˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ pervyneighbour!michael who couldn't believe his eyes to see that you were his new neighbor just right across his house. You were undeniably beautiful, on the very first day you moved — you were welcomed by his family to have dinner together, and he — couldn’t take his eyes off you.
˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ pervyneighbour!michael who couldn’t stop thinking about you ever since having dinner together. It’s not like you were wearing anything inappropriate, but oh boy that didn’t stop his perverted mind from wandering off.
˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ pervyneighbour!michael who, one day decides to look out from the window, just to take a quick glance on what your house looks like, realizes his room, had a perfect view of yours. His eyes widened by this discovery.
˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ pervyneighbour!michael who once saw you coming into the room — telling himself it was show time, watches you checking yourself out in the mirror. Stretching out your body and arching your back and tossing your hair multiple times, just to show off your physique in the reflection, he had a clear vision that you weren't wearing a bra — with every pose you stretch, your nipples would poke out visibly. Not even realizing his hand started to wander over his pajama pants, slipping it inside and wrapping his own length and began to stroke.
˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ pervyneighbour!michael who started becoming obsessed — by his new routine every night after dinner, even his brothers grew suspicious of his peculiar burst of energy after putting out his plate away and rushing upstairs saying goodnight.
˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ pervyneighbour!michael who couldn't wait to see his beautiful angel perform for him tonight, was shocked to find you nowhere to be seen in your bedroom. As he searched for you, he found out you were in the other room not too far from your bedroom — taking a relaxing bubble bath. You stretched out your leg to splash yourself with bubbles giggling, after that, you scrubbed your shoulders and arms with a loofah, — the soap suds dripped down to your body, perfectly covering up your breasts.
˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ pervyneighbour!michael who grew addicted jerking off to you as you bathe and pose in the mirror, your daily night routine felt like his personal dirty vhs tape you’d find in the adults-only section in the video store. And the cherry on top was his obsession on doing it in secret, he knew it was wrong — he even dreamt about you finding out and scolding him in a very specific dominant manner.
˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ pervyneighbour!michael who sees you sit on your bed — with a pillow between your thighs, looking a bit paranoid, not knowing why — but soon didn’t care as he saw you slowly rocking your hips against the pillow. Seeing you rubbing your clothed pussy against the fabric, he palmed his erection over his pants, giving a squeeze to relieve a little bit of the ache. His eyes locked into your movements. As you throw your head back, reaching your orgasm — Michael felt like he was reaching his.
˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ pervyneighbour!michael who was so focused on your perfect body, didn’t realize you felt a pair of eyes watching you, you then turned your head to his window with a confused face ultimately catching him off guard. With a panic, he ducked his head down — praying you didn’t notice him. As he slowly peaks back up to find you missing in your room, his eyes widened as he saw you exiting your house, heading over to his.
˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ pervyneighbour!michael who started pacing around his room — panicked on what you might say to his mother or any of his brothers, revealing his perverted acts, he might just die out of shame right then and there. He heard one of his brothers calling from downstairs which he replied hesitantly, walking downstairs feeling a rush of fear around him — he saw you standing at the doorway, with his brother Jackie.
“Mikey, our new neighbour said she wanted a tour of the whole neighborhood and i thought, you’d be perfect to show her around tomorrow”
“...A-Alright”
˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ pervyneighbour!michael who, the next day showed you around the neighbourhood, like he promised last night, you could tell he was sweating — avoiding eye contact at all times.
“Thanks for showing me around Michael, i really appreciate it”
“O-oh yeah, it was no problem” he said nervously
“You know we should exchange our numbers, in case you have any exciting plans, i’m looking forward to finding new fun places to hang out” you suggest.
˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ pervyneighbour!michael who after giving his phone number to you and vice versa earlier this morning, waits on what you were about to do tonight, he was relieved that you never found out about his perverted routine and still remain clueless. He watches you as you lay back in bed, dimming the lights in your room. Not as bright as it normally was but not too dark he couldn’t see you, his mouth widened and his pants grew tighter, seeing you removing your panties — and your hand wandering down to your slit.
The first time seeing you touch yourself, he wasted no time, wrapping his member — pumping an agonizingly slow pace, watching you arch you back and staring at the ceiling with your mouth gaping open, you cupped your own breast — tugging your shirt up, revealing your almost naked body to him.
˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ pervyneighbour!michael who was almost at the edge as you are, his breaths were straggled, but his eyes never left you — watching yourself moan and twitch. After a few more pumps, he finally releases, his robes of cum spattered all over his hand. He stares back at you — only to be startled by your eyes looking straight at him with a cheeky smirk, without time to process you turned off the lights fully, leaving your room pitch black.
˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ pervyneighbour!michael who didn’t know if he was hallucinating or not — slipped out a whine of fear, got a sudden phone call. He grabbed the ringing phone on his bedside table with his free hand — confused on who was calling at this late hour.
“Hope you enjoyed the show Mikey” you whispered over the phone before abruptly hanging up.
can you do an imagine? bestfriend!reader invites michael over for their monthly sleepover after not seeing him for awhile, includes facemasks movies and everyrjing cute! and when reader “falls asleep,” michael confesses his pent up love, but reader wasnever fully asleep and heard it all🥹
fluffy, and thriller era michael too!! thank youuu🫶
Note. This is SO FREAKING CUTE I love this ask and sorry it took long my lovely, this turned out wayyy longer than I expected but I hope you enjoy it!
༺✧༻. IMAGINE .༺✧༻
༺✧༻──────────────༺✧༻
༄˖°.✦.ೃ࿔:･ The Week We Finally Came Home to Each Other ༄˖°.✦.ೃ࿔:･
Three weeks……
It had been three whole weeks since you'd last seen Michael, and the absence had left a peculiar hollowness in your apartment. Your monthly sleepovers had become sacred, a tradition that started when he'd shown up at your door one night, exhausted and overwhelmed, seeking refuge from the relentless machinery of fame.
That first night had turned into a pattern, and the pattern had become something you both needed, something you both protected fiercely in your schedules. But the past month had been impossible. The Thriller album had exploded beyond anyone's wildest expectations, and Michael had been swept up in the whirlwind with interviews, performances, photo shoots, meetings that stretched into the early morning hours. You'd seen him on television, watched him smile for the cameras, but you'd also noticed the tightness around his eyes, the exhaustion he couldn't quite hide beneath the showmanship.
When your doorbell rang that Friday evening, your heart leapt before you'd even crossed the room. You knew it was him, you'd been expecting him, hoping for him, counting down the hours since he had called to confirm he'd finally carved out a weekend for himself. You pulled open the door and there he was, backlit by the hallway light, and the smile that broke across his face was like sunrise after a long, dark night.
"Hi," he said softly , his eyes traced over your face with an intensity that made your breath catch, memorizing every detail, as though he'd been starving for the sight of you.
"Michael," you breathed, and then you were pulling him inside, your hands finding his arms, his shoulders, needing to confirm he was really here, really solid and warm and present. "Come in, come in! I've missed you so much."
He stepped over the threshold and immediately pulled you into a hug, his arms wrapping around you with a desperation. He buried his face in your hair and just breathed, his chest expanding and contracting against yours, his whole body seeming to sag with relief.
“I'm sorry," he murmured against your temple.
"I'm so sorry it's been so long…everything's been absolutely insane."
You pulled back just enough to look at him properly, your hands coming up to frame his face. He looked tired, so beautiful as always, but there were shadows under his eyes and a tension in his jaw that hadn't been there a month ago. "Don't apologise Mikey I know how crazy it's been. I've been watching, the album's doing incredible things, but I've been worried about you."
"I know… I haven’t been sleeping or eating that much," he admitted with a rueful laugh, leaning into your touch. "That's why I had to come here. I needed..." He trailed off, his eyes searching yours. "I needed this,I needed you."
You guided him further into the apartment, closing the door behind him. "Well, you've got me for the whole weekend. No interruptions, no schedules, no demands, Just us, okay?"
"Okay," he agreed, and some of the tension visibly drained from his shoulders.
You led him to the couch and sat down together, angling your body toward his. "Tell me everything. What's been happening? I mean, I know what I've seen on TV, but what's it really been like?"
Michael ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of frustration and exhaustion. "It's been overwhelming..The album's success is beyond anything we imagined—it's breaking records, it's everywhere, and that's incredible, it really is. But it also means everyone wants a piece of me, every network wants an interview, every magazine wants a cover shoot, every award show wants a performance. And the label keeps pushing for more, more, more….more singles, more videos, more promotion."
He paused, his voice dropping, "I haven't had a moment to just breathe. To just be Michael, you know? Not Michael Jackson the singer, not Michael Jackson the product, just... me.”
Your heart ached for him, you reached out and took his hand, lacing your fingers through his. "Michael….that sounds exhausting."
"It is," he confessed, "And the thing is, I'm grateful…. I really am, this is what I've worked for my whole life. But sometimes I feel like I'm drowning in it all, like I'm losing myself in the noise. And then I think about you, about this place, about how I feel when I'm here, and it's like... it's like remembering how to breathe."
You squeezed his hand, emotion welling up in your chest. "You're always welcome here, Michael. Always you know that, this is your space too, Whenever you need it."
He looked at you with such open affection that it made your pulse quicken. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
"Good thing you'll never have to find out," you said softly, then deliberately brightened your tone. "Now, I have plans for us tonight, important plans."
He raised an eyebrow, a hint of his playful side emerging. "Oh? What kind of plans?"
"Self care plans," you announced, standing up and pulling him to his feet. "You look exhausted, Michael, and I'm going to take care of you, we're doing face masks, we're painting, we're baking some cinnamon rolls, and we're having a proper movie night, the full treatment!"
He laughed, the sound genuine and warm. "Face masks?"
"Yes, face masks! Don't give me that look.m, your skin is probably suffering from all that stage makeup and stress, come on." You tugged him toward the bathroom, ignoring his amused protests.
In the bathroom, you'd already laid out your supplies, cleansers, toners, and two different face masks you'd picked up specifically for tonight. Michael leaned against the counter, watching you with fond amusement as you organized everything with determined efficiency.
"Sit," you commanded, pointing to the closed toilet lid.
"Bossy tonight, aren't we?" he teased, but he sat obediently, looking up at you with those impossibly dark eyes.
You stepped between his knees, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body. "I'm serious about this, Michael, you need to relax, and this will help, trust me."
"I always trust you," he said quietly, and the sincerity in his voice made your hands tremble slightly as you reached for the cleanser.
You started by gently cleansing his face, your fingers moving in slow, careful circles across his skin. He closed his eyes and sighed, his features softening as you worked. You took your time, treating it like the meditation it was, focusing on the texture of his skin beneath your fingertips, the way his breathing gradually deepened and slowed. When his face was clean, you patted it dry with a soft towel, then reached for the face mask.
"This might feel a little cold at first," you warned, dipping your fingers into the creamy mixture.
"I can handle it," he murmured, eyes still closed, completely surrendered to your ministrations.
