released fire directly at you. You ran out of the room screaming, hauling ass outside.

“They’re coming!” You yelled as you ran out.

Marlon ran to Michael, immediately falling to his knees. “Michael!” Marlon cried out as he picked Michael’s head up into his lap, trying to apply pressure to his neck. “M-Marlon—she- she-,” Michael tried to say but started choking on his blood.

All of them were on the ground next to him watching him take his last breath. Their eyes widen as Michael went limp, Jackie looked more confused than hurt. His eyebrows furrowed as he was deep in thought still with his brother’s blood on his hands.

“She bit him! That soul-sucking ass bitch was a vampire!” Jackie yelled out as he stared at the spot you bit him in.

“Lets go—let's go, now!” Jackie ordered, gathering all his brothers and leaving the room. But Marlon still couldn't register that his brother was really gone, right in front of him. “Marlon, please.” Jackie came back to grab Marlon by his arm as he was fighting back his second round of tears.

“Someone lock the door before he turns!” Randy insisted. Tito locked the door with a key and slowly backed up.

“What should we do?” Randy asked as he started to shake. They all looked at each other, dumbfounded, not sure what to do. “Maybe—grab some garlic or sum’?” Marlon asked.

As soon as Tito went to grab some garlic from the bar, there was a knock on the door—the room where Michael was pronounced dead.

Everyone froze as they looked toward the door, and they heard a soft but heavy voice come from behind the door. Tito put his head to the door to make sure he wasn't going crazy.

Then a big knife came through the wooden door and was instantly pulled back. Tito gasped as his back met the wooden wall behind him, in shock. “Marlon!” a voice called for Marlon. He took a deep breath and got his gun ready as he approached the door.

“Michael? That’s you?” Marlon asked as his voice shook as he peeped through the hole that was made from Michael’s knife.

“Who else would it be? Now let me out.” The voice sounded just like Michael, his brother could see his smile, nice and clean, through the hole. That little mustache of his was sitting pretty on top of his top lip as his fangs started to show.

Marlon looked back at his brother before he said anything else.

“T-that ain’t Michael, Marlon.” Jermaine stuttered as his chest started to heave.

“Oh my goodness,” Jackie immediately broke down in tears once again.

“You doin’ alright?” Marlon turned back towards the door while still peeking into the hole.

“Yeah, I’m alright. Now let me out, please,” Michael said as he went to pick up his hat.

“Y’sure? You lost a lotta blood..” Marlon questioned.

Michael grew angrier as more questions were being asked, and he wasn’t being let out. “Stop asking me all these questions and let me out, man.” Michael began banging on the door.

He began pushing the door with his shoulder, hard and using all his strength. "Michael, stop!" Tito yelled out of fear.

The room went silent as the bangs echoed off the walls.

Then there Michael was, built up all his vampire strength, backing up from the door, and he came busting through.

And he ran out of the club into the complete darkness as his brothers watched him disappear.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ٠࣪⭑ : @swavydadon @blkkbratt @kissmyglxck @ariesthesun @anglfac @princesspluuto @plan3tch1ld @michaeljacksonspyt

PRIMADONNA GIRL!

bad ! era synopsis — the rivalry between you and michael runs deep until one hotel mishap brings you two closer than ever.

content — porn with plot, forced proximity, mean dom! michael and mean switch! reader, cursing, smut, p in v, aphrodisiac, hate sex, dry humping, unprotected, spanking, backshots, choking, riding, lowk brat tamer mike

As the industry’s queen, you didn't just top charts, you made them.

If you wore a certain outfit, it was gospel. If you gave an artist the cold shoulder, their career was essentially on life support. You were charming, yes, but it was a calculated, lethal kind of charm—the kind that you’d lose your mind trying to detect.

And then there was Michael.

For years, the two of you had been locked in a cold war that played out in the headlines. It was a cycle of petty war.

During a Rolling Stone interview, when asked about his latest hit, you hadn't even looked up from your manicure. "Oh, Michael's great," you’d said with a bored, sharp smile. "He’s doing a really impressive job of mimicking the production style I debuted two years ago. It’s sweet, like a little tribute act."

At the Grammys, you’d walked right past his table, deliberately spilling your champagne so that his handlers had to scramble to clean it up, offering nothing but a dead eyed, "Oops, my bad."

Michael didn't play nice, either. In a broadcasted acceptance speech, he’d thanked his team for keeping his music about "real soul" and not just "a pretty voice and PR stunts," a jab so blatant it made the morning headlines the next day.

