-𝙸 𝙺𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚂𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝙳𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝙺𝚗𝚘𝚠 ✿ 𝟹,𝟼𝟺𝟻 𝚠𝚌
𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜: Michael was blessed to see you—a stunning model with the most perfect legs—exactly who he wanted to play "Dirty Diana." But when he's faced with upholding a fake relationship with his choreographer, he tries to resist the fire you've given him.
𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜/𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚛: +18, mdni, FREAKKYYYYYYY DEAKKYYYY OKAY?, sub!michael, dom!reader, car sex, cheating but not really, squirting, tight spaces, overstimulation, begging, oral sex (f! & m! receiving)
This is my first requested fic! If you have a request in mind, lmk🤎
Every red light killed your patience. You cursed each jaywalker that set foot in front of your limo, stealing your precious time minute by minute. When you saw the building that matched the address he gave you, everything seemed to freeze.
Your chauffeur looked back at you, "You ready, kid?"
You shook your head no, "How does somebody prepare for something like this?"
"I don't know, but my daughter really wants an autograph, so...."
You scoffed and laughed as you exited the vehicle. He waved at you before pulling off to find a place to park.
Angel, your publicist, met you at the door and let you walk in front of him. Michael's team warmly greeted you, and the female staff members gave you warm welcomes and congratulated you on your successful modeling career. Flattered by the praise, you humbly thanked them as you were led to the director's office.
You saw three men and one woman—one of the men stood at around 6'3, had a fat mustache and a matching belly, the other was shorter and grumpy, and the last man was undeniably him.
The only woman was short, with fluffy blonde hair and clear green eyes. She looked at you through the entryway and smiled at you.
"I just hope this is gonna work. I mean, if she doesn't show up, we're never gonna have a—GOD DAMN!" The shorter man exclaimed, looking past them and setting his eyes on you.
The other two men turned around to see what cut off his rambling, and when they saw you—when he saw you—it all became abundantly clear.
"Ma'am, I apologize for his outburst. That loudmouth is Reggie, I'm Joe, and this—well, I'm sure you know who he is." Joe extended his hands towards you. You shook his hands and looked at Reggie as he covered his face with one hand.
"I'm Michael Jackson," Michael introduced himself. He also held his hand out. It was large and firm, and it engulfed yours when you shakily shook it.
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Jackson," you said formally.
You heard the same flustered laugh you heard over the phone when he asked for you. It was more melodic in person. More transparent.
"This is my publicist, Angel, he's been with me ever since I started." You introduced him, and he slicked back his dark, thick hair before saying hello to the others.
"I'm Charlene," the blonde woman said as she walked up to you and hugged you.
While the men's conversations continued, Charlene took you by the arm, "Finally, let's get the fuck out of here." She dragged you out into the hallway and laughed as you struggled to keep up with her speed walking.
You were now side by side as she walked with you to the set.
"So, I hear you're gonna be 'Dirty Diana,'" she nudged you. You laughed and agreed.
"I still can't believe it," you said, "I was in the middle of getting ready for a show, and I saw Angel fangirling over the phone. I was like 'what the hell is he doing,' but when I heard Michael on the phone, I basically joined him."
Charlene snorted as the image of Angel squealing popped into her mind.
The two of you started to connect, talking about your careers, sharing funny stories about wardrobe malfunctions, cackling, and joking about each tale.
"So how did you meet Michael," you inquired.
Charlene sighed, remembering the first time she started working with Michael. "Oh wow...um...I met him around 4 years ago. I helped choreograph the Thriller film."
Your jaw dropped, "You worked on Thriller?"
She laughed and threw her head back. "Yeah! We worked together behind the scenes. He's really nice and a great person to work with."
Charlene continued, "We have a really good relationship, and then recently, our managers thought it would be a good idea to make it...bigger. A 'romantic' story of how a star fell in love with his choreographer."
"What? So like a "work wife" kind of thing," you teased.
"Exactly!" Charlene pointed at you like you were a genius. "Michael's great and all, but it's been really weird trying to play stuff up for the cameras, y'know?"
You nodded your head as she confided in you, and before you knew it, you had reached the set.
"Ok, Charlene, don't wear her out," Joe interrupted, walking behind you and leading you to the scene. Charlene sucked her teeth and spotted Michael walking to the cameras.
A beige 1988 Ford Mustang was parked by a makeshift, rundown building. The wet road glistened under the pale, blue backlighting, and the smokescreens were hovering over the wheels of the car.
"Ok, here's what I want you to do," Joe opened the car door and gestured for you to get in. "I want you to get out of the car, close the door, walk around for a lil' bit, and then get back in."