You began applying the mask with tender precision, starting at his forehead and working your way down. Your fingers glided across his skin, spreading the cool cream in smooth, even strokes. You traced along his temples, down the sides of his face, across his cheeks. Michael remained perfectly still, his breathing steady and deep, his face a picture of peace. This close, you could see every detail, the length of his lashes, the elegant line of his nose and the soft curve of his lips.
And then you saw them, the patches of lighter skin that had been gradually appearing over the past year, the vitiligo that Michael rarely spoke about but that you knew caused him anxiety and self consciousness. There was a patch along his left cheekbone, another near his jawline, the pigmentation creating an almost ethereal pattern across his skin. Without thinking and without any hesitation, you let your fingers linger there, tracing the border where his natural skin tone met the lighter patches.
"It's so pretty," you whispered, the words escaping before you could stop them.
Michael's eyes flew open, and you felt him tense beneath your touch. His gaze locked onto yours, wide and uncertain, a vulnerable look in his eyes "What?" His voice was barely audible.
You didn't pull your hand away. Instead, you let your fingers continue their gentle exploration, mapping the constellation of lighter skin with reverent attention. "Your vitiligo Mikey It's beautiful….its like artwork, like someone painted you with such care and beautiful shades."
He swallowed hard, his adam’s apple visible. "You... you don't think it's strange? Or ugly?"
"Ugly?" You were genuinely shocked. "Michael, no. How could you think that? It's part of you, and everything about you is beautiful."
His eyes searched yours, looking for any hint of deception or pity, but you let him see only honesty, only the truth of what you felt. Slowly, hesitantly, he began to relax again, though you could see the emotion swimming in his eyes. "Most people stare…Or they ask invasive questions. Even suggest treatments to 'fix' it."
"I'm not most people," you said firmly. "And there's nothing to fix, you’re perfect exactly as you are." You resumed applying the mask, making sure to give the same careful attention to every inch of his face, treating the lighter patches with the same tenderness as the rest, showing him through your actions that you meant every word.
By the time you finished, Michael's eyes were suspiciously bright, and when you stepped back to admire your work, he caught your hand and pressed a kiss to your palm. "Thank you," he said, his voice rough with emotion.
"Nothing to thank me for," you replied, though your heart was hammering in your chest. "Now, let me put mine on, and then we'll let these set while we start on our painting."
You applied your own mask quickly, and soon you were both standing in front of the bathroom mirror, faces covered in cream, grinning at each other's reflection. Michael made a silly face, and you burst out laughing, and just like that, the heavy moment transformed into something light and playful again.
In the living room, you'd already set up your painting supplies on a plastic sheet spread across the floor, canvases, brushes, and an array of acrylic paints in every colour imaginable. Michael's eyes lit up when he saw the setup.
"I haven't painted in forever," he said, dropping to his knees beside the supplies and immediately reaching for a brush.
"Well, tonight we're painting whatever we want." You settled down across from him, selecting your own canvas and brush.
For a while, you both worked in comfortable silence, the only sounds the soft swish of brushes against canvas and the occasional thoughtful hum from one or the other of you. You found yourself painting abstract swirls of color, nothing concrete, just emotion translated into blues and purples and golds. When you glanced over at Michael's canvas, you saw he was attempting something more structured, what looked like a landscape, though it was still in early stages.
"That's beautiful," you commented, leaning closer to get a better look.
"It's the view from Hayvenhurst," he explained. "The garden at sunset. I've been thinking about it a lot lately, when things get overwhelming…It's peaceful there."
"We should go and have a picnic there sometime," you suggested.
"I'd like that," he said softly, then suddenly grinned mischievously. "But right now, I think your face needs some color."
Before you could process what he meant, he'd dipped his brush in bright red paint and swiped it across your cheek, right over your face mask. You gasped, frozen in shock for a moment, and then you saw the absolute delight on his face and couldn't help but laugh.
"Oh, you're going to regret that," you warned, grabbing your own paint loaded brush.
What followed was chaos in the best possible way. Paint flew through the air as you both abandoned any pretense of serious artwork in favor of decorating each other. Michael was quick and playful, darting in to dab paint on your nose, your forehead, your arms. But you gave as good as you got, managing to streak green across his neck and yellow in his hair. You were both laughing so hard you could barely breathe, the sound filling the apartment with joy.
At some point, Michael caught your wrist as you tried to paint his ear, his fingers wrapping around your arm with gentle firmness. "Truce?" he suggested, though his eyes were dancing with mischief.
"Truce," you agreed, but the moment he released you, you swiped blue paint across his collarbone, exposed by the open collar of his shirt.
"Cheater!" he accused, but he was grinning as he retaliated, his paint covered fingers finding your shoulder, your arm, the curve of your waist as he pulled you closer to reach your other shoulder.
You became acutely aware of how close you were, how his hands seemed to linger on your waist even after he'd deposited the paint, how his touch sent electricity racing through your nerves. When you looked up at him, you found him already watching you, something intense and unreadable in his expression. His thumb traced an absent pattern on your hip, and you wondered if he even realized he was doing it.
"You've got paint everywhere," he murmured, his voice lower than before.
"So do you," you managed, your own voice coming out breathier than intended.
For a long moment, you just looked at each other, the air between you charged with something new and thrilling and slightly terrifying. Then Michael seemed to catch himself, clearing his throat and stepping back, though his hand trailed down your arm as he moved away, his fingers brushing yours before breaking contact entirely.
"We should probably clean up," he said, and you nodded, not quite trusting your voice.
In the bathroom, you stood side by side at the sink, washing paint and face mask residue from your skin. The mirror reflected both of you—paint-splattered and grinning, looking younger and freer than you had in weeks. Michael kept bumping his shoulder against yours, a playful gesture that felt like an apology for the moment of intensity, a reassurance that everything was okay. You bumped him back, and soon you were engaged in a gentle shoving match that ended with you both laughing again, the tension dissolved into easy affection.
Once you were both clean—or at least cleaner, since some of the paint had definitely stained, you headed to the kitchen to start on the cinnamon rolls . You'd already measured out most of the ingredients earlier, so it was just a matter of mixing everything together. Michael immediately positioned himself at your elbow, watching everything you did with exaggerated interest.
"Can I help?" he asked innocently.
"You can hand me things when I ask for them," you replied, knowing full well that he was going to be more hindrance than help, but not minding in the slightest.
You started creaming the butter and sugar together, and Michael dutifully handed you the vanilla extract when you requested it. But then, as you were measuring out the flour, you felt his hand on the small of your back, a casual touch he always was the affectionate type of friend. He leaned around you to peer into the bowl, his chest brushing against your shoulder.
"Looks good," he commented, and you could hear the smile in his voice.
"Michael, you're in my way," you said, but there was no heat in it.
"Am I?" He didn't move, and his hand stayed on your back, warm through the fabric of your shirt.
You tried to focus on adding the flour, but it was difficult when you could feel his breath on your neck, when his thumb was tracing small circles against your spine. "Yes, you are, very much in my way."
"Sorry," he said, not sounding sorry at all. He finally stepped back, but only far enough to give you room to work. His hand slid from your back to your waist, then fell away entirely, leaving you feeling oddly bereft.
As you mixed in the chocolate chips, Michael's hand suddenly darted into the bowl, scooping out a fingerful of dough before you could stop him.
"Michael!" you scolded, swatting at his hand. "You're going to get salmonella!"
"Worth it," he declared around his mouthful of dough, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
You tried to look stern, but it was impossible when he looked so pleased with himself. "You're terrible. I'm trying to make us some sweet treats, and you're eating all the dough."
"I'm quality testing," he corrected, reaching for the bowl again.
You moved it out of his reach, holding it against your chest protectively. "No more quality testing. We need enough dough to actually make cinnamon rolls."
He pouted, actually pouted, and it was so endearing that you almost gave in. But you held firm, turning back to the counter to start forming the dough into balls. Michael pressed against your back, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder as he watched you work.
"You're very good at this," he observed, his breath warm against your ear.
"I've had practice," you replied, trying to ignore the way your heart was racing, the way every point of contact between your bodies felt like it was burning.
His hands came to rest on your hips, and this time there was no pretense of reaching for something or moving past you. He was just holding you, his touch possessive and tender all at once. "I like watching you," he said quietly. "You always look so content when you're creating something, whether it's cooking or painting or anything else. It's beautiful."
You paused in your work, your hands stilling. "Michael..."
"Sorry, is this okay?" He started to pull away, suddenly uncertain. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable."
"No!" You turned in his arms, your dough covered hands held carefully away from both of you. "No, it's okay, it's more than okay. I just..." You trailed off, not sure how to articulate the tangle of feelings in your chest.
He smiled, soft and understanding, and pressed a quick kiss to your forehead before stepping back. "Come on, let's get these cinnamon rolls in the oven, i'm starving."
You finished forming the dough balls and arranged them on baking sheets, sliding them into the preheated oven. The kitchen filled with the warm, sweet scent of baking cinnamon rolls , and you set the timer before turning to find Michael already pulling out plates and glasses for the orange juice.
"Very domestic of you," you teased.
"I contain multitudes," he replied with exaggerated dignity, then ruined it by stealing another fingerful of dough from the bowl you hadn't yet washed.
"Incorrigible," you muttered, but you were smiling as you moved to wash the dishes.
Michael helped, drying as you washed, and the easy rhythm of it felt natural and right. His arm brushed yours repeatedly, and you noticed he seemed to be finding excuses to touch you, a hand on your shoulder as he reached past you for a towel, fingers grazing yours as he took a dish, his hip bumping yours as he moved around the small kitchen. Each touch was brief and could have been accidental, but the frequency suggested otherwise. There was an intentionality to it, a testing of boundaries, a question being asked without words.
When the timer went off, you pulled the cinnamon rolls from the oven, golden-brown and perfect. Michael immediately reached for one, and you slapped his hand away.
"They're hot! Let them cool for a minute."
"But they smell so good," he whined, and you laughed at his impatience.
"Five minutes. You can wait five minutes, besides I need to put the icing on"
While the iced cinnamon rolls cooled, you gathered everything you'd need for movie night, the cinnamon rolls once they were ready, a pitcher of orange juice, glasses, a big bowl of popcorn you'd popped earlier. Michael helped you carry everything to the living room, and you arranged it all on the coffee table before settling onto the couch.
"Okay, you pick the movie," you said, handing him the remote. "Choose something wild."
Michael's eyes lit up with mischief. "Wild, huh? How wild are we talking?"
"Surprise me," you challenged.
He scrolled through the options, his expression thoughtful, before finally selecting a horror movie, something about a haunted house and vengeful spirits, you raised an eyebrow at him.
"This is your idea of wild?"
"You said surprise you," he defended "Besides, I know you like horror movies. And this way, when you get scared, you'll have to hold onto me."
"Who says I'm going to be the one getting scared?" you countered. "You might be the one doing the holding."
"I guess we'll see," he said with a grin, starting the movie.
You settled in to watch, Michael's arm stretched along the back of the couch behind you, not quite touching but close enough. As the movie progressed, you found yourself gradually leaning into him, drawn by his warmth and presence. When a particularly tense scene made you jump, his arm dropped to your shoulders, pulling you closer against his side.