The night of the International Music Awards, the tension was suffocating. You were draped in a beautifully tight dress, Michael across the aisle in a tailored suit that cost more than a house. You spent the entire ceremony trading glares; every time he caught you looking, he’d just raise a brow, or roll his eyes, completely unimpressed, which only made you want to scream.

By 2:00 AM, you were on your way to the hotel. Your team was exhausted, and you dismissed them with a flick of your wrist. "Go away. I need to sleep for a week."

You swiped your keycard, the light chirped green, and you kicked the door shut behind you, ready to peel off your makeup and collapse. But you stopped dead.

Michael was sitting on the edge of the bed, his jacket discarded on the floor, rubbing his temples as if he had the world's worst headache. He looked up, startled, his eyes wide.

"What the hell?" you breathed, staring at him like he was a roach in your kitchen.

Michael stood up, looking just as confused as you were. "What’re you doing here?" he asked, his voice rough. "This is my room."

"In your dreams, maybe," you snapped, waving your keycard at him. "This is my suite. I booked the penthouse. Get your shit and get out before I lose my mind."

"I booked the penthouse too, lady," he said, gesturing to his own room key on the nightstand. "I’ve been here for an hour."

You stormed toward him, your heels stabbing into the carpet. "Oh my God, I have absolutely zero desire to be breathing the same air as you right now. Get out you disgusting creep."

"Creep? Are you kidding me?" Michael walked over to the desk, his voice rising in genuine annoyance, dropping all that 'mean' act for a second. "I got here before you, Y/N. I didn't steal your fucking room."

"I’m not spending ten seconds in this room with you."

"You think I want to be stuck with you? You’re the last person I want to see after that shitshow of a ceremony."

You both stared at each other, the annoyance quickly curdling into genuine frustration. "This is a joke, right? Some kind of sick, twisted prank by the hotel?" You marched over to the bedside phone and slammed the receiver off the hook, dialing the front desk with aggressive, angry jabs.

"Yeah, hello?" you barked into the phone, not even waiting for a greeting. "There's a man in my room. A very annoying, very uninvited man. Fix this. Now."

You listened for a moment, your expression twisting into a mask of pure fury. You slammed the phone back down. "They’re 'lookin into it,'" you hissed at him. "Which means they have no clue what’s going on."

"Great," Michael sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Just great."

"We’re going to the front desk before I burn this entire Goddamn building down."you hissed, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him toward the door.

Downstairs, the front desk clerk looked like he wanted to jump out of a window. He frantically tapped at his computer while you paced in front of the desk, heels clicking hard against the marble floor.

"I’m so, SO sorry," the clerk stammered, his voice shaking. "There was a mishap in the reservation book. The entire hotel is booked for the award show. I have absolutely nothing left."

"I don’t give a shit if you have nothing left," you snarled, your patience completely shredded. "Find me a room, or I’ll have this hotel torn down by morning."

"The only other option is the Riverside Inn," the clerk whispered. "It’s... it’s a two-star motel on the edge of town."

Michael let out a dry, humorless laugh. "A two-star? You’re joking."

"I’m not staying in a dump like that," you snapped, turning to Michael. "Fix it. You’re the 'Global Icon,' right pretty boy? Use your influence…or dance or something. Whatever it is you do to get us a real room."

"Oh, sure, let me just snap my fingers and make a room appear," Michael shot back, his voice starting to lose its patience. "Don't act like this is my fault. I’m just as annoyed as you are, brat."

"Don't call me a brat, asshole," you hissed.

You both stood there, glaring at each other, the lobby staff watching in terrified silence. It was clear: you were too vain to leave, he was too exhausted, and both of you were too stubborn to admit that the only option left was to tolerate each other’s presence for the night.

You looked at Michael, then back at the terrified clerk, your jaw locked. "I hate you," you growled. "I hope you know I’m going to make this the most miserable night of your pathetic life."

Michael just sighed, turning toward the elevator. "Yeah, yeah. Save that bullshit for the cameras, princess."

The ride back to the penthouse was a study in controlled rage. You stood in the far corner, arms crossed tightly over your chest, vibrating with the kind of cold, sharp anger that usually sent assistants into early retirement. Michael stood by the doors, hands shoved deep into his pockets, staring at his own reflection with a jaw so tight it looked like it might shatter.

When the doors slid open, you didn't even wait for him.

"I take the bed," you said, not looking at him. "You take anything else. If I even hear you breathing, I’m calling the front desk and telling them you’re harassing me."

