Authors Note: this is based on an anonymous request. I hope you (whoever it was lmao) who requested, enjoy this!
Pairing: Michael Jackson x Fem!reader
Summary: you’re a roadie on the Triumph Tour with one of the biggest bands on the planet; you check in to a hotel for the evening as your buses don’t leave til morning. Somehow you find yourself locked in a stairwell with the most famous member of the band, Michael Jackson, in a heatwave… and a black out.
Word Count: 8201
Tags: porn w plot, triumph tour, off the wall era michael, tour, hotel sex, confessional, michael is more confident in the dark ;), like remember he had to tell lisa marie that he loved her in the dark??, god i need him,
18+ minors dnu!!!
The air conditioning died at twelve past two and took the lights with it.
You laid still for a moment in the sudden dark, waiting to see if it would come back. It did not come back. The room, which had been a manageable kind of hot with the unit running, began almost immediately to shift into something evil – the Georgia July pressing in through the walls and the windows and the blackout curtains like it had been waiting for exactly this opportunity, to smother you entirely.
Within ten minutes the sheet under you was warm. Within fifteen you had kicked it off entirely and were lying on top of the mattress in your shorts and your oldest t-shirt with the back of your neck against the pillow and the sweat already starting at your hairline.
You were not going to sleep anyway.
The rumination of your mistakes has begun as soon as you checked into the hotel the crew were crashing at for the night. Just re-running the show, the spots you missed, over and over. You were glad the talent – The Jackson brothers had not noticed anything different, but unfortunately, Greg, the Head of Sound and Lighting on tour did.
You had been running this desk for four months without incident and then tonight of all nights you had missed three cues that could have been catastrophic in nature – leaving an instrument without sound would have messed up the brothers' musical cues. Greg wasn’t even mad at you, it was just the disappointment after he had to click his fingers in your face and wave at you expectantly to get your attention. It felt ridiculous that he even had to, but your brain was just a million miles away, recently. Home sick.
Marlon, whom you’d grown really close to out of the talent you worked with had become really busy on this leg of the tour – constant interviews, TV specials and charity performances outwith the tour. It felt like these days you saw him at sound check and stage strike, to get the mics back and that was it. You missed drunk Rummy games at the back of their touring bus and being silly, playing pranks. Skating out in the truck parking lot with Randy was a nice memory; it just all seemed so far away.
It had finally started to feel like a job, and you hated that. You couldn’t have a normal life, not the type you wanted. A partner, a steady income, and a nice house. For now, you’d have to just suck it up and be happy you were seeing the country.
You sniggered at yourself – thinking about how hard the boys in the band had it. Especially Michael, his privacy was never his own. None of them had that luxury. They had real reason to complain, their lives would never be the same after this.
You finally decided to get up.
The ice bucket was on the bathroom shelf. You found it by feel, pulled your hoodie on out of habit and let yourself out into the hall.
The corridor was completely dark. The emergency strips above the doors were out, which meant either the backup had not kicked in or this hotel's idea of emergency lighting was the faint orange bleed of the Atlanta streetscape coming through the window at the far end of the hall.
You moved toward the ice machine with one hand on the wallpaper, which was slightly damp already from the humidity creeping into the building now that the climate control had gone.
The ice machine was off and the ice had already started to melt considerably. You stood there with your empty bucket contemplating your next move.
The exit sign at the far end of the corridor glowed red on its battery. You started walking toward it slowly, your bare feet making very little noise on the carpet. It was deathly quiet at this hour.
Below it, the stairwell door sat slightly ajar, and through the gap came the dry cool of a concrete space that the heat and sunlight had not reached yet, and you pushed through it without thinking too hard about whether it was a good idea. The door clearly was kept ajar for situations like these – you made sure to keep it like that so you could get back out to your room that you left open; totally unsure if the locking mechanism would work under the circumstances.
It was cooler by maybe five degrees. Enough for you to stop the rumination and the overreaction going on in your head.
The stairwell had one emergency light in a cage on the ceiling casting amber down the steps. You sat on the second last step from the bottom and pressed the back of your neck against the cinderblock wall and closed your eyes.
You heard the door above open, the sound echoing in the empty space you occupied.
Footsteps on the landing.
You opened your mouth and turned toward the door at the same second the draft from above caught it, and you watched it swing shut with the slow realisation that what was done, was already done and there would have been no way to reach the door in time from where you sat.