"Told you," he murmured, and you could hear the smile in his voice.
"Shut up and watch the movie," you replied, but you didn't pull away.
The movie continued, but you found it increasingly difficult to focus on the screen. You were too aware of Michael beside you, the steady rise and fall of his chest, and the way his fingers absently traced patterns on your shoulder. The weight of the day, the comfort of his presence, the warmth of the room…it all combined to make your eyelids heavy. You let them drift closed, just for a moment, to rest your eyes.
You weren't fully asleep, hovering instead in that liminal space between waking and dreaming where you were still aware of your surroundings but deeply relaxed. You felt Michael shift slightly beside you, felt his arm tighten around your shoulders. The movie played on, but his attention was clearly no longer on it.
"God, you're beautiful," he whispered, so quietly you almost didn't hear it. "Even covered in paint and cookie dough, even in your oldest, most comfortable clothes, you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
Your heart stuttered in your chest, but you kept your breathing even, kept your eyes closed, some instinct telling you to stay still and listen.
"I don't know when it happened," Michael continued, his voice barely audible over the movie. "Maybe it was always there, from the very beginning, and I was just too blind or too scared to see it. But somewhere along the way, you became everything to me. This apartment, these nights together—they're not just an escape anymore, they're home….You're home."
His hand came up to brush a strand of hair from your face, his touch feather-light and achingly tender. "I'm in love with you, I think I have been for a while now, and….. I know I should probably tell you when you're actually awake, when you can respond, but I'm a coward. I'm terrified that if I say it out loud, if I make it real, I'll lose this. I'll lose you. And I can't... I can't lose you. You're the best thing in my life."
He fell silent, and you felt him lean down to press a soft kiss to the top of your head. "Sweet dreams," he whispered.
Your mind was reeling, your heart pounding so hard you were sure he must be able to feel it. Michael loved you. He was in love with you. The words echoed through your consciousness, igniting something bright and warm and overwhelming in your chest. Every lingering touch throughout the evening, every heated glance, every moment of tenderness—it all suddenly made perfect sense.
You couldn't pretend anymore. You didn't want to pretend anymore.
Slowly, deliberately, you let your eyes flutter open. You shifted in his arms, turning to look up at him, and watched as his expression transformed from soft contentment to wide eyed shock as he realized you were awake.
"Michael..." you breathed, his name a prayer and a promise on your lips.
He went absolutely still, his face draining of color. "How long have you been awake?" His voice was strangled, panicked.
You sat up fully, turning to face him, and the fear in his eyes made your heart ache. "Long enough," you said softly.
"Oh God." He started to pull away, to retreat, but you caught his hands in yours, holding him in place. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—I didn't mean to make things weird, I just—"
"Michael, stop," you interrupted gently. "Just... stop for a second."
He fell silent, but you could see him trembling, could see the terror and vulnerability written across every line of his face. He looked like he was bracing for rejection, for the loss of everything he'd just confessed to treasuring.
You took a breath, gathering your courage, and then you smiled at him, soft and tender and full of every emotion you'd been holding back for months. "Oh, Michael... baby."
His eyes widened further at the endearment, confusion mixing with the fear. You released one of his hands to cup his face, your thumb stroking across his cheekbone, tracing over one of those beautiful patches of lighter skin.
"You're not a coward," you told him firmly. "You're the bravest man I know. And you're not going to lose me. You could never lose me."
"What are you saying?" he whispered, hardly daring to hope.
Instead of answering with words, you leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek, soft and lingering. Then another, and another, peppering his face with tender affection—his other cheek, his forehead, the bridge of his nose, the corner of his jaw. With each kiss, you felt him relax incrementally, felt the tension begin to drain from his body as understanding started to dawn.
"You're so gorgeous and so handsome ," you murmured between kisses. "So talented and kind and wonderful. And so completely oblivious."
"Oblivious?" he managed, his voice shaky.
You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, your hand still cradling his face. "Michael, I've been in love with you for months. Maybe longer I just never thought... I never imagined you might feel the same way."
His breath caught, his eyes searching yours with desperate intensity. "You... you love me?"
"So much," you confirmed, and then you tapped his nose playfully with your finger, unable to resist teasing him just a little. "You really didn't know?"
A laugh bubbled out of him, slightly hysterical but genuine. "No! I had no idea! I thought I was just your friend, y just your safe space …nothing more."
"You are my safe space," you said, running your finger up and down the bridge of his nose in a gentle, affectionate gesture. "But you're also so much more than that. You're everything, Michael. You're my home too."
He was staring at you like you'd hung the moon, like you were something precious and miraculous. His hands came up to frame your face, mirroring your gesture, his thumbs stroking across your cheeks. "Say it again," he pleaded. "Please, I need to hear it again."
"I love you," you said clearly, letting him see the truth of it in your eyes. "I'm in love with you, Michael Jackson. Completely, utterly, hopelessly in love with you."
The smile that broke across his face was incandescent, pure joy radiating from every feature. But there was still a hint of shyness there, a nervousness that was endearing in its vulnerability. "I can't believe this is real," he said. "I keep thinking I'm going to wake up and find out I dreamed the whole thing."
"It's real," you assured him, continuing your gentle exploration of his face with your fingertips. "I'm real, this is real, and I love you."
"I love you too," he said, his voice full of wonder. "God, I love you so much."
You grinned at him, feeling giddy and light and happier than you could remember being in years. "I know. I heard you the first time."
He flushed, embarrassment coloring his cheeks. "You weren't supposed to hear that."
"I'm glad I did," you said, then deliberately traced your finger down his nose again, tapping the tip playfully. "Though I have to say, your timing could use some work. Confessing your love to someone you think is asleep?"
"I told you, I'm a coward," he muttered, but he was smiling.
"No, you're not," you repeated, more seriously this time. "You're just careful with your heart and that's okay. I'll be careful with it too, I promise."
Something shifted in his expression, the shyness and nervousness giving way to something more intense, more heated. His eyes dropped to your lips, and you saw him swallow hard. "Can I..." He trailed off, but his intention was clear.
"Yes," you breathed, and that was all the permission he needed.
But instead of the gentle, tentative kiss you might have expected, Michael surged forward with sudden intensity, all his pent-up longing and desire pouring into the connection. His lips crashed against yours with a hunger that stole your breath, and his hands tightened on your face, holding you to him as though he was afraid you might disappear. The force of it pushed you backward, and Michael followed, his body covering yours as you fell back against the couch cushions.
You gasped at the sudden shift, at the feeling of his weight pressing you down, and he swallowed the sound, his mouth moving against yours with passionate intensity. Your hands flew to his shoulders, gripping tight, and a small yelp of surprise escaped you before it transformed into something else entirely, a soft moan as his tongue traced the seam of your lips, requesting entrance.
You opened for him, and the kiss deepened, became something molten and overwhelming. Michael's body was a solid, warm presence above you, one of his hands sliding from your face to brace against the couch beside your head while the other moved to your waist, his fingers splaying across your ribs. You could feel his heart hammering against your chest, could feel the slight tremor in his muscles as he held himself partially suspended above you, clearly trying not to crush you with his full weight.
A giggle bubbled up from your chest, breaking through the intensity of the kiss. Michael pulled back slightly, his eyes dark and pupils blown wide, his lips kiss swollen and his breathing ragged.
"What's funny?" he asked, his voice rough and deeper than you'd ever heard it.
"Nothing," you managed between giggles, your hands sliding from his shoulders to cup his face. "I'm just happy, so incredibly happy."
He smiled at that, soft and tender despite the heat still simmering in his gaze. "Me too," he said, then leaned down to kiss you again, slower this time but no less passionate.
You sighed into his mouth, your body arching up into his, and you felt him shudder at the contact. His hand on your waist tightened, his thumb brushing against the strip of skin where your shirt had ridden up, and the touch sent electricity racing through your nerves. You moaned softly, unable to help yourself, and Michael groaned in response, the sound vibrating through both of you.
When you finally broke apart, both of you gasping for air, Michael rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed and his expression one of almost painful bliss. "I've wanted to do that for so long," he confessed. "Every time I saw you, every time you smiled at me or touched my hand or just existed in my space, I wanted to kiss you. To hold you like this and to tell you how I felt."
"Well, now you can," you pointed out, your fingers threading through his hair. "Whenever you want, I'm yours, Michael. Completely yours."
His eyes opened at that, and the look he gave you was so full of love, possessiveness and tender devotion that it made your breath catch. "Mine," he repeated, as though testing the word. "You're mine."
"And you're mine," you confirmed, pulling him down for another kiss.
This time, there was no urgency, no desperate hunger. Instead, it was slow and sweet and thorough, a promise and a claiming all at once. Michael's body relaxed fully against yours, his weight settling over you in a way that felt protective and intimate and absolutely perfect. Your legs shifted to accommodate him, and he settled between them naturally.
When you finally broke apart again, you were both smiling, giddy with the newness of it all, with the joy of finally being able to express what you'd both been feeling for so long. Michael shifted to the side slightly, taking some of his weight off you but keeping you caged in his arms, his body still pressed along the length of yours.
"I can't believe this is happening," he murmured, pressing kisses to your temple, your cheek, your jaw. "I keep thinking I'm going to wake up."
"If you're dreaming, then I'm dreaming too," you replied, your hands roaming across his back, mapping the muscles beneath his shirt. "And I never want to wake up."
"Stay with me," he said suddenly, urgently. "Not just tonight, but always. Be with me, be mine, let me be yours. I know my life is complicated and crazy and there will be challenges, but I don't care. I need you…..I love you."
"Yes," you said simply, because what else was there to say? "Yes to all of it. I'm not going anywhere, Michael. You're stuck with me now."
He laughed, the sound pure and joyful, and buried his face in your neck, his arms tightening around you. "Best news I've ever gotten," he mumbled against your skin, and you felt him smile.
You held him close, one hand in his hair and the other tracing patterns on his back, and felt a sense of rightness settle over you.
The movie had long since ended, the credits rolling silently on the screen, but neither of you moved to turn it off. The cinnamon rolls sat forgotten on the coffee table, the orange juice growing warm. None of it mattered. All that mattered was this—the two of you, finally together, honest, and finally home in each other's arms.
"I love you," Michael whispered again, as though he couldn't say it enough, as though he was making up for all the months of silence.
"I love you too," you whispered back, pressing a kiss to his hair. "Always."
18+ blurb but I’m thinking about cheating! bsf Michael and reader (I can’t help it sorry) and THEY BOTH have to answer the phone while cracking rubs hands evily together
-reminder ask or request are open!
The tension between you and Michael had always been a ticking sex bomb. Everyone else saw it, the lingering touches, the hushed whispers, the defensive, practiced chorus of "we’re just friends!" whenever anyone pried.