You raised a brow. "That's it?"
"Yes, that's it," Joe nodded.
"I thought that it was gonna be this big thing, but all I'd have to do is get out and walk?" You asked, annoyed by how simple everything was.
"Look, I know that's all you do," Joe grunted, "but we're runnin' outta—"
"Joe!" Michael shouted, giving the director a look of warning. You looked at him, shocked by how his voice carried through the staff's conversations.
Joe huffed as you made your way into the car, "Just...Just do as I said when I say 'action,' 'Kay?"
You side-eyed Joe as you positioned yourself in the seat. The look on your face was dangerous.
The prick's voice pierced through the car. Still annoyed at the director, you got excited and slammed the door.
While walking towards the camera, your eyes fixated on Michael's.
His eyes, wide and full of adoration, freely shifted between the power behind your legs and the sharp plunging neckline of your top. He brought the nail of his thumb to his mouth, trying to hide his reaction to your presence.
Upon noticing, you smirked and turned around—giving him something else to look at. You took your hands out of the jacket's pockets and smoothed over the back of your skirt.
You could only imagine the look on his face.
The walk you gave carried into the car. You sat down and crossed your legs, confident—and fed up—with the shot.
"CUT," Joe yelled before you left the car. Charlene applauded you and ran up to give you a hug.
"Girl, that's so sexy," she laughed as she brought you over to the director's chair.
Joe clasped his hands together over his beer belly. "See? That wasn't so bad." He said smugly. Charlene punched him on the arms.
"Reggie? Michael? How'd you think she did?" Charlene asked after brushing herself off.
"Y-You're perf—That was perfect." Michael could barely contain himself.
Embarrassed by the way he answered, Michael covered his mouth and jogged out of the set. Everyone's eyes followed him before snickering and resuming their conversations.
"Well, I think that was great," Reggie high-fived Joe.
When the tapes were sent for editing, everyone cheered and started to pack up their things. The staff members started cleaning the messes left on set. Snickers' wrappers, empty water bottles, and a cigarette butt or two—each of them was picked up from the floor.
As everyone said their goodbyes, you chose to stay behind—taking in what would be one of the biggest moments of your modeling career. You walked up to the Mustang and grazed the door handle with your thumb.
The moon was high in the sky, and the spring air was humid, causing you to remove the heavy jacket from your shoulders and placing it on the roof of the car.
Slow, cautious footsteps approached you, followed by a sudden voice, "It kinda looks like mine." His voice was unmistakable.
You turned to see Michael, standing a few feet away from you with his arms behind his back.
"T-The jacket, I mean. The buckles make it look like the one in my album." Michael now walked closer to you and leaned on the car's window.
"Maybe I stole it?" You teased, and he laughed at your remark.
You began to study his face. His smile was captivating, full of whimsy and reserve. The white shirt he wore was slightly unbuttoned at the collar, and the sleeves were rolled up, revealing the long, thick veins riding up his arm.
"Michael," you asked, "why did you choose me?"
Michael looked down at the puddles that surrounded your feet. "I saw your Mugler ad in the magazine. Reggie came in all loud—said he thinks he 'found Diana.'" he chuckled.
You knew which advertisement he was referring to. You were against a leopard-print backdrop, gazing seductively through the eyes of whoever dared to read about you. Brown leather snatched your waist, and a dramatic fur slinked over your shoulder. You were upside down—back arched on the seat, and your legs were crossed over the backrest. They were encased in sheer, black tights. Swarovski crystals danced across the fabric like city lights coming alive at night.
The singer became flustered as he recalled the moment he saw your picture. He looked at you, then your legs, and back up to meet your gaze. He swallowed hard and parted his lips, aching to kiss yours.
"Anyway," he cut his thoughts short, "I'm sorry for how Joe acted back there. I've been very uh...specific...in what I wanted." He apologized.
You watched him sit up and looked up at him as you moved closer.
"S-Still, that doesn't mean that he should've insulted you like that." Michael began to lose focus. He stood at attention, scared of making a single movement. Your blown-out curls fell into your face, barely hiding your sultry stare.
"Are you always this shy, Mr. Jackson?" Your arms folded across your chest, pressing the mound of your bosom upward. You searched his face, finding it humorous how his eyes tried to avert from your chest.
"Hah, no," he cheesed, "it's just that I didn't expect anyone to find exactly what I was looking for."
"And what is it that you were looking for?" You could hear his breath hitch in his throat, and the gap between you was now non-existent.
Michael looked down at you, his eyes darted back and forth—holding his hands at his sides as an effort to keep his lust at bay.