The latch clicked and the mechanism locked up.
The footsteps came around the turn of the stairs.
You looked up.
The figure had stopped on the second to last step.
The amber ceiling light fell across him — white t-shirt, dark sweatpants, curls loose at his collar, a small notebook in one hand. He was looking at you very curiously
"The door, it’s— ugh, it’s locked us in here" you said awkwardly, flailing your arms frustratedly.
"I heard it close. M’sorry."
You clambered to your feet and ran up the steps to meet him. You tried the handle. It gave nothing. You tried it again with your shoulder and it gave nothing; a heavy, impossible to open fire door. Great.
You let go of the handle and wiped the sweat forming on your forehead.
You turned around to face the culprit. Someone you rarely had the pleasure of interacting with.
He slumped down on the step and leaned his back against the wall. He carefully balanced his notebook on his knee and then suddenly he was looking at you with a slightly unreadable expression. Michael was the second youngest in the band you worked for; and the most mysterious. You had rarely crossed paths with him other than a quick hi on the bus playing card games, or helping the guys get their mics sorted at the start of the show.
He was mysterious to you just like he was to the rest of the world; but you had an inkling of what he was really like, a small insight. How kind he was to his brothers – what he looked like first thing in the morning when he was tired, the way his eyes would stare out at an empty stadium during soundcheck, still performing as if there were a hundred thousand fans sat in front of him.
He was delicate and soft spoken, and had a femininity that you had never quite seen in a man – certainly not his older brothers. They were boisterous and loud; making passes at you, and being inappropriate at times. You always played along as you seen yourself as one of the boys anyway, you enjoyed their company as there were never many women around to chat to.
You sat back down on your step.
You set the empty ice bucket beside you and put your head in your hands. It had gone from a bad situation to even worse – stuck in this stairwell with a man who rarely broke breath to you. You didn’t even think he liked you.
"I guess the ice machine is off," he said.
"I am aware of that, Mr Jackson."
A beat of silence.
Outside the concrete walls the city of Atlanta still carried on; trucks hurrying past on the highway, the occasional sound of a horn, and somewhere on property a generator had kicked in and was doing its best.
You pulled your knees up. The cinderblock wall was still cool through your t-shirt if you pressed back against it.
"Just Michael," he said. The same way he always said it when people did that — immediate, slightly tired of it — and then he caught himself and looked at you properly. "You don't have to make it formal."
"I know I don't have to." You hugged your knees closer to your chest and looked up through your eyelashes at him. "I just wasn't sure we were there yet."
He absorbed this without defending himself, which you had not expected.
"I suppose. I am sorry I have never really interacted with you," he said.
"Sorry?"
"You seem upset so I am merely apologising. I am just a bit … socially challenged at times. Especially when I am performing a lot. It takes a lot from me."
The corner of his mouth was quirking up ever so slightly; he genuinely was trying to be apologetic.
"Its fine," you said. "I get that."
The stairwell was quiet again. The heat was coming slowly up from the floors below and the five degree advantage of the landing was beginning to lose the argument with the Georgia July pressing in from everywhere else.
You nodded at the notebook on his knee.
"Are you up drawing or something?"
"Writing," he said. "Lyrics."
"For a song with your brothers?"
"For —" he paused. He looked a bit sullen in the dark. "No. Something else."
"Do you always carry it on you?"
"Everywhere." He turned it over in his hand to admire the hardback.
"I lose the thing if I don't write it down the second it comes. It doesn't come back the same way."
You understood that. You had lost enough things that way.
"Do you draw?" he asked. He said it like a natural follow-on, curious rather than pointed.
"Sometimes. When I can't sleep mostly. Whatever's around; call sheets, the back of a tech rider."
"What do you like to draw?"
"Depends. Whatever I'm looking at." You picked at the old label on the ice bucket to give your hands something to do. You were really nervous around him.
He had a really intense energy, one that meant when he was around you; his full attention was yours - totally undivided. Almost like you can’t escape it.
"I spend a lot of time at the back of venues staring at the rigging so it ends up being a lot of scenic outdoor subjects; horizons, sunsets or whatever. Sometimes you guys on the stage; watercolours and oils.. The crew. Whatever feels fun."
He was listening with that scarily undivided attention you had clocked a hundred times from the desk - you’d never been on the receiving end of it til now.