Michael walked past you, throwing his own jacket over the back of a velvet armchair. "That’s fine by me, Y/N. Just keep your stuff on your side of the room. I don't want your designer nonsense touching my things."

"My 'nonsense' is worth more than your lousy ass career, so keep your crusty hands off my stuff," you snapped, tossing your heels aside and watching as they narrowly missed his feet.

You were mid argument, deep in a heated debate over who got access to the walk in closet—"I need it to curate my looks," you argued, to which he replied, "I need it to actually unpack, not play dress up"—when a sharp knock echoed at the door.

It was a waiter, looking terrified as he wheeled in a silver cart laden with an extravagant spread of pastries, chocolate truffles, and exotic fruits drenched in thick honey. He stammered a frantic apology from the manager, desperate to appease both of you. You scoffed, eyeing the spread. "Tell them to keep the bum ass bribe."

Michael, however, stepped forward, offering the waiter a warm, polite smile that made you want to gag. "Thank you. This is very kind of them," he said smoothly, before the guy practically sprinted out of the room.

He picked up a small, honey glazed pastry, turning it over in his fingers. It smelled intoxicating—deep, floral, and strangely heavy. He took a bite, his expression shifting from polite to genuinely impressed. "You should try this, actually. It's not bad."

"I’m not gonna eat from a hotel that can't even book a room correctly," you said, but the smell was starting to worm its way into your senses, making your mouth water against your will.

"Suit yourself," he murmured, his voice sounding weirdly satisfied as he reached for another, smacking his lips as he chewed.

"Can you stop?" you groaned, leaning against the marble counter. "The smacking. It’s like listening to a wet sponge. It’s fucking repulsive."

"Shut up and try one," he countered, holding the plate out.

You grabbed a honey covered strawberry, mostly just to get him to shut up, and took a reluctant bite. The flavor hit you like a physical force. Sweet, intense, and wildly addictive. You hated it. You hated that it was the one of the best things you’d ever tasted, and you hated even more that he was watching you, waiting for your reaction.

"Good?" he asked, his voice low and smug.

"Fuck off," you muttered, though you were already reaching for another one.

An hour later, the room had gone quiet. The suite felt different—warmer, the air thicker. Michael had disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of the shower running providing a steady, rhythmic background to your boredom. You were sitting on the bed, robe pulled tight, watching a documentary on the television, but your focus was shattered.

A strange, prickling heat began to crawl up your spine. It was a slow, creeping tingle that made the fabric of your robe feel like sandpaper against your skin. Your heart rate spiked, a frantic, thumping rhythm that wouldn't slow down, and your hands felt unsteady as you reached for another fruit from the nightstand.

When the bathroom door finally opened, the tension in the room snapped into focus. Michael walked out, dressed in plain cotton pajamas that did nothing to hide the fact that he was looking just as frayed as you felt. He walked over and sat on the very edge of the bed, his back to you, his shoulders visibly tense.

He let out a long, ragged sigh, his head dropping back.

The sound irritated you to your core. "What’s your problem now?" you snapped, sitting up and pulling the robe tighter around your burning skin.

He didn't turn around. He just stared at the wall, his breathing noticeably heavy, his voice a low, strangled rasp. "Nothin’."

A heavy, suffocating silence filled the room. You watched him, your own breath hitching as a wave of heat flooded to your stomach, your thighs clenching together, desperate for relief. He shifted, his posture suddenly rigid, and you caught the flash of a distinct, thickening bulge in his pajamas that he was clearly struggling to hide.

He turned his head slightly, his eyes locking onto yours with a hazy, dark intensity. "Are you... are you feeling kinda hot?"

You tightened your grip on the blanket, your heart hammering so hard you were sure he could hear it. "A little," you lied, your voice breathless. The silence in the room was heavy. You went to the bathroom, your hands pressed against the cool tile, trying to wash the heat from your face. It was no use. Every shallow breath you took felt like you were inhaling honey—thick and intoxicating.

You walked back into the bedroom, your robe feeling like a weighted shackle. Michael was sitting on the edge of the bed. He didn’t look up, but the way his hands gripped the edge of the mattress told you everything.

"I can’t take this," you breathed, your voice trembling. The air felt thin. "I’m so hot."

"Me too," he rasped, his voice dropping an octave, raw and jagged. "We need to fix this."

He slowly looked up. His hair was a damp, messy wreck, and his eyes were dilated, black holes swallowing the dim light. He looked at you, really looked at you, and the way his gaze dragged over the slip of your robe made your stomach flip. You felt a deep, aching throb pulling at your core everything to do with the man sitting three feet away.