It only got worse when you both started dating other people. Your partners were constantly left out in the cold. Their partners always wished there had been a warning label. A manual. Some kind of fine print handed to them on the first date that read: Warning: You will always come second to Michael.
dealing with canceled plans and the infamous, unbreakable rule: Friday nights were sacred. Since you were twelve, Fridays meant just the two of you. No partners allowed. No exceptions.
Innocence faded, but the calendar never did.
To the outside world, your partners tried to play it cool. They tried to have blind faith, comforting themselves with the lie that surely you two wouldn't jeopardize such a long, rocky relationship by crossing the line.
Which brings us to Friday at 4:00 PM.
"Mikey, more..." you moan against his lips.
Michael’s tongue slides into your mouth, deep and possessive, drowning out the rest of the world. His heavy hands find your hips, dragging you flush against him on the bed. You’re still in your damp bikini, the tiny, black string one he loves and his swim trunks do nothing to hide how rock-hard he is against your thigh.
He pulls back just an inch, a thin, silver thread of saliva connecting your lips. His eyes are dark, hooded, and hungry.
"That wasn't very nice of you, baby," he murmurs, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw before sliding down to toy with the side-tie of your bikini bottoms.
"What wasn't?" you tease, your breath hitching as he tugs the string.
"Wearing this tiny swimsuit. You knew exactly what you were doing. You wanted me to lose my mind today."
"Maybe I did," you whisper, leaning down to press a hot, wet kiss to his collarbone. "I wanted to see you lose control."
"My mind isn't the only thing losing it," Michael growls, rolling you onto your back and pinning your wrists above your head. He presses his weight into you, grinding his thick length right against your aching pussy. "You feel that? Feel how bad I want you?"
A loud, helpless whimper escapes your throat. He doesn't waste another second. He strips the damp swimwear away, his mouth finding yours again in a bruising kiss as he aligns himself and slides deep inside you.
The friction is instant, white-hot, and overwhelming. You arch your back, gripping his shoulders as he begins a slow, agonizingly deep rhythm that has you seeing stars.
"Take it," Michael groans, his forehead resting against yours as he pumps into you. "You feel me? Feel how hard I want her?"
"Yes! Mikey, yes," you sob, your head tossing back on the pillows.
Just as the pace starts to pick up, a sharp, mechanical double-ring shatters the haze.
Brring-brring!
It’s Michael’s bedside landline. The heavy, cream-colored rotary phone.
Michael freezes, buried deep inside you. He lets out a low, venomous curse. "Ignore it," he mutters, trying to resume the rhythm.
But before he can take another stroke, a second sound chiming from the bedroom floor makes your blood run cold.
Brring-brring!
Your own portable 80s phone, the one you brought over in your beach bag is ringing simultaneously.
"Shit," you gasp, your heart hammering against your ribs. "Mikey, we have to answer."
Michael’s jaw tightens. The sheer thrill of the risk flashes in his dark eyes. A wicked, dangerous smirk pulls at the corner of his lips.
"Fine," he whispers, his voice dripping with dark promise. "We'll answer. But you don't make a sound, baby."
He reaches over, grabbing the receiver of his bedside phone, and slides his other hand down to grip your hip, pinning you firmly to the mattress. He doesn't pull out. In fact, he sinks a fraction of an inch deeper, making you gasp. He glares at you warningly, pressing a finger to his own lips before speaking into the receiver.
"Hello?" Michael’s voice is impossibly smooth, completely masking the heavy breathing of a second ago.
“Hey, babe,” his girlfriend’s voice crackles through the receiver, loud enough in the quiet room for you to hear. “I was just calling to see if you wanted me to bring your vinyl’s back.”
Meanwhile, you desperately reach over the side of the bed, dragging your bag over to fish out your ringing phone. You press the talk button, putting it to your ear, trying to steady your breathing.
"Hello?" you whisper.
“Hey, honey,” your partner’s voice says on the line. “Just checking in. What are you and Michael up to?”
"Oh, you know," you squeak out, your eyes widening as Michael suddenly shifts his hips. He takes a slow, agonizingly deep stroke. You bite your lip so hard you taste blood to keep from screaming. "Just... playing a board game. Relaxing."
“You sound a little breathless. You okay?” your partner asks.
"Just... ran up the stairs to get the phone," you lie, your voice trembling.
On the other line, Michael’s girlfriend is still talking. “...so I figured I could drop it off around eight?”
"No, don't worry about it, sweetheart," Michael says smoothly. Underneath the blankets, he slowly draws back and thrusts in again, harder this time. He watches your face contort in pure, agonizing pleasure, his eyes gleaming with sadistic delight. "You can give them to me tomorrow. We’re Just going to watch a movie and crash early. I'll call you tomorrow morning, okay?"
You are gripping the bedsheets so hard your knuckles are white. Michael is intentionally moving inside you, finding that exact, sensitive spot with every slow, deliberate push.
"Yeah, we're... we're just about to start the movie," you choke out to your partner, tears of pleasure gathering in the corners of your eyes. Michael leans down, his hot breath brushing against your ear as he whispers, silent to the phone, "Take it baby and be a good girl. Don't you dare slip up."
“Alright, well, have fun,” your partner says. “Tell Michael I said hi.”
"I will," you gasp, barely managing to keep your voice level as Michael delivers a sharp, blunt thrust that hits your sweet spot perfectly. "Love you. Bye."
You slam the button to hang up just as Michael says, "Love you too, babe. Bye," and cradles his receiver.
The second both lines go dead, the silence of the room is cut only by your ragged breathing.
Michael doesn't wait. He tosses the phone onto the floor and immediately pins your thighs back, his possessive, dominant energy returning tenfold. The restraint is gone.
"You did so fucking good for me," he growls, his voice deep and raspy as he begins slamming into you with relentless, heavy strokes. The mattress creaks wildly. "Telling him you love him while I'm buried deep inside you. You're such a good girl for me."
"Mikey please," you wail, the hands-free freedom letting you finally scream his name as loud as you want.
He smacks your thigh, the sharp sting sending a rush of heat straight to your crotch, causing your walls to clench tight around him. He groans, his pace turning frantic, desperate to chase the finish.
"Say thank you, Mikey, for fucking me so good," he demands, his hips crashing against yours. "Say it."
"T-thank you, Mikey, fuck! Mikey, yes!"
"That's it mama," he groans, burying his face in your neck as he delivers a few final, deep, ruinous thrusts, spilling himself inside you as you both shatter completely into the quiet afternoon.
thinking about michael waking you up with his face between your thighs and grinding himself against the mattress because your moans are just too much (18+)
word count; 1.5k
a/n; wrote this at 5am so forgive me if there’s mistakes. i wanted something to fill in the gap while i continue my next fic as i’m gonna be busy this weekend. one shots are not my expertise as you all know i get carried away. hope you enjoy!!
You were dreaming about something soft, probably the way silk feels when it slides off a hanger. Something formless and warm, something that made your body sink deeper into the mattress, your fingers curling into the pillowcase, your breath slowing to match the rhythm of your pulse.
Then there was a tickle on the inside of your thigh, subtle, but there.
You didn't wake up right away. Your body registered it first, the wet, open press of lips dragging slowly up the sensitive skin, so close to where you were still swollen and warm from sleep. Your legs shifted apart without your permission, some unconscious recognition of what was already happening.
His mouth trailed higher.
Your fingers found his hair before your eyes opened. That was the tell, the way you reached for him without thinking. The curls were soft under your fingertips, still a little damp from his own sleep and you carded through them absently, still half in that dream, still not quite here.
“Mikey—”
It came out before you understood why. His lips had traced the crease where your thigh met your hip, the sensitive spot that always made you flinch and the sensation was too ticklish, too much for a body that wasn't fully awake yet. You squirmed, giggled, the sound drenched with sleep and surprise, your thighs pressing together around his head.
He didn't stop. He hummed against your skin, the vibration sinking into you, his hands sliding up to grip your hips and hold you open. His thumbs pressed into the soft flesh of your inner thighs, spreading you wider and the giggle died in your throat because now you understood.
“Oh…” You breathed.
He lifted his gaze to you from between your legs. His eyes were heavy-lidded with that lingering fatigue, his lips parted and already slick. The morning light came through the curtains in a thin beam, highlighting the curve of his cheekbone and the shadow of his lashes. He was beautiful like this.
His mouth hovered over your pussy, so close you could feel the warmth of his breath against your clit and he watched you the entire time, watched the familiarity settle into your face, watched your lips part, watched your hand tighten in his hair.
“Morning, baby.” He murmured, before lowering his mouth and drawing your clit between his lips.
Your back arched off the mattress. The sound you made was involuntary, something between a gasp and a moan, your thighs trying to close around his head again but his hands were there, firm on your hips, holding you open and still. His tongue dragged a painfully slow stripe through your folds, flat and warm, moving from bottom to top before circling your clit in tight, focused motions.
“So pretty...” He breathed against you. The words vibrated against your sensitive skin, making your hips jerk. “So fucking pretty, baby.”
He closed his eyes.
That was the part that undid you. The way his lashes fell, the way his brow furrowed like he was concentrating on something untouchable, the way his lips wrapped around your clit and he sucked, using his whole mouth with a careful consideration. Not teasing, not playful, but with sincerity. Like this was the thing he’d been dying to do since the moment he opened his eyes this morning, like he'd been laying there watching you sleep and deciding exactly where he wanted his mouth.
His hips moved against the mattress.
You almost missed it. Your vision was blurring, your head pressing back into the pillow, but you caught it, the subtle roll of his body, the way his hips ground down into the bed unconsciously, like they were being driven by pure instinct and little awareness. He was hard, he had to be. The friction was intuitive, something his body did without permission because the sounds you were making, the way your fingers twisted in his curls, the way your pussy pulsed against his tongue, it was too much for him to stay still.
He groaned against you and the vibration made you cry out.
“Mikey, I…” You didn't finish. His tongue was doing something absurd, alternating between broad, flat licks and the tight, focused pull of his lips around your clit. Every time he sucked, your hips bucked up into his mouth, your thighs trembling against his shoulders.
“Stay right there.” He whispered, his lips dragging down to trace your entrance, shallow and teasing, before he pulled back to look at you. His mouth was wrecked, his lips glossy with your arousal and his chin was wet. He looked like he'd been ruined by you, not the other way around. “Stay right there, beautiful. Let me taste you.”
He pressed his face back into you and ate you out like his life depended on it.
There was no other way to describe it. The way his tongue worked relentlessly, the way his lips sealed around your clit and pulled with a pressure that made your vision go white, the way his fingers dug into your thighs like he was anchoring himself.
He wasn't gentle anymore, he was ravenous. Every drag of his tongue was intentional, every pull of his lips was calculated, the kind of head that felt less like foreplay and more like worship, like he was trying to memorise the way you tasted so he could return to the thought later when he was alone with his hand sheathed around his hard cock.
“Shit.” You gasped, your hand fisting in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against you as your hips buckled slightly when his tongue hit that spot. "Oh my God, Mikey."
His cock dragged against the mattress again, harder this time, the movement jerky and desperate, his hips stuttering against the sheets. The sound he made was muffled against your pussy and the vibration hit your clit at the exact right moment, sending a shockwave through your entire body.