It really was a different thing, being on the receiving end of it. He never had the excuse of having to talk to you at work; if Michael had something specific he wanted done, he’d talk to Greg. And Michael always wanted something specific and usually difficult for us to pull off. He was a perfectionist that way.
"I did a big portrait of Marlon once," you offered to fill the silence again.
"Last winter. We had three days off in Memphis and I had nothing to do and he sat for me for about two hours working his way through an entire room service menu. It turned out well, I think. He got a little emotional when he saw it, which he will absolutely deny." You laughed.
You smiled inwardly at the memory. Marlon in a janky hotel chair with a club sandwich and his convincing argument that he was the most interesting subject you had ever drawn, talking the full two hours about his brothers, the first time he played a sold-out show, what it felt like to watch his little brother become the most famous person on earth.
Michael was looking at you intensely again.
"Are you and Marlon —" he stopped. He looked back at the notebook in his hands, losing his conviction. "Sorry. That's not —"
"No," you said.
He looked up.
"He's my friend," you said. "One of the best ones I've got on the road. But no, we aren’t together if that’s what you were wondering."
He nodded.
He looked back down at the notebook and turned it over once in his hand and did not say anything for a moment, and you watched the slight tension in his jaw release.
The silence that followed was a different one; he seemed like he was really deep in thought about something. So you let it be; there were likely not many times in his day that he could just sit without someone bothering him.
Something had certainly shifted atmosphere wise, it felt like maybe he was becoming more comfortable with conversing with you.
You were both sweating properly now. The cool of the landing had been entirely absorbed by the Georgia heat crawling up the stairs, and the back of your t-shirt was sticking to your spine and his white shirt was entirely see through; the amber emergency light was putting out its own small warmth from the cage on the ceiling and illuminating Michael in a really cinematic way.
You swallowed and tried to move your thoughts away from how nice his chest looked in the wet shirt.
"Tell me about the song," you said, quickly. Trying to distract yourself.
He looked up, surprised.
"You don't have to sing it or anything. Just — tell me what it's about?"
He considered this for a long second. You got the impression he was deciding not whether to tell you the real meaning behind it, or a media trained version of it.
"Wanting something you can't figure out how to have," he said eventually. "Not in a sad way. Just. The feeling of being right on the edge of something and not knowing how to step into it."
You looked at him.
He was looking at the notebook cover.
"That's an interesting take," you said.
"Yeah, it really boils down to me having feelings about certain people and not being able to help it. Loving so deeply, I mean."
"That's actually quite specific."
"It doesn't feel specific enough yet. That's the problem. It still sounds like it could mean anything." He opened the notebook, not offering it to you this time, just looking at the page himself. "I want it to sound like the feelings I am living through right now."
"Have you fallen in love with someone you can’t have, Michael?"
He closed the notebook.
He looked at you for a moment in the amber light, and the look was long enough and level enough that you felt the back of your neck go warm in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature.
"I'm still working out if it is something I can have," he said. “This business is tricky for loving relationships. I am sure you have seen the absolute zoo my brothers hoard around with them. Girls just chomping at the bit to be with them.”
You held his gaze for a second and then laughed softly; he was right. You’d never really seen Michael partake in the groupie scene.
You turned the empty ice bucket over in your hands, running your thumbs along the rim. The plastic was slightly tacky from the heat.
"How long have you been writing music," you asked. "Your own stuff. Not for the band."
"Since I was about fourteen." He leaned his head back against the wall. "I used to do it in the back of the bus on the way to shows. I had a little tape recorder. I'd hum into it and write the words down and then hide the tape in my suitcase lining so nobody found it."
"Why hide it?"
"Because it wasn't ready for people to listen to yet." He said it simply. "And because when you're one of 9, everything is everyone's. Your ideas, your time, your voice. The tapes were the only thing that were just mine."
You thought about that, not having privacy even at that age. Every moment of your life expertly controlled. You had a normal childhood; one where you could go to the park with your friends and play tag, and make up crazy make-believe stories.
"And now?"
"Now I have a room to myself and I still find I hide them - even from my brothers." He laughed quietly at himself. "Force of habit."
The generator sound from somewhere below had settled into a steadier rhythm, and through the concrete walls you thought you could hear the very distant sound of the hotel coming back to life — an elevator somewhere, a door, the muffled television voices of someone who had left their set on.
"What was it like," you said. "Starting out. Being a child doing it?"
He was quiet for a moment.