He almost forgot about the woman everyone thought was his partner.
A sharp scoff left his lips. Then he instinctively bit them while looking at yours. "I-If we do this, we can't tell anyone. You promise?"
"I won't tell a soul" You said, with the weight of desire on your eyes.
Michael grabbed you by the chin and pulled you into a deep, tender kiss. You moaned in his mouth, gasping at the sudden shift in dominance.
His tongue found its way into your mouth and slithered circles around yours. His hands smoothed over your ribs and raked down the small of your back, settling on the roundness of your ass.
Your arms flew around his neck, allowing him to nuzzle his face into your shoulder. He left crimson marks everywhere his lips touched. Your blood gathered in tiny pools, trapped behind the thin layer of skin. Every mark he made was primal—territorial.
Your legs clenched as you felt a sudden flutter coming from between them.
"F-fuck," you moaned, shaken by the hungry man who held you.
He opened the car door and sat in the low driver's seat. "Get in," he demanded. Now his voice was low and full, a complete 180 from the stammering, whimpering mess that you saw earlier.
"Excuse me?" You said, raising your brow.
"Can you get in the car, please?" Michael corrected, softening his voice.
You walked to the open door. Michael grabbed you under your arms and laid you down in the seat next to him, not worrying about the door closing behind you. He shifted his weight onto his right leg and dragged your hips onto his groin, lifting your left leg over his shoulder and raising your back off the cupholder.
The leather skirt rolled up as it rubbed against the car seat, revealing the last of your upper thigh and your white, lacy thong. Michael's lips curled at the state of you.
"You look so beautiful," he said before he hovered over you and resumed kissing your soft lips. He ventured down your collarbone and into the gap between your breasts.
You moaned as he pried off your top—holding his head while he licked and sucked your nipples. With each wave of pleasure, you grind your hips into his abdomen—the hem in your panties stimulated your clit, as you moved and rolled your hips once it found a sweet spot.
The poor acoustics of the vehicle honed the sounds of your wet, sloppy kisses.
"Where...d'you...want me?" He asked, looking at you and patiently waiting for your directions.
You took his head off your chest and looked at him.
"Go lower," you answered.
Michael pulled away from you and sat on his leg, the back of his hand making contact with his lips.
"I-I've never...Charlene and I..."Michael couldn't get the words out.
You sat up on your elbows, slightly frustrated by Michael's words.
"You've never went down on a woman?"
"Did I ask if you've ever went down on a woman?"
You pushed the back of your ankle on Michael's shoulder blade, making him bow down to your core.
Michael's loyal façade crumbled. He couldn't care less about the cameras or the headlines.
His hands rummaged against the back of your skirt, loosening the zipper and pushing the fabric above your ass and on your stomach. The slick of your pussy bled through the fabric of your panties—a string of your arousal stretched as he took them off of you and threw them in the backseat.
He pulled your hips even closer, pushing your legs back as far as they could go. The tips of your toes reached the window as Michael, still holding down on your legs, lowered his mouth onto your pussy and lapped up every ounce of your fluids.
The warmth and wetness of his mouth were overwhelming, and the authority you had over him started to falter. The sweet music of your soft moans encouraged Michael, gaining experience with each flick of his tongue.
"Mmmh...you taste...so good," Michael purred, muffled by the fat of pussy occupying his mouth. He pushed down further, causing your hips to rise higher into his mouth. It made your mind go foggy as he learned to take control of your senses.
"Y-you're doing so good for me." You said, legs shaking as they prepared for your release. Michael moaned at your approval, sending vibrations through your pussy while he squeezed his nails into your calves.
The pressure of your legs against your stomach, along with the heaving of your chest, sent you into a state of pure ecstasy.
"Oh—fuck, Michael!" Your eyes shut as you shouted his name with every breath you had, shaking as he continued to pleasure you through your orgasm.
While you were still cumming, Michael carefully raised you off your back and onto his lap, avoiding the steering wheel. You straddled his loins and clung to him, riding out the last waves of your powerful orgasm.
You whined your hips on his lap, his jaw clenched as your weight shifted around his clothed girth. His head leaned against the headrest, and his eyes rolled to the back of his head, surrendering his body to pleasure.
Soon, he couldn't take it anymore.
"P-Please, baby, I need you. I-I...God—"
Michael was a mumbling mess.
"My pants..." he winced, "...s-so tight. Please let me in you...please?" His large puppy eyes, wet with tears, so desperately wanted to feel you around him.
Filled with hunger, you slightly rose off his lap and impatiently unbuckled his pants. He shuddered, and his shoulders tensed—the feeling of his length emerging from his pants, rubbing against the band of his underwear, made his blood rush straight to his brown tip.