“You taste so good..” he panted, pulling back just long enough to say it, his lips swollen from the contact. His eyes found yours, glazed over with a mixture of desire and something unspoken. “Baby, you taste so fucking good I don’t even—”
He shut himself up and dived back in. His tongue was ferocious, curling against your entrance before sliding up to circle your clit, his lips sealing around it, working with a rhythm that had your thighs shaking and your heels digging into the mattress. He squeezed your legs gently, his thumbs pressing into the soft skin, holding you open, holding you still, keeping you right where he wanted you.
“You’re so pretty like this.” he breathed against your pussy, the words barely coherent, distorted by your skin. "So pretty, baby. I need to wake you up like this more often..”
The praise hit you somewhere deep. Your hand tightened in his curls, your hips rolling up into his mouth, chasing the friction and that sweet release. He let you. He moaned when you did it, his hips grinding into the mattress in a cadence similar to yours, his cock rutting against the sheets. His body moved with yours like you were connected, like the sounds you made were pulling something out of him he couldn't control.
“I’m close…” you breathed. “Mikey, I’m so close.”
He pulled harder. His tongue flicked against your clit in quick, focused strokes, those of a man who had a goal and knew exactly how to hit the target. His lips were tight and his cheeks hollowed, his brows furrowing in concentration. His fingers dug into your thighs, his hips pressing into the mattress in short, desperate thrusts, chasing a release he wasn’t going to get.
You came with his name in your mouth.
“Oh Michael! Fuck—”
The orgasm rolled through you in waves, your thighs clenching around his head. Your back arched to the point it ached, your fingers tugging at his hair. Your clit pulsed rapidly against his tongue, but he didn't stop. He soothed you through it with gentle flicks of his tongue, dragging through your folds in soft, languid passes while your body trembled and the aftershocks rippled through you in electric pulses.
When he finally pulled back, his mouth was a mess. His lips were swollen, his chin slick, his cheeks flushed. He pressed one last open-mouthed breath to your inner thigh, then crawled up your body, his hips settling between your legs. His cock dug into your thigh, hard and hot through his boxers, the material stretching across the diameter.
“Morning, beautiful.” he murmured against your skin, pressing a tender kiss on your forehead.
You were still trembling. Your hand found his cheek, your thumb dragging across his wet lower lip, and he caught it between his lips, slow, tender, his eyes closing again. He looked wrecked. Ruined. Like eating you out had done something to him that he hadn't expected, that he was still recovering from.
“You..” you managed, your voice wrecked. “Are not allowed to wake me up like that every morning.”
He grinned.
“Baby..” he whispered, pressing his mouth to yours, letting you taste yourself on his lips. “I’m gonna wake you up like that every single morning.”
the world knew that michael was a lover boy, he worshipped the ground women walked on and treated them with such gentleness as if they were porcelain—you fell into that category as his lady.
but they didn’t know michael had such a perverse mindset, that behind the shades hid a leering gaze on the body that was solely his.
michael was a man of good faith—he tried his best not to gawk at you but how could he not? its like everything you did was a test of his patience. you were temptation on legs.
like once you were walking around the house in a pair of shorts and a tanktop to get through the hot weather, abruptly dropping the CD you were holding. “crap..” you had muttered, bending over to pick it up.
michael had just been about to make his way to the kitchen when he found you in that position—ass puckered in the air and the fabric of your shorts tight over your cheeks.
safe to say? his cock was immediately hard, and he had to hurry off to the bathroom before you saw him.
or like another time when you both were play fighting and you climbed onto him, giggling and tickling his sides, clothed pussy righttt over the growing bulge in his slacks. “mama—… hold on a moment. lemme use the bathroom ‘kay?” he had nervously stammered out, gently moving you off him so he could rush into the bathroom and whip out his cock that was already leaking cum.
and gosh, the most embarrassing memory, when you came out to the pool in a little scrap you called a bathing suit—his cock was achingly hard—but instead of being able to scurry off and handle his business, you spotted it immediately.
that led you to jerk him off on one of the lounge chairs, kissing his neck and whispering into his ear. “aw mikey, you can’t help yourself can you?” he had let out mewls and whispered pleas, his orgasm approaching
“cmon, big daddy, come for me.” you purred seductively in his ear and he was a goner, come spurting out of his cock and making a mess of your hand.
so the world may think hes a gentleman, but in private hes your little pervert.
synopsis: michael’s dirty dancing seemingly caught up to you in a matter of minutes.
warnings: smut 18+, sexual themes, cowgirl, switch!michael, sub!reader, creampie, hair pulling, pet names, public sex (ish) overstimulation, oral (f receiving) minors dni.
requested: yes or no
This was one of Michael’s best performance you seen, hands down.
Sometimes you came with him when he went on tour, and you loved every bit of it. Or even when you’re back at home, you’d watch all his shows live. But this time, he let you tag along for his Wembley tour circuit in 1988. It was a pretty lengthy tour; anyone else would probably be tired by now or, truly, not have the capacity to sit through it, but you?
You had no limits with Michael. You were just a girl madly in love with your partner. You’d do anything for him, especially when supporting him. So, he was on either his second-to-last song, about almost time to an end, which you weren’t complaining about, but it definitely was refreshing to watch him do what he does best.
You felt, and Michael most certainly felt, that his performance was definitely him giving his all and more, because you were there.
Michael is a perfectionist, he was gonna do amazing regardless, but the way he moved his fingers, his body, and the faces he made. You knew they were all for you, only for you. Doing so, he eventually got what he wanted because without your knowledge, he performed ‘The Way You Make Me Feel.’ One of your favorite songs because of obvious reasons; It’s about you.
Once you heard the song blare through the loudspeaker, your ears perked up as you looked towards the entrance of the stage. Whatever you had been doing was interrupted because now you were just inches away from the stage, watching from behind the scenes as Michael did his opening piece.
“You knock me off of my feet now baby!”
“Wooooo!”
The crowd erupted into cheers, and the stage lights illuminated Michael, bringing him out of the dark. The beat thumped as Michael did his signature moves, popping his chest and doing the small spins in place. His background dancers stayed in the back while the song began, officially starting Michael’s performance.
Your heart thumped out of your chest as you watched him prance around the stage. His calculated movements, incredible voice that projected perfectly, and his fingers that could not stop moving in seductive ways, all had you backstage warming up. He eventually caught your figure and gave you a few winks, keeping it professional.
You’d shy away by angling your head downward or biting your lip, or even nibbling on the tip of your fingernail. Michael saw all of it, and it fueled his little teases even more. Michael smirked as he walked closer toward your end and waved his guys over. They came, as Michael finished the lyrics; now with a perfect view of you and his audience.
“I like this feeling you’re givin’ me.”
He was close. Your pupils grew big as you watched him precisely, knowing these lyrics were directed to you, and he sang them to you at this moment, making butterflies tear up your stomach. You smiled like an idiot and folded your arms against your chest; you were so shy in this moment that all you could do was cheese and twist your hair occasionally.
“Just hold me baby, and i’m in ecstasy.”
He pointed his hand out, then reached back, placing it on his crotch and slightly thrusting in the air. Your eyes went big, only just the slightest while you watched and anticipated his next move. Though, you should probably sit down because standing and shifting your feet isn’t going to give you the satisfaction you need down there.
He continued the choreo, with his hips continuously popping and one hand supporting the mic, the other all over his body. He’s still positioned to where he has a good view of you, while the guys in the back moved accordingly. He held a smirk while making small gestures towards you.
He then turned fully towards the crowd, where you only had a sideways view of him. His hand traced an outline of a curved body— “I swear I’m keeping you satisfied.” He swayed his arm down and thrusted repeatedly in the air, as if he was giving it to you. The slight, uncomfortable warmth that you felt below meant your body had betrayed you to the fullest. Michael got you, without even touching you.
“Oh my god..” You whispered before letting your head fall into your hands. All of your buttons had been turned on, creating a small thump in your clit, that left you squeezing your legs together while standing. Now you were just about ready for this concert to be over.
—
Michael could tell something was up.
He finished his last song, giving a small outro before leaving the stage. There you were waiting for him by his dressing room door that read ‘Michael Jackson’, “You did so good, Mikey!” He swiftly lifted you off your feet, engulfing you with a hug and swindling you with a kiss. His body was hot and damp, his hair laid messily on his forehead, and his collar stretched ever so slightly, displaying his toned chest.
All of these being a contribution to the arousal you began feeling minutes ago, which is why you were so eager to get out of there. “You ready to go?” Michael’s eyebrows turned downward with a gentle smile on his face.
“Yeah, baby, we’re leaving soon.”
Usually, you wouldn’t inquire about leaving so early; you’d just wait for Michael to tell you. So you took a seat in his dressing room chair, coming down with a slight slouch as Michael wiped the sweat from his forehead, not missing the slight demeanor change within you. He looked over his shoulder at you; you caught his eye and straightened up a bit, flashing him a forged smile.
He squinted his eyes in the slightest.
You couldn’t fake it with Michael, a pout unintentionally formed on your lips as you waited for his attempt at interrogation. “What’s wrong?” There it was. He discarded the towel and put his attention on you fully. It necessarily wasn’t anything wrong, just something that needed to be fixed.
You shook your head. “Nothing, Mike, I’m okay.” Just off of him standing above you, as you sat in the chair looking up at him with a masked feeling of lust, turned you on even more. He couldn’t necessarily point out what was wrong or if you were telling the truth.
He raised an eyebrow at you. “You sure? No one made you uncomfortable or anything?” You didn’t respond verbally, just a small ‘unt unt’. He finished his sentence— “because you look kind of—” There it was. He quickly put two and two together on his own. He got his answer already; he couldn’t help but notice the way your plush thighs would press together and shift against one another.
“Ohhh, I see. She needs me?” Your lack of response gave Michael his answer, again. He chuckled and shot you a faux frown. “I can’t help you right now, baby.” Another squeeze came from you as disappointment seeped through your heart. Knowing Michael, he was going to tease you alllll the way until it was time for him to get his hands on you.
“Then don’t tease me Michael.” Your doe eyes being captured with his big ones as well made him lick his lips, pausing for a second to reconsider it. How can he say no to a pretty face like that? You weren’t saying how badly you needed it, but Michael could tell from your body language alone, and the fact of you using his full name.
“Please…” That was enough for him to turn his head and open the door to his dressing room, peaking his head before spotting bill. “Bill, how long?” Michael asked with his body halfway peaking out of the door frame. Bill stopped in his tracks and held his wrist that contained his watch, close to his face.
“I say about 30 minutes.”
More than enough time messing around with Michael;) He nodded his head and slid back into the room. You watched his every move, watching as he approached you by holding his hand out for you to take. He guided you both to the large black couch. He sat first, while your hands were still together. You followed his movement and positioned yourself to straddle his lap. Your hands fell on his chest, and his eased on your waist, after he gave your ass a nice grip.