"I don't really remember not doing it," he said. "Which sounds like a good thing. I think most people would hear that and think — lucky. To have found the thing you want to do for the rest of your life that young." He was looking at you intently now as he spoke; he had really gained some confidence, and you wondered if it was because you were both plunged into almost darkness. That you weren’t making him feel vulnerable, or preyed upon.
"But you don't get to find it. It just is. You don't choose it, it doesn't feel like a gift, it's just the situation you find yourself in. And around it everything else is just happening to you after that; you can’t control it. The schedule and the shows and the travelling. You don't know another way of living so you don't miss it. You just sometimes wonder what it would be like had it not all happened so fast."
"To choose it? You mean?"
"To choose it, on my own. Yeah." He said, with a small smile on his face; glad that you understood his sentiment. “I would have made my way back to music somehow. Maybe a little later, and with a normal childhood under my belt”
You set the ice bucket down after that. It felt rude to fidget when he was bearing himself to you.
Outside the stairwell the hotel was definitely waking up — you could hear it more clearly now, the building reorganising itself back into function.
Your knee was touching his knee, where you both sat on the stairs.
You had not noticed that you had both become so close in the dim light. You did not move from where you sat; you just allowed the close proximity. Small butterflies fluttering in your stomach.
He was so real like this. When you lit him on the stage and heard him in the cans each night, he still felt like this out of your touch character. So talented that it might not even be grounded in reality.
"Can I ask you something?" you said, impatiently
"You've been asking me things for an hour" He sounded like he was smiling.
"A different kind of thing, I guess"
He looked at you.
"All the girls," you said. "Tonight on stage? Why do you let them almost maul you like that?."
He didn’t really respond, so you push again, trying to make a point
"Does it scare you? I mean – we are always on the edge of our seats wondering if they finally pulled you off the stage this time"
He considered the question without performing the consideration.
"No," he said, honestly. "That's probably the problem."
"Why doesn't it?"
He was quiet for a beat.
"Because when I'm out there nothing seems scary, or frightening to me,” you could just about make out his animated hand movements whilst he talked.
"The show is real. The people at the rail are very real to me. They are a indicator of how well I am performing. They keep me in line.” The amber light was catching the beads of sweat on his forehead, where some of his dark hair was sticking to his face.
“Everything behind me goes away. And the girls at the rail are reaching for an interaction, to check if it’s real life and that the energy I am giving them is real. It most certainly is. I can give that to them, the rush, the elation." He paused. "I know what it looks like from the outside, but I see what it does for the fans."
"It looks like you have a death wish, Michael"
"I don't have a death wish." He chuckled, breathily.
"I know you don't." You said it before you had actually decided to, leaving a bit of an awkward lul after it. It was as if he was computing the fact you weren’t arguing with him.
"I've watched you for 9 months now. You don't have a death wish. You have a — well, you can't bear for anyone to leave without getting what they came for." You smiled, not knowing if he could even really see it or you.
You continued your rambling;
“Which is a very beautiful thing that is also going to get you seriously hurt one day."
He did not say anything for a moment.
"That’s it, really. I want to give them everything; just like I do for my family, my work outside of performing, so why not them too in the moment?" he said quietly. "Usually everyone else doesn’t get it when its brought up; it's just stop doing it. You're being stupid. You're being selfish."
"It's not selfish. It's the opposite of selfish. That's what worries me about it."
He was looking at you with an open unguarded expression, that made him look a lot younger than his age. Doe eyes, almost like they were entranced by headlights.
"I've thought about leaving," he said, feeling more confident to share with you now.
"The band. Not in an angry way. Just." He looked up, at the ceiling.
"There's a version of this where I do the thing I actually want to do."
You did not say anything.
"Quincy has said things to me that I haven't told anyone. About what he thinks is possible. To achieve with my voice, and my vision." He looked at the wall, in a dazed way, recalling the moment.
"I think about it on the bus at night when everyone else is asleep. What it would sound like. What I'd do differently if I didn't have to run it past four other people first. Or my father."
"What would you do differently?"
He laughed softly and looked at you passionately.
"Everything," he said.
The word landed like a dead weight; you could now see why he was so dejected and reserved around the other boys. He was trying to push away and leave them, without hurting them or himself in the process.
You looked at him, thoughtfully. Your whole opinion of him had been rewired in this weird by chance moment
The air between you was warm and close and had been this way for a while now
"Why did you come out here? Its so late and I am imagining you have everything you could ever need in the room they put you in" you said.