You didn't answer with words. You crossed the room in two strides, your movements fluid, and loomed over him. You reached out and shoved his chest, not hard, but enough to make him stumble back onto the mattress. "Move," you ordered.

He didn't fight you. He fell back, propping himself up on his elbows, watching you with a dangerous, hungry expectation. You climbed over him, the scent of the honeyed aphrodisiac radiating from his skin acting like a magnet. You straddled his hips, feeling the thick straining of his dick through his pajamas, and began to press down. You started moving against him, a slow, torturous grind that made his breath hitch.

“I can’t believe im doing this,” You gasp out, feeling his hands come up, gripping your waist with bruising force, his thumb digging into your hip as he moves you against him faster. “This is so gross.”

He let out a frustrated grunt as his hips stuttered forward, a clumsy, needy twitch, pressing his firmly against the center of your panties. He looked up at you, his eyes glassy and needy, his face a messy, dark crimson where a deep blush had spread over his cheeks, all the way to the tips of his ears. He looked completely undone by the simple feeling of you against him. "Shut the fuck up," he grits, though he didn't stop, his hips rolling forward seeking the heat and friction you offered. You let out a small, breathy sound he leaned into it, another buck of his hips sending a jolt through both of you.

His hand slipped between you, fingers finding the edge of your panties. You held your breath as he traced along the seam, teasing without entering. Teasing you before his fingers slid beneath the lace, finding you slick and ready. A low groan escaped his throat. "God, you’re s'wet for me."

"Don’t flatter yourself." But the heat on your cheeks betrayed you. His touch was skilled, knowing exactly where to press, how to curl. Your hips began moving against his hand, chasing the friction with uncontrollable hunger.

But it wasn’t enough to calm the heat. You grab his wrist, stilling his movements. His eyes widened in surprise. His pants came off in a tangle of fabric and impatience. He lay beneath you, fully exposed, letting you drink in the sight. Lean hips. Defined stomach. The way his chest rose and fell with shallow breaths as he watched you with anticipation.

You positioned yourself above him, feeling the tip press against your entrance. "Last..chance to back out," You pant.

He just smirked, hands resting on your hips as you slowly sinking down, every inch making your head fuzzy as you struggle to fully take him. The feeling was so overwhelming. His hands move to your thighs as you began to move, finding a rhythm that drove him deeper with each roll of your hips.

He threw his head back, a string of curses falling from his lips. He looked up at you with wide eyes, big hands moving to grip at every inch of your waist and hips.

You bit your lip, fighting back a smile as you look down at him, hands on his chest as you lazily roll your hips on his cock, his thick tip leaking deep inside your pussy.

"God... feels s'good," He babbles, voice shaky and lashes fluttering with every movement. His words encourage you to roll your hips faster, grinding his fat dick right against your cervix, wet squelching sounds harmonizing with his now louder whimpers.

His arms pull you down onto his chest, wrapping around you as he stuffs his face into your sweaty shoulder. His hips buck upward, creamy slick coating his length with every rut. The mixture creates an obscene glide between your bodies.

“Look at you—haah—moaning like a little bitch in heat.” You mock in between moans, letting out a small laugh as you grind against him, watching as his face scrunches up in pleasure, biting his lip to hold back from moaning. “Oh, you think that shit funny?” He grunts, letting out a frustrated, guttural sound and in one fluid motion, he flipped you, pinning you on your stomach beneath him. He was actually strong—terrifyingly so. He didn't waste time. He shoved his knee between your thighs, forcing them wider, his eyes burning with that familiar, hateful intensity.

"Awww, look at you. Such a mess f’me."

Michael’s hips rock forward, driving his dick as deep as it would go into your tight walls, you claw at the blanket every time he even pushes an inch further into your cunt, fucking you into the mattress with slow and purposeful strokes until you swore you felt him in your throat.

This man is must be trying to kill me, you think to yourself as you clutch the pillow beneath you, it slowly becoming stained with sweat, tears, smeared with your mascara and lip gloss, you're becoming a complete mess yet he shows no sign of letting up soon. He was having sweet revenge. Your arms started to waiver, no longer able to support your weight as Michael continued to pound into you from behind, one hand molding the flesh of your ass while the other hand rests at your waist, tugging you back against his hips, slender fingers splayed across your curves, keeping you right where he wanted you.

Another high pitched whine leaves your lips as the tip of his cock nudges right against your sweet spot, dropping your head against the pillow as pleasure ignites every nerve in your body till you felt as if you were burning. A low chuckle rumbles in his chest and you swear you could just feel his stupid fucking grin tugging at his lips as he watches you slowly but surely lose every coherent and bitchy thought in your mind.