“What’s got you so worked up, honey?” He started a conversation while leaning in toward your neck area, showering it with small kisses. Out of instinct, you started grinding yourself against Michael. He felt it, and his hands held your waist, pressed you down, signaling you to stop.
You whined and answered his question. “You, Mikey.” He still gave sweet kisses to your neck, but now he began kitty licking those spots and sucking on your neck. You breathed out and dragged your hands down his warm chest.
“Aint’ even touched you though” He mumbled.
“O-on stage.” You responded quickly, trying to move your hips, but Michael had you restrained. You moaned in his embrace as he applied more pressure on your neck by sucking harder. He might not have made you wait, but he still was going to tease you and work you up even more no matter what. C’mon now. He detached from your neck and placed both hands on the sides of your face, pulling you in for a hot and steamy kiss. You quietly yelped at the sudden movement, but once your lips connected, it somewhat fueled your neediness. Michael, of course, dominated the kiss, his lips capturing yours whole, his tongue swiping against your bottom lip, immediately gaining access. The two of your tongues connected as you lazily sucked on his tongue. He gently pulled back before coming back with a wet, full-lip kiss, then nibbling on your bottom lip, drawing a pinch of blood.
It was clear as day the Michael wanted this as bad as you.
You whimpered while breaking the kiss and fidgeted with your skirt, that had already been risen by now, desperately trying to get it off. You succeeded in doing so, and began fidgeting with Michael’s pants. You were crazy as hell if you thought Michael was going to proceed to fuck you without getting a taste of his favorite fruit. Pffttt.
“Need to taste you first baby.”
One of his arms snaked around your back side, lifting you in the air, while standing himself. He kept a tight grip on you while shimming himself out of his pants, still keeping his boxers on. He placed you on one of the sturdy tables in the dressing room. You immediately fell into position, holding yourself on your elbows with spread legs.
You let out a breathy sigh as Michael placed himself between your legs, in awe at the large, dark spot that decorated your panties. Not that Michael needed anything to feed his ego, because he didn’t have an enormous one in the first place, but seeing the way you were nearly dripping through your panties from watching him perform inappropriately would definitely be a contribution.
He removed your panties, not missing the sticky trail that came from your soaking wet bottoms and your clit. He discarded them somewhere on the floor and kissed your inner thighs. His hands hooked on the back of your thighs, inching them forward. “Just a taste mikey.” You said in a low voice, almost like a whisper, because once again you knew your boyfriend and his tendencies to get carried away. He pursed his lips together and hummed.
“Just a taste baby, then you can take what you want. Yeah?” He nodded his head in attempts to assure you.
You nodded, giving him an okay. His eyes left yours as he connected his lips to your sweet bundle of nerves. He started from your entrance and licked all the way up to your clit. This made you shiver and grip the ends of the table you were laid on. He then began sucking on your clit, lapping up your juices making sure none of your sweet nectar went untasted.
“Ohh my…” You moaned softly with an unconscious attempt to clamp your thighs together, but Michael’s hands kept you restrained. Your body became hot the more Michael’s lips attacked your cunt, and the more he flicked with your clit repeatedly with the tip of his tongue. “So sweet, taste so good pretty.” You felt the vibration of his voice on you making you jolt, and hold onto his semi long curls for support.
“Yes, mikey… right there.” You whimpered with a wobbly voice. Michael groaned and grunted while creating wet noise with his lips and your juices, leaving his chin a dripping mess. His dick stiffened in his boxer, causing him to move his hips into the air, slightly and very few times. His lips pulled at your bundle of nerves surrounding your clit before coming off with a loud pop noise, before coming back in, stuffing his face deeper into your pussy. His movement became more effective as his teeth grazed against your clit each time he dove back in, slurping in the process.
You dragged out a whine.
Your face turned, and your abdomen tightened. “M-Michael… y’said just a taste.” Your words fell deaf to his ears. Michael’s eyes weren’t even open; he was too busy in a daze from the sweetest smell and touch known to man.
You let out a sob and a frustrated moan while yanking his hair. They seemed to grab Michael’s attention because his eyes shot open and at you. With the strength that you had, you eased yourself away from Michael. His lips still working their way on you, as he moved his hands from the back of your thighs, then his lips away from your slobbery cunt.
You gasped from the sudden pull and tried to control your breath. “S’enough, just a taste. ‘member?” He was still between your legs, his eyes were dark and full of lust in that moment. He didn’t even reply to you; instead, he lifted both of your legs, placing them on your shoulders before locking his arms around your thighs and heading back to work.
“I’m sorry baby. I need more.”
You came to defeat as your head fell back and your thighs trembled in Michael’s hold. His tongue put in the same work as before, flicking your clit as you felt an orgasm creep up. Your stomach churned, and you caught chills all over your body. “mikeyy..” You whined.
His adjusted the position by pulling you closer, and adding more aggression.
“Ohh m-mikeyy..” A high-pitched moan erupted from your throat, as the once-built-up tension snapped and washed over you like a tidal wave. You grinded into Michael’s face, feeling his nose bump against your clit. He hummed, slurping up every droplet of cum that exited you, as if it were forbidden not to do so. You came down with a breathy moan, and your legs fell weakly from Michael letting you go.
He wiped his chin with the back of his hand.
You tried steadying your breath as Michael removed his shirt. He discarded it and placed his hands on each side of you, going in for a kiss. You caught it as your lips sloppily danced with one another, and you tasted yourself faintly on his lips. Michael broke this kiss. “I’m sorry I got carried away, angel. I couldn’t help myself. I love tasting you, gorgeous girl.” Michael said.
You nodded your head lazily and wrapped your arms around his neck, he got the message and lifted you swiftly from the table. He sat back down on the black couch again, keeping you leveled as he freed himself. His incredibly long and thick dick slapped against his stomach with a small tap. Pre cum oozed from his agitated tip as it was just inches away from your area.
“Go ahead sweet girl, take what you need.”
The intense eye contact Michael held with you while keeping his hands by his side made you clench around nothing. You brought a shaky hand to your lips as you dropped a wad of spit, then stroked Michael gently, causing him to grunt and attach his large hands to the cushion. You lubed his dick up and lifted your hips, aligning him up with your entrance.
Since you didn’t have the best stability, your hands went to his shoulders, while your head looked downward. “Michael.. Hold me.” You weren’t going to be able to fit his fat tip inside of you without missing your hole the first time.
His hands instantly went to your hips.
“I got you, baby, come on.” He said lazily. Your hands gripped his shoulders as his tip began slowly disappearing inside you. Your eyes shut quickly with a tight squeeze. Every time you and Michael had sex, his dick size never fell to amaze because it always took a second for you to adjust. You let out a breathy moan as he finally bottomed out. Michael licked his lips and swallowed harshly, he wasn’t in charge anymore it was all up to you.
Your hips stuttered as you lifted yourself up, then came back down. You’d repeat the same steps, but each time you’d add a little bit more force. Until you were completely bouncing on Michael’s dick, with such perfect ease.
“Jesus christ.” Michael groaned out load.
Continuous amounts of moans left your mouth as the feeling of his mushroomy tip abusing your gummy walls consumed you. You bit your lip and threw your head back as Michael stared at you the whole time, being in a trance-like state over how good you were making him feel. He shoved your top up and latched his mouth onto your left tit. His tongue swirled around your nub, sucking and pulling at the sensitive spot while he whimpered and groaned into your chest. “Angel… you’re so warm. All for me.” He let out a pathetic whine as your face twisted up with pleasure, small tears threatening to spill out of your eyes.
You couldn’t even form a complete sentence. “Mich—” You were so close but yet so far. Eventually, the strength you had minutes ago began dying down. You still had movement, but it was slowed, and you were more so grinding rather than bouncing. Michael pulled from your tits, leaving them marked up, and quickly put his hands on your hips, manually bouncing you and thrusting into you.
He sensed your tiredness but that wasn’t stopping the show. He loved this position and didn’t plan on switching it.
“Don’t stop, baby. Please, don’t stop.” He moaned, catching his bottom lips between his teeth. You let out a muffled, what could almost be a scream into Michael’s shoulder. Because now you were laid against his shoulder, panting loudly while he peeked around you to see the way your ass came down on him. The sound of wet, squelching sounds coming from your pussy, and the clap sound created by yours hitting Michael’s thighs, all filled the room along with the smell of perfume mixed with cologne and sex.
He felt the way you clench around him multiple times and could tell you were near your end. He gripped the back of your hair, nothing too tight, and faced you toward him, pulling you in for a kiss, something to add fuel. The kiss was very sloppy and all over the place; it didn’t shush either of you; it only made more nasty and lewd sounds come from both of you.
Michael was reaching greatness as well, but he couldn’t let himself go without you going first. His hand with a grip on your hair pulled your head back, and his lips attacked your neck. You let out high-pitched cries as you felt the familiar tightness in your stomach.
“Y’Gonna cum for Mikey? Show him how much you needed this? Y-Yeah?” Michael grunted into your neck, fucking into you at a devious pace. God, he was so dirty. All you could do was nod your head, barely even that, while biting your lip as your orgasm reached its peak.
“Yes Mikey.. Oh my god..” You felt the tightness snap again, and an immediate wave of pleasure rose over you, beneath you, inside of you everywhere. You came with an ear-piercing moan. Your fingernails dug into his thighs as he still held you in the position of your head being back, chest perked up, and your back arched. Your cum created a thick white ring around his dick, and from the sight of that alone, that was enough to make you cum. He thrusted into you hard, a couple more times, the last few becoming sloppy before you finally spilled his load inside of you.
He moaned and groaned, made a mixture of noise while still fucking you through the rest of your orgasm and now him. “Ohh my… Baby.” He grunted while coming down from a big explosion. The warm feeling of cum crowded your belly, making you hyper aware. You gently fell into his hold with a breathy sigh as you stayed in place. Not bothering to remove yourself.
Your breathing was very uneasy, so was his. He rubbed your back gently and kissed the top of your head. He lifted you up so he could pull out, and the loss of contact made both of you release sounds of pleasure. He was so obsessed with your defeated state that he could almost get another hard-on. You laid your head back on his chest while still straddling him with a naked lower half.
Michael stretched his neck and lifted your face giving you a quick kiss.
“It’s probably time to go babygirl.”
You pouted and groaned. “I know but, I won’t be able to walk.”
Michael giggled and wiggled his eyebrows at the fact of knowing this his was doing. “Well, Whatcha gonna do girl?”
“I’m not gonna do anything, you’re carrying me.” And that’s exactly what he did. Didn’t even try and stand on business..
—
;)
dedicated to my lovey @sturnschris
it IS gonna be a delay on the other fic, so sorry. UGHH
-yourlove7 2026. don’t copy, repost as yours, remake, if inspired give creds.
✦ pairing ... 4.6k ﹒ history michael ℘ f.reader. 18+ MDNI —
✦ premise ... 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 ★ every month, you and michael challenge yourselves to try something new together. this month's idea? roleplaying. armed with a shopping bag full of costumes and being slightly wine drunk, you decide to put on a one-woman fashion show for your very entertained husband.