"It was colder out here." He looked faintly wistful.
"It was the coolest place I could find… and well, it’s suffocating being in those rooms by yourself, your veins coursing with adrenaline. I come find spots where I can write and will maybe bump in to a stranger."
"A stranger? You mean to talk to?"
"Yes. I love hearing other perspectives of life, it is fascinating to me. It is quite lonely, this life."
"I would never have thought it like that. But i suppose you are right – I couldn’t sleep because i was homesick for something i dont have."
"We're having similar evenings then."
"It appears so."
You both laughed heartily, albeit a little awkward – the confessional nature of the conversation was making it so.
The laughter went up the stairs and disappeared, echoing, and when it was gone you were both slightly closer together than you had been and neither of you were doing anything about that.
All at once — the fluorescents blinking twice and holding, the amber emergency light clicking off, the whole stairwell suddenly ordinary and bright and concrete and completely visible.
You both blinked, adjusting to the assault on your eyes.
When you finally got a look at him, he had the kind of face that always seemed touched by softer light than everyone else's. Even sweaty and disheveled, barefoot just like you, he looked unfairly beautiful, his expression hazy and distant, as though he'd only just surfaced from a dream.
You could see the recognition in his dark eyes, as he looked you up and down, finally understanding more fully now, who he had been having this… deep conversation with. You couldn’t tell if he was feeling odd at the thought or completely delighted.
He stood up, abruptly and then reached down and offered you his hand. you took it and he pulled you to your feet and there was a beat where you were standing close together in the bright stairwell and neither of you stepped back.
He looked at you again, more than before, obviously noting how disheveled and tired you looked from the ordeal, but also a long day at work.
"The suite has a really good shower, with jets and all" he said. He said it nervously.
"If you wanted to cool down, you can use it. I can wait in the other room."
You looked at him incredulously, but at the secondary thought of a cold shower in a fancy bathroom, you could not pass it up.
His face was very still, but his eyes weren't. The offer was there, threaded through the silence, through the way he was looking at you. Neither of you said anything. The stairwell felt suddenly too small, the air too warm. Above you, the fluorescent light buzzed softly while the space between you seemed to shrink of its own accord.
"Okay," you said.
Something shifted in his expression. His gaze dropped to the step between you, as though he needed a second to collect himself. When he looked back up, the beginning of a real smile tugged at the corner of his mouth—small, private, and somehow worse than if he'd smiled outright.
He bent and picked up the empty ice bucket.
When he handed it to you, his fingers brushed yours for the briefest moment.
The feeling was electric.
–
The elevator was working, thankfully.
You rode it to the top floor in silence, the two of you standing side by side in the mirrored box with your empty ice bucket and his notebook and the faint hotel-elevator music hanging around you.
You could see both of you in the mirror opposite. You looked exactly like what you were — two people who had been sitting in a concrete stairwell in a Georgia heatwave for an hour. He had his hands in his pockets. He was looking at the floor numbers.
The doors opened.
The top floor corridor was wider than yours and the carpet was thicker. The wallpaper was a different quality, the kind that had texture to it, and the lights up here had come back on fully and were the warm gold of sconces rather than the flat fluorescent of the lower floors.
He stopped at the end of the corridor and slid his key into the door.
The suite opened up in front of you and you stood in the doorway for a moment because you could not help it.
It was enormous. Not enormous like the hotel rooms you had stayed in on this tour — the standard doubles with the single window and the unit on the wall and the carpet that had seen a lot of summers.
This was a different category of space entirely. A proper living room with sofas and a coffee table and a grand piano in the corner that somebody had presumably put there because he was who he was.
Floor to ceiling windows running the length of the far wall with the Atlanta skyline laid out beyond them, the city half-dark and half-lit in the aftermath of the power cut, the orange glow of the streetscape and the scattered squares of building light and above it all the flat black southern sky.
A dining table. A separate bedroom through an open door. Flowers on the sideboard, the kind that came with a suite, white and slightly formal and already wilting in the heat.
You stood in the doorway with your ice bucket, bare feet and an old overly washed Toto hoodie.
"Right," you said, sarcastically
He had gone slightly self-conscious. He was standing in the middle of the living room with his hands in his pockets clearly not knowing what to do; he seemed bashful that you were seeing this for what it was, clear unadulterated indulgence
"It's just a room," he said.