"Tell me how much you want it," you said lowly, licking his jaw and making your way to his ear.
Your hands worked the length of his dick, occasionally playing with him by letting it slip and slide on your folds.
"Pleaseeee, please, I can't take it anymore. I need you! I need you...I need you I—f-fuck!"
You cut him off by lowering yourself on top of his leaking tip. His moans were stuck in his throat, overcome by the sensation of your pussy. With a low grunt and a lack of self-control, he squeezed your ass—slamming the rest of his length into you.
Your eyes flew, and your body jolted forward as he stabbed into your sweet spot. Once you adjusted to the slight pain, you began to ride up and down.
Michael perfectly matched the pace of your hips. He slithered his hands across your back and buried his face in the crook of your neck. He felt so guilty—cheating on his "girlfriend" with you felt so wrong, but the air-tight suction your pussy made around him, loosening and tightening with every drag of your hips, made him feel like he was losing his mind.
The mix of your perfume and his cologne, tainted by the musk of your sweat, swam through the car. Condensation formed on the windows, a testimony of the heat building between your bodies. The car cradled you both; the momentum caused his dick to slam against your cervix.
Michael's gift of stamina sent a long, staccato moan from your mouth—your back arched away from him as your climax drew closer, but he never let you go.
Instead, his arms crossed behind your back, gripping your shoulders as he drove his dick farther, faster, and sloppier into you.
"Oh, baby...I'm so close," he grunted, nibbling on your chin.
You rose and fell, over and over and over again. The frictionless sensation between your legs, coupled with the uncontrollable movement of your hips, caused Michael's dick to slip out. You paused, laughing at how he groaned at the loss of your warm cunt.
"Here," he said, taking your arm off his neck and bringing his hand to his girth. Your pussy quivered as he helped you insert himself.
His hands covered yours, guiding his dick through your index and middle fingers and into you. Mouth agape, he watched your head roll back as he sucked your neck.
When it was all the way in, he slid his fingers up to your clit. He gently circled it, making you gasp at how your whole body is being pleasured.
The two of you resumed your movements, working your way to your own separate orgasms.
"I-I'm gonna cum again," you shouted, the car sharply sent the echo of your moans into your ears.
"Go 'head," he answered, his breath became heavy and ragged. He took your ass in his hands, bouncing it on him as you moaned loudly in his ear.
You rose in time before he finished inside. Lightning struck through your body—a seemingly endless stream of pleasure shot onto his oozing dick.
Curses ran through your minds as you squirted on him, rinsing the slugs of his semen onto his lap.
"Oh, God...damn, girl," Michael whispered, admiring how you claimed him as your territory...
...but he was still hard.
After two climaxes, you knew you had to even the score. You lifted the squirt-soaked shirt off his body.
"Whoa, w-what are you doin'?" He laughed cautiously at your tireless actions.
"We're not done yet." You said slyly, swinging your legs off of him and moving backwards onto the empty car seat next to you.
Michael panicked, already knowing what you were going to do.
"Wait...it's too—I just..." Michael's dick, still stiff and pulsating, leaked with fresh precum as you lowered your head to his crotch. You licked your juices off of him, swirling your warm tongue along the base of his length.
Panicking, he placed his hand on your head, slightly grabbing at the ruined curls. When you moved to his tip, he squeezed your hair harder
Michael whimpered—louder than he expected. His left hand flew over his mouth, while his right hand clenched the armrest.
Your hallowed cheeks mimicked the tightness of your entrance, making him subconsciously thrust his hip down your throat. You choked and gagged, delighting in how he focused on his own release.
"O-Ohhh my god," he sang before pulling your head up and shooting a thick rope of his arousal onto your face and lips. You sat up and stroked him, ensuring that he was completely drained.
The sound of your heavy breaths subsided, and the reality of what you've both done struck you like a train.
"I am so sorry," he sputtered, wiping the remnants from your face
"We're so fucked," you laughed as you let him help you.
While scrambling to get your clothes, Michael wiped the moisture off o, the window peeking around to see if the coast was clear
Then you heard him laugh.
"What? What is it," you asked, dangling over the backseat and searching for your thong.
"Look," He pointed, waiting for you to see what he saw,
There it was, your jacket—the one you left on the car's roof—was now drowning in a puddle.
"Ugh, are you kidding me?"
Pointing the same finger at your face, he laughed as you lamented.
"Don't worry," he said before kissing your cheek, "I'll give you mine."
𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝: @unicornglitterfarts224
𝚊/𝚗: I'm going the FAWK ta bed