"Fuck," he curses lowly, his hand gripping your ass a little tighter, his eyes glued to the way your cunt clenched around him, sucking him right back in whenever his hips drew backwards. "Ain’t got nothing to say now do you? Creamin' round me like a good girl. My dick that good, huh?" His hand moves to your throat, gripping it tightly, watching you gasp for air.

There's a sharp reply sitting in the back of your throat—God knows you wanted to get him off his high horse so badly — but even if you could talk, there's no point in arguing. No one has ever fucked you like this and he knows this. He had you hooked. There was no escaping for you now.

You honestly should’ve felt embarrassed by the sounds you were making, clenching around him like you don't want him to leave, to stop just yet, and Michael only feeds into it, leaning his body over yours, giving your ass a good couple of hard smacks before planting both of his arms at the sides of yours til you could feel the sweaty heat of him on your back.

A whimper bubbles up on your barely glossed lips, the rest of it smeared across your face from where you've been writhing against pillows and blankets. Michael grins against your skin— the feeling of his lips on you causes goosebumps to rise across your neck and shoulders before he plants wet kisses along them until he reaches your lips.

Michael pulls his chest away from your sticky back, his hand pushing down on the small of it while his other finds your puffy clit between your dripping folds. A scream tears in the column of your throat as he simultaneously pumps his throbbing cock into you and draws his name across your clit in tight movements. The combination has your mind in a frenzy, clouding with visions of lust as your thighs tremble and struggle to keep you up.

Juices roll down you thighs in thick waves, gathering around Michael’s cock in a frothy white mix the more he fucks into you — the wet pap, pap, pap of his balls against your cunt echoing throughout your bedroom. You glaze him in your arousal, smearing it up his pelvis and the fronts of his toned thighs. you make him a complete mess. "ffuck s’too much," you babble out, eyes rolling to the back out your head as you reach your hand behind you, finger tips pushing against his pelvis in a desperate effort to slow him down.

"You’re doing so well, though. Keep singing for me, mama, lemme hear you." He praises over your loud tune of kitten mewls, breathless pants and soft hiccups, feeling him reach for your arm and tossing it off him. You can feel yourself getting closer and he's not even fully inside of you. He can feel it too. But Michael doesn't falter, placing his foot on the bed as leverage to move his hips faster, harder— groaning deep between bared and gritted fangs while he watches your ass jiggle against his pelvis, shining with your slick. "You gonna cum, baby?"

“D-don’t fucking call me that,” you grit out, though he doesn’t really care for what you’re saying for the musician is already playing with your sensitive clit once again, drawing electrifying shapes against it and rubbing your juices back into your sex while you clench around his sloppy cock. The hotel mix up had to be one of the best accidents you've ever experienced, you think as you fall apart— eyes rolling far back into your skull while you clench and cream on him.

"Atta girl," Michael coos as you come down from your earth shattering high, a mess of weak bones and jelly legs in his arms. "You're so fucking disgusting," You pant, though your body says otherwise, clenching his dick with a vice like grip. "Get off me."

"Cant when you're dripping down my… and..., fuck," His words struggle to come out of his mouth as he cums hard, his entire body shuddering, pumping his thick load into you while you groan— partially at his audacity, but mostly at how full you feel.

The aftermath was a slow descent. You lay there, tangled in the disheveled sheets, your limbs feeling like weights. The room was deathly quiet, save for the ragged, synchronized gasping that filled the space between you. You were a mess—sore, flushed, and utterly breathless—yet your body was still humming with the lingering effects of the aphrodisiac.

He slowly pulls out, flipping you on your back so he could see your precious face, but his eyes drift back to your leaking pussy, watching a mix of your releases seep out of you and onto the starch sheets. You scrunch your face up at the feeling, your chest heaving, trying to gather the shredded remnants of your pride. "That," you rasped, your voice cracking as you struggled to sound dismissive, "was a disgusting mistake. I don't know what came over me, but it won't happen again."

Michael let out a low chuckle. He propped himself up on one elbow, his hair wild and his gaze dark with a triumphant, knowing amusement. He didn't say a word; he just leaned down, captured your chin in his hand, and tilted your head back. He kissed you—slow, deep, and impossibly possessive—until your stubborn resolve crumbled into nothingness, your fingers curling into his damp hair to pull him closer.

Just as you were spiraling back into his orbit, a sharp, polite knock rapped against the suite door.