"Michael, there's a grand piano."
"I asked for that, I like to play to wind down at night"
"I have a bathroom the size of a cupboard and a AC unit that sounds like a dying animal and a view of the car park."
"Yeah..." He said it quietly. Not showing off. "I know it's a lot."
You walked further in.
The carpet under your bare feet was the kind of thick you only felt in places like this, the kind that gave slightly under your weight. The living room smelled of the flowers and the faint cool trace of the air conditioning that had just come back on and was beginning to move the warm air out of the room in slow, luxurious waves.
The air conditioning.
You stood under the nearest vent and tilted your head back and closed your eyes and felt the cool air move across your face and your damp hairline and the back of your neck.
"Oh," you said. "Oh that's good."
When you opened your eyes he was watching you from across the room with a nervous, toothy smile and his hands still in his pockets. He was enjoying this; you thought. Enjoying the fact that someone was here with him, to share the bizarreness.
You looked away first.
"Show me the shower," you said.
–
The bathroom was through the bedroom.
You noticed the bedroom briefly — king bed, turned down, the kind of white linen that looked like it had been ironed by a person rather than a machine, a stack of his things on the nightstand, the notebook's twin, a paperback with a cracked spine.
The bathroom was marble.
Floor to ceiling. Cool white marble with grey veining that caught the light from the vanity above the double sinks, and in the corner — the shower.
It was a steam shower, the kind you had only seen in magazines, with a wide rainfall head set into the ceiling and two body jets on the side wall and a bench along the back and a glass door that fogged from the outside in and a separate control panel beside the door like something from a spaceship.
You stared at it.
"The controls are —" he pointed at the panel. "You just — the top one is the temperature. The middle one is the steam. You don't have to use the steam."
"How do you use a shower with a control panel?"
"I'll show you." He stepped over to it, self-conscious now in a different way — a self-consciousness for having to explain something ordinary about his own extraordinary circumstances. He pointed at the top control. "Temperature here. This one turns the rainfall on. This one —"
"Michael."
"Yes."
"I can figure out a shower. It was most certainly a rhetorical question" you laughed
"Right." He stepped back. "Right. I'll be in the —" he gestured vaguely toward the living room. "Take your time."
He left. He pulled the bathroom door mostly closed behind him. You heard him cross the bedroom, heard the soft click of the bedroom door.
You stood in the marble bathroom and looked at the shower for a second.
You peeled your damp t-shirt over your head and dropped your shorts and your socks and you opened the glass door and stepped in and pressed the top control and the water came down from the ceiling like rain, cool first, then finding its temperature, and you stood under it with your hands at your sides and your eyes closed and let it run over your hair and down your face and the back of your neck and the length of your spine.
Cold.
Genuinely, properly cold after the hours of heat, cold enough that you made a small involuntary sound the first second it hit you and stood there breathing through it until your body adjusted and the cold became something else. Something necessary. The sweat and the heat and the concrete stairwell running off you in streams and spiralling down the marble drain.
You stood there for a long time.
You had not realised how much of the night was in your body until it started to leave.
Then – sudden darkness again.
Not gradually. All at once — the vanity above the sinks, the small recessed spots in the ceiling, the strip of light under the bathroom door from the bedroom beyond. Everything, including the panel on the shower, which went dark with a small electronic sound, and the water, which kept running for about four seconds on whatever pressure remained before it faltered and died.
You stood in the dark in the marble shower in the silence.
"Y/N."
His voice, through the door. Careful. Close.
"I'm fine," you shouted back.
"The power went out again."
"I noticed, Michael." you laughed again this time, at his matter of fact statements and his endearing awkwardness.
A pause.
"The floor is marble," he said. "It's slippery. I don't — I'm not trying to —" he stopped. Another pause. "I just don't want you to fall in there. I’ll come help."
You stood there in the dark with the last of the water dripping from the rainfall head onto your shoulders.
"Okay," you said.
The door opened.
The bedroom beyond was dark too — no light from the windows because the Atlanta skyline had gone dark again. The only light in the bathroom was the very faint ambient glow of the city finding its way through the bedroom windows and through the open door, a grey-blue suggestion of light that was barely enough to see shapes and nothing more.
He was in the doorway.
You could see the shape of him; the white t-shirt, the curls, the way he was holding himself at the threshold with one hand on the doorframe; clearly nervous about the deliberateness he had before. You were beginning to notice Michael’s boldness in the darkness.