✦ contains ... ( smut w little plot ) softdom!mj, established relationship, oral ( f!receiving ), roleplaying, dry humping, edging ( if you squint ), dirty talk, p in v sex, intoxication, experimenting, no use of y/n, unprotected ( don’t try this at home ) creampie, daddy kink ( if you squint )
✦ adore’s note ... my debut! i hope y'all like it because i’ve been so nervy about posting on here. my wattpad is gorjuse, in case i repost imagines, there was no plagiarism
requested ﹒ n/a ♡
Wine buzzes lazy through your veins, a warm river pooling in your stomach as you lean against the doorframe of your shared closet. Michael sits on the edge of your king-sized bed, the wine glass held loose in one elegant hand, the other resting on his thigh. He’s already changed from his day clothes into a loose, black silk shirt, unbuttoned halfway, and a pair of matching pajama pants. The soft light of the bedside lamp catches the silver initial bracelet around his wrist, the one you bought him last anniversary.
“Reaady?” you call out, your voice a little husky from the wine and the thrill of what you’re about to do. Michael takes a slow sip of his wine, his dark eyes never leaving yours. A small, knowing smile plays on his lips. “Born ready, angel.”
You giggle, a light, bubbly sound that feels foreign to your ears. With a deep breath, you push off the doorframe and reach for the first outfit. A classic sailor uniform. The fabric is a crisp, navy blue, the collar starched stiff and trimmed with white. The skirt is scandalously short, ending mid-thigh, and the little white sailor hat perched on your head feels ridiculously small. You turn to face the full-length mirror, adjusting the hat at a jaunty angle. You look like you’re about to star in an old-fashioned musical, one with lots of tap dancing and wholesome, patriotic fervor.
“Ahoy there, handsome,” you say, trying to deepen your voice into a more authoritative tone. “'Mission t'come aboard?” Michael’s eyes widen, a flicker of amusement and something darker in their depths. He sets his wine glass down on the nightstand with a soft click. “Well, well, well…” he drawls, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through the floorboards. “Looks like m'in fer a treat t'night.” He pats the space on the bed next to him. “Why don’t you come on over here an' let th' captain inspect his new recruit?”
Your heart hammers against your ribs as you cross the room, the short skirt swishing around your thighs. You stop in front of him, standing at attention. “Recruit reportin' for duty, sir.” “Good girl,” he says, his hand coming up to rest on your hip. His thumb traces circles over the fabric, sending shivers down your spine. “Very good. But I think you’re wearin' a li'l too much for this inspection.” His fingers dip beneath the hem of the skirt, teasing the skin of your thigh. “Why don'cha show me whatcha got under this uniform?”
You bite your lip, a blush creeping up your neck. With a shaky breath, you reach back to unzip the skirt. It pools at your feet, leaving you in just the sailor top, a pair of plain white panties, and the ridiculous hat. Michael’s gaze is hot, heavy, as it roams over your body. He hooks a finger in the waistband of your panties, tugging you closer. “Much better,” he murmurs. “Now, 'bout that inspection…”
He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before his lips are on yours, a hungry, demanding kiss that tastes of wine and desire. His tongue slides into your mouth, tangling with yours in a dance as old as time. His hands are everywhere, stroking, caressing, learning the curves of your body as if for the first time. You moan into his mouth, your hands tangling in the soft strands of his hair. You’re breathless when he finally pulls away, a smirk on his face. “I think this sailor's had 'nough' of th' high seas,” he says, his voice thick with desire. “Wha's next on th' agenda?”
You take a moment to catch your breath, your body still humming from his touch. With a final, lingering glance at Michael, you retreat back into the closet, shedding the rest of the sailor uniform as you go. The next outfit is a classic chef’s coat, a crisp, white double-breasted jacket that’s way too big for you. You roll up the sleeves, a simple white apron tied loosely around your waist. You grab a wooden spoon from the kitchen on your way back, holding it like a weapon. “Bon appétit, monsieur,” you say, your best French accent sounding more like a mangled New Yorker. Michael chuckles, a deep, throaty sound. ““Ooh, I do love a woman who can han’le herself in th’ kitchen.” He leans back on his elbows, legs sprawled out in front of him. “What’s on th’ menu t’night, chef?”
You stride over to the bed, the wooden spoon held aloft. “You are,” you say, your voice low and seductive. “I’m th’ main course, an’ you’re the dessert.” You tap the spoon against his chest, right over his heart. “But first, ya gotta earn your meal.” He raises an eyebrow, a challenge in his eyes. “Oh? An’ how do I do that?” “By tellin’ me what you want,” you say, leaning in close, your lips brushing against his. “Tell me how you wan’ me. Tell me all your dirty little secrets.”
He groans, a raw, primal sound that goes straight to your core. “I wan’ you,” he says, his voice a low growl. “I wan’ t’taste every inch of you, t’feel you writhing beneath me. I wan’ t’hear you scream my name as I take you, hard n’ fast, until you can’t remember your own.” You pull back, a triumphant smile on your face. “Good answer,” you say, before you're once again retreating to the closet.
The flapper dress is a slinky, silver number that shimmers under the soft glow of the lamp. It’s a straight-cut, dropped-waist style that hangs loose on your frame, the fringe dancing around your knees. A pearl necklace completes the look, the cool beads a stark contrast against your heated skin. You pin your hair up in a loose, faux bob, smudging a little dark eyeliner on for good measure. You glide back into the room, your hips swaying to a silent jazz tune. “Well, hello there, daddy-o,” you purr, your voice a smoky, seductive whisper. “Buy a girl a drink?” Michael’s eyes are dark, almost black, with desire. He sits up, the silk shirt falling open to reveal the smooth, muscular planes of his chest. “I’ll buy y’the whole damn bar,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “C’mere, you li’l minx.”
You sashay over to him, the fringe of your dress swirling around your legs. You straddle his lap, your arms looping around his neck. “What’s a girl gotta do to get a lil’ attention around here?” you murmur, your lips tracing the line of his jaw. “You’re already gettin’ it, mama,” he says, his hands coming to rest on your hips, holding you in place. “More than y’know.” He rolls his hips up against yours, the hard line of his erection pressing against your core. You gasp, your head falling back as a wave of pleasure washes over you.
“Michael…” you breathe, your fingers tightening in his hair. “Yeah, baby?” he murmurs, his lips finding that sensitive spot behind your ear. “Tell me what y’want.” “I want…” you trail off, your mind going blank as he continues to assault your senses with his touch. “I want you t’dance with me.” He chuckles, a low, throaty sound. “Dance?” he asks, his hands sliding up your back, under the cool fabric of the dress. “Is that what they’re callin’ it these days?” You laugh, a breathy, desperate sound. “Dance with me,” you repeat, your voice a little stronger this time. “Right here, right now.”
With a groan, he stands, lifting you with him as if you weigh nothing. He sets you down on your feet, his hands still on your hips. The music is silent, but in your head, a lively jazz tune is playing, a fast-paced, frenetic melody that matches the rhythm of your heart. Michael’s hands are firm on your waist as he guides you, his body moving against yours in a way that’s both elegant and utterly sinful. The flapper dress is a blur of silver fringe, a whirlwind of motion as you spin and dip, your bodies pressed close together. The room feels hot, the air thick with the scent of wine and desire. When the music in your head finally fades, you’re both breathless, your bodies pressed together in a tangle of limbs and desperation.
“You’re dangerous,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours. “So are you,” you whisper back, before you’re pulling away, the promise of more hanging in the air between you. You give him one last, lingering look over your shoulder before you disappear back into the closet, the flapper dress a pool of silver at your feet.
The cowgirl costume is all denim and lace. A pair of tiny denim shorts, a fringed leather vest worn over nothing but skin, and a pair of cowboy boots that you’re not entirely sure you can walk in. You place a Stetson hat on your head, the brim casting a shadow over your eyes. You look at yourself in the mirror, a wild, untamed look in your eyes. You look like you could ride a bull and win. You stomp back into the room, the heels of the boots clicking against the hardwood floor. “Howdy, partner,” you say, your voice a low, husky drawl. “You lookin’ for a good time?”
Michael’s eyes are wide, a flicker of surprise and something darker in their depths. He lets out a low whistle. “Well, hello there, cowgirl,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “You certainly know how to make an entrance.” He pats his thigh. “Why don’t you come over here n’ take a ride?” You saunter over to him, the boots making you feel powerful, invincible. You stop in front of him, your hands on your hips. “This ain’t my first rodeo, handsome,” you say, your voice a low purr. “You sure y’can handle me?”
“I’m willin’ to risk it,” he says, his hands coming up to rest on your hips, pulling you closer. “I’ve always been a fan of a good ride.” He leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “Why don’t y’show me what you’ve got?” You don’t need to be told twice. You straddle his lap, your knees on either side of his hips. You can feel the hard length of him against you, a silent promise of the pleasure to come. You start to move, a slow, deliberate rocking motion that has you both gasping for air in a matter of moments. His hands are on your ass, guiding your movements, his hips rising to meet yours with every downward thrust. The fringe on your vest sways with your movements, a soft, rhythmic counterpoint to the slap of skin against silk.
“Michael,” you gasp, your head falling back as a wave of pleasure washes over you. “That’s it, baby,” he groans, his hands tightening on your hips. “Ride me. Jus’ like that.” You’re lost in a haze of pleasure, your body moving on instinct, your mind a blank slate of sensation. You can feel the pressure building inside you, a tight coil of need that’s about to snap. You’re so close, so damn close, and then—
You pull away, a wicked smile on your face. “Not s’fast, cowboy,” you say, your voice a low purr. “Best things in life are worth waitin’ for.” He lets out a frustrated groan, but there’s a smile in his eyes. “You’re gonna be the death of me, woman,” he says, his voice thick with desire. You just wink, before you’re once again retreating to the closet, the cowboy boots kicked off with a sigh of relief.
The cat costume is simple, but effective. A black, form-fitting bodysuit, a pair of fuzzy cat ears on a headband, and a long, black tail attached to the back. You draw on some whiskers with an eyeliner pencil, completing the look. You feel sleek, powerful, predatory. You crawl back into the room on your hands and knees, your movements fluid and graceful. You rub up against his leg, purring, a low, rumbling sound in your chest. “Meow,” you say, your voice a soft, seductive whisper.
Michael’s breath hitches, a strangled sound. He reaches down, his fingers tangling in your hair, stroking your head like you’re a real cat. “Well, hello there, kitty,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “You look like you’re lookin’ for a li’l trouble.” You lean into his touch, a soft sigh escaping your lips. “Maybe,” you purr, your tail swishing back and forth. “What’re you gonna d’about it?”
“M’gonna give you exactly what you want,” he says, his hand moving from your head to your chin, tilting your face up to meet his. “What d’you want, kitty? You want me to pet you? To stroke you ‘til you’re purrin’ my name?”