"Ma’am?" a muffled voice called out. "I just wanted to inform you that we’ve managed to open up another premium suite if you’d like to relocate?"

You pulled back, chest heaving, and looked at Michael. You both went silent, staring at the door. You looked at each other—at the wreck of the room, the clothes strewn everywhere, and the heat still radiating off your skin.

"We're... we're fine," you called out, your voice sounding breathless and shy, a far cry from your usual cold, untouchable persona. "We'll stay here."

"Very well," the worker replied, their voice tight with suppressed excitement.

As the worker’s footsteps receded, they tiptoed down the hall to where a group of hotel staff had been huddled, holding their breath in the corridor. As soon as the worker rounded the corner, they let out a jubilant, hushed cheer.

"They totally fucked," the worker whispered, grinning at the manager, who was practically vibrating with relief. "The honey worked."

The manager leaned against the wall, fanning their face with a clipboard, a smug, brilliant smile spreading across their lips. In a desperate, high stakes gamble to save their jobs from your wrath, they had concocted the perfect dish—a blend of rare, potent ingredients they hoped would finally break the tension between the two most difficult stars on the planet. It hadn't just saved their jobs, it had changed the entire industry's dynamic overnight.

Back in the suite, you had no idea about the little plan. You just glared at Michael, who was currently pulling you closer to him as he laid back on the pillows, his smirk wider than ever.

"I still hate you," you mumbled into his chest.

"I know, baby," he murmured, his hands wandering back down to your waist, his eyes darkening as he was about to remind you once more why you weren't leaving that room. "I know."

and he’ll do a dozen takes under the guise of perfection, and although that’s partially true, he just wants an excuse to aid his fantasy. anything to relive the tension building in his abdomen and that ache throbbing at his girth.

pervy thriller!michael knowing you scare easily, and convincing you into watching a horror movie with him. and it’s all to watch you wiggle and squirm next to him, latch onto his chest or arm when the movie is too much for you to face. god forbid there’s a jump scare and you’re nearly leaping in his lap the way your entire body is scrunched against his. and he’s constantly sneaking glances at your cleavage whenever you jump in fear, watching the way they recoil and slightly spill over your top. mind you he’s scared too but saving face for the sake of perversion.

pervy thriller!michael intentionally wearing his short shorts low on his hips during the summertime so you can get a peak at his happy trail :3

pervy thriller!michael is always inviting you over for a sleepover, and of course at some point you gotta shower! he’ll stupidly ask la toya where you’ve wondered off too knowing damn well where you are, he just wants the satisfaction of the confirmation.

“she’s in the shower, michael.” her tone is flat and uninterested in whatever he’s plotting, not bothering to take her attention off of whatever task she’s invested in. and all he can do is hum in response, cause he’s already painting a scene of you in his rottenly perverted mind.

absolutely soaking wet, possibly sweaty from the heat of the shower. water rolling against the curves of your back and arching along the swell of your ass. thighs jiggling when you scrub against them with your washcloth, your eyes are probably closed in concentration making the task all the more intimate in his mind. and in the mist of feeding his wicked fantasy his senses finally catch on to the rose scented body wash that seeps through the crack of the bathroom door, and into nostrils. and he nearly whines when his girth begins to stiffen.

pervy thriller!michael assisting you in helping you out of your clothes, he’s only being a good friend. he can’t imagine how exhausted you are, there’s no way you could undress alone after a busy day! unzipping dresses, unbuckling belts, softly sliding off pantyhose, carefully slipping off shoes and he’s on one knee, staring though his lashes with his doe eyes. he even offers a foot message, a friendly one! he does it for everyone, he swears !!

pervy thriller!michael never failing to invite you to hayvenhurst for the summer, since you’re so close to the family n’ all. and he will sometimes catch glimpses of you by yourself in your element. maybe sunbathing in their back yard, laid in the grass. the shortest of shorts tuck themselves in between the nook of your ass, full thighs swallowing the fabric whole. your legs lazily swing in the air while you mindlessly read whatever book you’ve challenged yourself to finish for the summer. and like clockwork michael is staring—from afar. still inside, he peers at you through the window, nearly fogging the glass and ruining his vision with the way he’s panting.

a short drabble, in which (drunk!michael) somehow ends up between your legs after a dinner party.

thriller! husband michael and wife!reader. not proofread, 18+

𝒯he driver pulls into the driveway long after the neighborhood has gone quiet. Michael was leaning against the passenger window, jacket loosened, cheeks warm from a little too much champagne. He just got back from the party with you, he was tired...but mostly hungry in a way. It wasn't for the food either, but for his gorjussss wife.