“Yesss,” you hiss, your eyes fluttering closed. “Please, Michael. Touch me.” He doesn’t need any more encouragement. He pulls you onto the bed, your body molding against his. His hands are everywhere, stroking, caressing, learning the curves of your body as if for the first time. He finds a sensitive spot behind your ear, and you arch into his touch, a loud purr rumbling in your chest. He chuckles, a low, throaty sound, before his lips are on yours, a hungry, demanding kiss that tastes of wine and desire.
This one is harder to pull away from. His touch is electric, a current that runs through your veins, setting your nerve endings on fire. But you manage it, untangling yourself from his arms with a soft sigh. You give him one last, lingering look over your shoulder, your eyes promising more, before you disappear back into the closet, the cat costume a puddle of black on the floor.
The last costume is, by far, your favorite. A simple, white, floor-length nightgown, a pair of feathered wings strapped to your back, and a cheap, plastic halo perched on your head. You feel ethereal, otherworldly. You look at yourself in the mirror, a soft, serene smile on your face. You look like you’ve just descended from heaven.
You glide back into the room, your movements slow and deliberate. You stop at the foot of the bed, your hands clasped in front of you. “Are you Michael?” you ask, your voice a soft, melodious whisper.
Michael’s eyes are wide, a flicker of awe and something darker in their depths. He sits up, the silk shirt falling open to reveal the smooth, muscular planes of his chest. “I am,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “And who might you be?”
“M’your guardian angel,” you say, your voice a soft, seductive purr. “I’ve been sent t’watch over you. T’protect you. To… guide you.” “Guide me?” he asks, a challenge in his eyes. “And how d’you plan on doin’ that?”
“By showin’ you the way t’heaven,” you say, a slow smile spreading across your face. You move towards the bed, the white nightgown flowing around you like a cloud. You stop in front of him, your wings fluttering gently. “Show me,” he whispers, his eyes dark with desire. “Show me the way.”
You lean in, your lips hovering just above his. “Close your eyes,” you whisper. He obeys, and you take a step back. With a deep breath, you reach up and unstrap the wings, letting them fall to the floor with a soft thud. Then, you reach for the hem of the nightgown, pulling it over your head in one smooth, fluid motion. You stand before him, completely and utterly bare. The soft light of the lamp kisses your skin, casting you in a warm, golden glow. You are vulnerable, exposed, but you have never felt more powerful.
He opens his eyes, and a gasp escapes his lips. His gaze roams over your body, hot and heavy, lingering on the curve of your breasts, the dip of your waist, the swell of your hips. He looks at you like you’re a masterpiece, a work of art he can’t quite believe is real. “Who are you dressed as?” he asks, his voice a husky whisper, full of awe and wonder.
You take a step forward, closing the distance between you. You cup his face in your hands, your thumbs stroking his smooth cheeks. You lean in, your lips brushing against his, a feather-light touch that sends shivers down both your spines.
“Yours,” you whisper.
And with that, the game is over. The pretense is gone. There’s no sailor, no chef, no flapper, no cowgirl, no cat, no angel. There’s only you, and there’s only him. A growl rumbles in his chest, a raw, primal sound that goes straight to your core. In one swift, fluid motion, he surges to his feet, scooping you into his arms. You wrap your legs around his waist, your arms around his neck, as he carries you the few steps to the bed. He lays you down gently, almost reverently, as if you’re something precious, something to be cherished.
He stands over you for a long moment, just looking. His eyes are dark, almost black, with an emotion so intense it takes your breath away. He shrugs out of his silk shirt, letting it fall to the floor, revealing the expanse of his chest, lean and muscled. Your gaze follows the trail of dark hair that disappears beneath the waistband of his pajama pants, and your body tightens with anticipation.
He kneels on the bed, his knees on either side of your hips. He leans down, bracing himself on his forearms, caging you in. His hair falls around his face, a soft curtain that blocks out the rest of the world. It’s just you and him in this bubble of light and desire. “You have no idea what you do t’me,” he murmurs, his lips a breath away from yours. “Show me,” you whisper back.
And he does.
His kiss is slow, deep, a thorough exploration that leaves you breathless and wanting. It’s not a kiss of frantic hunger, but of deep, abiding tenderness, a kiss that says more than words ever could. His hands trace the lines of your body, a slow, deliberate path that sets your skin on fire. He learns the curve of your waist, the dip of your back, the swell of your hips, as if committing them to memory. His lips leave yours, trailing a path of fire down your neck, your collarbone, the valley between your breasts. He takes his time, worshiping your body with a devotion that brings tears to your eyes. He’s not just touching you; he’s cherishing you. Adoring you.
His hands find your breasts, cupping their weight, his thumbs brushing over your nipples until they pebble into tight, aching points. He lowers his head, taking one into his mouth, and a sharp, indrawn breath is your only warning before a bolt of pure pleasure shoots through you. He lavishes attention on one, then the other, his tongue and teeth working in tandem until you’re a writhing, whimpering mess beneath him.
“Michael…” you breathe, your hands fisting in the sheets. “Please…”
“Please what, baby?” he murmurs against your skin. “Tell me what y’want.”
“I want… I want you,” you gasp, arching into his touch. “All of you. Now.” He lifts his head, a slow, satisfied smile on his face. “Patience, angel,” he says, his voice a low, husky purr. “We’re jus’ gettin’ started.”
His journey continues, a slow, torturous descent down your body. He presses open-mouthed kisses to your stomach, his tongue dipping into your navel, making you gasp. His hands are on your thighs, stroking, caressing, coaxing them apart. You yield to him without hesitation, opening yourself to him completely. He settles between your thighs, his breath warm against your sensitive sex. You can feel the heat of his gaze, and it’s almost too much to bear. You’re exposed, vulnerable, but the look on his face is one of pure, unadulterated reverence.
“You’re s’beautiful,” he whispers, his fingers tracing the folds of your flesh, exploring you with a gentle curiosity. “S’wet for me.” He leans in, and the first touch of his tongue is a revelation. It’s a slow, deliberate swipe that sends a jolt of electricity through you. He’s not in a hurry. He takes his time, tasting, exploring, learning every secret part of you. He finds the tight bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs, and circles it with his tongue, slow, lazy circles that build a fire in your core.
Your hands fly to his head, your fingers tangling in his soft hair, holding him to you. You can feel the pressure building, a tight coil of need that’s about to snap. Your hips move of their own accord, a slow, undulating rhythm that matches the movements of his tongue.
“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs, his voice a low, rumble against your clit. “Let go. Come for me.” His words are your undoing. The coil inside you snaps, and pleasure, sharp and blinding, crashes over you. You cry out his name, your body arching off the bed as wave after wave of ecstasy washes over you. He doesn’t stop, not until you’re a spent, trembling mess, your body boneless with satisfaction.
He kisses his way back up your body, a slow, languid journey. He covers you with his body, his skin warm against yours. You can feel the hard length of him against your thigh, a silent promise of the pleasure to come. He’s still wearing his pajama pants, and the thin fabric is a frustrating barrier between you. “Michael,” you whisper, your hands finding the waistband of his pants. “Take these off.”
He chuckles, a low, throaty sound. “Eager, are we?” “You have no idea,” you say, your fingers nimbly untying the drawstring. He lifts his hips, and you tug the pants down, freeing him. He kicks them off, and then he’s naked against you, all warm skin and hard muscle. He pauses, his elbows braced on either side of your head. He looks down at you, his eyes dark with an emotion so intense it takes your breath away. He brushes a stray strand of hair from your forehead, his touch gentle, almost reverent.
“I love you,” he says, his voice a raw, vulnerable whisper. “More than words can say.” Your heart swells, a feeling so overwhelming it almost hurts. “I love you, too,” you whisper back, your hands coming up to cup his face. “S’much.” He leans in, and this kiss is different from the others. It’s slow, deep, and full of a love so profound it leaves you speechless.
He shifts his hips, and you feel the blunt head of him at your entrance. He pauses, giving you one last chance to change your mind, to stop this. But you don’t. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, a silent invitation. He enters you with a slow, deliberate thrust, filling you completely. You gasp at the sheer size of him, the feeling of being so full, so complete. He stills, giving you a moment to adjust, to get used to the feel of him inside you.
“Y’okay?” he asks, his voice a low, concerned murmur. You nod, unable to speak. You move your hips, a silent plea for more. He gets the message. He starts to move, a slow, steady rhythm that builds a fire in your core. Every thrust is a declaration of love, every stroke a promise of forever. He’s watching you, his eyes dark with an emotion so intense it makes your heart ache. He’s not just taking you; he’s worshiping you. Adoring you.
Your hands roam over his back, feeling the play of muscles under his skin. You dig your nails into his shoulders, holding on as the pleasure builds to an unbearable pitch. The room is filled with the sounds of your lovemaking, the slap of skin against skin, your soft whimpers, his low groans. “You feel s’good,” he groans, his head dropping to your shoulder. “S’damn good, baby.”
“You, too,” you gasp, your hips rising to meet his. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.” “Never,” he whispers, his lips finding yours in a desperate, hungry kiss.
The pace quickens, the rhythm becoming more erratic, more desperate. You’re both teetering on the edge, so close to falling into the abyss of pleasure. He reaches between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit, and that’s all it takes. The world shatters. A scream is torn from your throat as pleasure, sharp and blinding, crashes over you. Your body convulses, your back arching off the bed as wave after wave of ecstasy washes over you. He follows you over the edge a moment later, your name a hoarse cry on his lips as he finds his own release.
He collapses on top of you, his body a heavy, welcome weight. You hold him close, your arms wrapped around his waist, your legs still tangled with his. You can feel his heart pounding against your chest, a steady, reassuring rhythm that grounds you. For a long moment, you just lie there, tangled together in the aftermath, the only sounds in the room your ragged breaths and the pounding of your hearts. The wine has worn off, leaving a warm, pleasant buzz in its place. The room is bathed in the soft glow of the lamp, the discarded costumes a silent testament to the game you played.
He finally stirs, propping himself up on his elbows. He looks down at you, his eyes soft, a gentle smile on his face. He brushes a stray strand of hair from your forehead, his touch gentle, almost reverent. “Hi,” he says, his voice a low, husky whisper. “Hi,” you whisper back, a slow smile spreading across your face. He leans down and presses a soft, gentle kiss to your lips. “That was… somethin’ else,” he says, a little breathless. “I think we found a winner for this month’s new thing.”
You laugh, a soft, breathy sound. “I think we might’ve,” you agree. “Though I was partial to the cowgirl myself.” He chuckles, a low, throaty sound. “Oh, I liked the cowgirl,” he says, a mischievous glint in his eye. “But I think my favorite was t’very last one. The one with no costume at all.” “Mine, too,” you whisper, your heart swelling with a love so profound it almost hurts.
He rolls off you, pulling you into his arms. You rest your head on his chest, your arm draped over his waist. You can feel the steady rhythm of his heart, a comforting, soothing sound that lulls you into a state of sleepy contentment. “I love you,” he murmurs, his lips pressed against your hair. “I love y’too,” you whisper back, your eyes drifting closed.
kianamaiart
germansingergirl
titsay
dailybridgerton
2087
jacobvanloon
gummygunk
stormborns
turnnoffyourmind