The second the car stops, he looks over at you with the biggest, sleepiest smile. "You know…" he mumbles, his words just a touch slower than usual. "You're… you're really pretty." He smiles to himself before adding, "Prettiest damn thing I've ever seen."

Your brows lift the second the word leaves his mouth. There it is, you thought.

Michael hardly ever swore. In fact, you could probably count on one hand the number of times you'd heard him do it. But give him a little champagne, and every once in a while a 'damn' or a 'hell' would slip out before he even realized it.

"Thank you baby, you're pretty handsome yourself," you chuckled.

"Hm, am I?" he asks, eyeing you like he genuinely wants your answer. You smile, nodding your head. "Yes, you are."

His grin grows a little wider, satisfied with himself. "Good," he murmurs. "Just checkin'."

"Mhm, I love my baby," you tell him while pressing a gentle kiss against his lips and stache, he looked so good with it....

"I'll get you some water when we get inside," you assure him while walking with him to the house.

He hums, letting you guide him up the walkway. "Don't want water…" he mumbles, dragging his feet just enough to make you laugh. "Want somethin' else..."

You knew what he meant by that. Before you can unlock the door, he's already wrapping both arms around your waist, burying his face against your shoulder with a satisfied little hum. "Honey..." you then felt his soft lips placing warm kisses along your neck. You couldn't help but smile as you fish your keys from your purse.

"Let's get you inside before you start letting the alcohol talk.."

"No alcohol it's all me..." he chuckles. He then reaches for your hand before you can unlock the door, "And don't blame the alcohol."

You glance over at him, amused. "Then who should I blame?"

Michael looks down at your hands, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. There's a little grin tugging at his lips.

"The boogie."

You stare at him and immediately bust out laughing, shaking your head. "Oh gosh…"

"I'm serious," he insists, though the smile on his face gives him away. He had a nice sparkle in his eyes, clearly in a pleasant mood. You just shake your head, still laughing as you tug him inside. Michael doesn't put up much of a fight, letting you guide him over to the couch before dramatically dropping down into the cushions.

He sighs happily, stretching out, "There. You happy?"

You stand over him, crossing your arms with an amused smile. "Mhm, go head and lay your tipsy ass down."

Michael looks up at you, his brows raising in fake offense. "My tipsy ass?"

"Yes, that's what I said. Your tipsy ass." He lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he gets comfortable. You slipped off your heels, finally letting your feet breathe after being in them all evening.

You walk into the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. Michael eyes follow as you do. You turned back making your way towards him,

"Drink some, don't want your headache being too bad tomorrow" you say holding it out.

Michael looks up at you, taking it with a small smile. "Thank you baby."

His fingers wrapped around the cap, twisting it open with a small crack. You watched him take a few sips, making sure he actually drank some of it this time. As the night went on, Michael stayed just as playful and tipsy, finding any excuse to make you laugh.

After you both finished washing up he slowly walks up behind you. "Baby please," he says behind you. You could hear the tipsiness still lingering in his voice.

"Michael baby, youre drunk," you reply turning around. "You need to sleep, both of us."

"M'not drunk, just a lil tipsy...." he gives you that smile, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

You shake your head, amused. "Whatever you say, baby."

He steps a little closer, still smiling. "I'm serious."

"Mhm I believe you," you say nodding towards him.

He lets out a quiet chuckle, clearly knowing you don't actually believe a word of it. Then suddenly, something changes in his expression. You watch as a little spark crosses his face, like a thought has just clicked into place. The kind of thought that usually meant he was about to do something ridiculous.

"Let me show you then," he says nodding to you. You tilt your head at him, "You want to show me what?"

"That m'not drunk."

"How?" you asked him a lil suspicious of this bright idea he had. "It'll be good m'promise, just lay on your stomach..."

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀.ೃ࿔*:･

And so you did. You laid on your stomach, your sparkly dress peeled off, lace panties pulled to the side, soft whimpers pouring out your lips as you cried out.

"M-michael?"

"Mhm?" He asked you, his face pushed in your plump ass. His tongue traced through your slickeness, he licked it all up....occasionally spitting it back on your clit.

You let out a quiet cry as you pushed your face in the pillow, "Michael please" you praise him as you arched more. It's all you could say, all you could say was his name in high praise. His big hands spread you, thumbs digging into the soft flesh of your ass as he held you open.

"Still think I'm drunk, baby? Well...maybe just a little...⋆˚࿔" (he muttered the last part to himself)

He sucked slow on your clit between his lips, pulling gently before releasing it free with a pop. His tongue gave long licks from your entrance up to that warm spot, tasting every drop that leaked from your pussy. "M'just happy...you know?"

His adams apple bopped as a quiet moan was revealed through his lips, he drank you down and then spat another warm glob right onto your clit before diving back in.

"Taste so good" he hums to you before letting out a chuckle. "I love comin' home to you, m'sweet little angel." His tongue worked in steady, unhurried circles, occasionally pausing to kiss your inner thighs or nuzzle against your slick skin.

"You be tasting so sweet when you're about to cum I've noticed..."

"Mmghmm- Michael honey," you tried to keep still, but all the pressure on your clit made you too sensitive. Your hips grinded against his face so smoothly.

"Yeah exactly," he says kissing and slurping. "Tastes just like honey..."

He was feeling bold now, the liquor controllin' his movements. He let one thumb slid higher and trace lazy little loops around the ring of your hole, without pushing in, just circling, pressing soft and teasing.

You only pressed your face further into the pillow as another whimper slipped out.

His hands squeezed your ass again, pulling you just a little wider as he pushed his tongue inside your entrance for a few slow thrusts. His thumb never let up its gentle circling, a nice pressure. His tongue worked in unhurried circles pausing to kiss your inner thighs or nuzzle against your slick skin.

"—Michael please—" Your voice cracked as your hips started rocking back against his mouth. "It's too much m'sensitive-"

He heard you and let you off his tongue for a moment, smiling. He then slid his middle finger right in your aching pussy. His finger so long and thick, feeling so good against your aching walls. You were so slick from your pussy juice and his spit... he pumps his finger slow and deep, curling on every pull, wet sounds just filling up the room

"I know you're tired from the party too baby," he says softly.

"You'd smile whenever somebody talked to you… then you'd drift off when they weren't lookin'. I hated that you had to stay so long."

He worked his finger, the heel of his hand brushing your clit with every thrust. "Couldn't wait to get you home, the liquor just made it possible," he chuckles.

You let out a quiet chuckle of your own, even while his face was practically between your legs, he still remained so sweet and empathetic to you. Your back still arched up for him, "Yeah, was so long," you chuckled to him. "But you looked so-ah! handsome," you say breathy, you felt yourself about to cum real soon.

His finger curled harder against that spot inside you, a soft chuckle left him, "There you go, I feel it some more, come f'me angel"

©cherrishkissed ♡

GOOD MORNINNNN another short drabble go meeee, and another thing...I imagine him looking just like the photo I picked when he's a lil tipsy, just happy n smillin n sht 🥴

tags; (current) °❀⋆

⤷ ゛Synopsis ˎˊ˗ Michael loves to make you squirt !

𑣲⋆ warnings : Fingering. Squirting. Overstim.

A/n: I woke up thinking abt this....

“C'mon, baby, do it one more time for me." His fingers were buried deep in your cunt. The lewd sounds of your moans mixed with the squelching of his fingers pumping in and out.

“Mikey—fuck, please, I can't," you whined, your back sinking against his chest with complete exhaustion. Your brain felt scrambled, your only thoughts consisting of his hand that gripped your thigh and the fingers that kept your pussy sucking him in for more.

"You're doing so good f'me” he cooed, kissing the shell of your ear, his fingers curling, making your eyes roll back, that they almost seemed to hurt and your thigh instinctively threatened to shut if only it wasn't for the iron grip Michael had on your thigh keeping them nice and wide.

It was already too much after your second time squirting without a break; your body was sensitive to every bit of touch. Your senses overloaded as your body convulsed, fingers digging into the fabric of his trousers so tight that you would've sworn you heard the fabric rip, but you were too fucked out to properly hear as you cried out.

“Oh my god, Michaell. " Your mouth fell open, your eyes squeezing shut as your hand moved from his thigh to his arm, gripping tightly as your walls clamped down on his fingers, signaling your long-awaited release.

Everything about the scene in front of you was dirty. From the way you could hear the faint sounds of Michael groaning to the liquid that sprayed across the sheets and down Michael's hand as his fingers kept a slow pace, riding out your high as you attempted to wiggle away too, overstimulated to be able to handle anymore of his fingers.

“Mikeyy, no more, damn, you're already doing too much," you spoke lazily, your words sounding shaky and exhausted as he let out a chuckle, finally slipping his fingers out of you.

“I wanna see it again."

“Michael Joseph Jackson!”

©angelfacediary

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