You reached for the glass door and pushed it open and stepped out onto the marble floor.
You had a towel from the rack by your elbow — you had clocked it before the lights went out, the thick white hotel towel on the heated rail, and you pulled it around yourself now, wrapping it across your chest, the fabric warm and soft in a way that felt, after the wet cold of the shower and the hours of Georgia heat, almost obscene.
He had not moved from the doorway.
His eyes had adjusted to the dark, there was enough ambient light to work with, and you were aware, that he could see you — the shape of you in the plush towel, your wet hair down around your shoulders, the bare feet on the cool marble floor.
He was very still.
"I'm not going to fall," you said.
"I know."
His voice was lower than it had been in the stairwell.
"I just—"
The words trailed off.
He was looking at you the way he had looked at you downstairs, open, unguarded, but something had changed.
In the amber light of the stairwell it had felt careful, held in check by distance and circumstance.
Here, in the dark marble bathroom, with the city washed grey-blue beyond the small window and your damp hair clinging to your shoulders, there was less distance for it to hide behind.
His gaze dropped briefly to the towel gathered at your chest before returning to your face.
Whatever had been keeping the look careful was gone.
What remained was startling in its simplicity.
Desire, certain and true and a bit reckless.
He stopped in front of you, close enough that you could smell the clean scent of hotel soap on his skin and the warmer, familiar smell of a sultry, musky cologne.
For a second neither of you moved. There were sounds of heavy breathing and the morning coming alive outside the window.
Then his hand lifted.
His fingers brushed the side of your face as he tucked a strand of wet hair behind your ear. The touch was almost impossibly gentle, but it still sent a pulse of awareness through you. As though he was discovering, too late, how difficult it was to touch you and remain unchanged by it.
His eyes moved over your face in the near dark.
"I'm glad," he said quietly, "that Marlon hasn't gotten to you."
You looked at him, nervously.
"It means I can do this," he said, "without feeling guilty."
He leaned in and kissed you.
The kiss was a spark in the dark, and then the whole suite went up in flame.
His mouth was warm and insistent, a little clumsy at first, like he was relearning the shape of a kiss in the absence of light.
Your hands came up to his chest, fingers curling into the soft cotton of his t-shirt, feeling the solid, frantic beat of his heart through the fabric.
He made a low, desperate sound against your lips, his own hands finding your waist, pulling you flush against him.
The towel, your only shield, became a nuisance. He tugged at it, his movements suddenly purposeful, his earlier nervousness incinerated by the sheer, driving need in the dark. He leaned in and kissed you more.
His fingers found the edge of the towel and then he hesitated, pulling back slightly.
"Can I —"
"Yes."
It fell.
The air on your bare skin was a shock, a second, smaller climax to the feeling of your first kiss.
His forehead dropped to yours, both of you breathing hard. “The bedroom,” he murmured, his voice thick. “Now.”
It was a fumbling, beautiful mess. The suite, so vast and clear in the light, was now a labyrinth of shadows and unfamiliar shapes. You stumbled over the threshold into the living room, his hand a firm, guiding anchor on your lower back. The coffee table was a phantom obstacle; you both gasped as your shin connected with its edge.
He swore softly, a creative, muttered curse, and swept you up into his arms instead, bridal style, his strength surprising you.
You laughed, a breathless, giddy sound, your arms wrapping around his neck, your breasts pressing against his chest.
He carried you through the cavernous space, his steps sure despite the dark, as if the layout of his own kingdom was etched into his bones.
The bedroom was a void of softer darkness, the city’s grey-blue light barely touching the edges.
He lowered you onto the turned-down duvet, the crisp linen cool against your overheated skin.
You were reaching for him when his hands were already on your thighs, spreading you open.
His mouth found your hip, your stomach, a trail of searing kisses downward. You threaded your fingers into his curls, a soft tug of encouragement.
And then his tongue was on you, a slow, deliberate flat stroke of your clit. You cried out, your back arching off the bed, involuntarily.
It wasn’t the practiced rhythm of someone who’d done this a hundred times; it was exploratory, reverent, each flick and swirl a question he was answering with his whole body.
He was learning your map by taste and sound, his groans vibrating against your most sensitive flesh, his hands holding your thighs wide, keeping you utterly at his mercy.
You were already teetering on the edge, the tension from the stairwell, the shower, the sheer surreal intimacy of this blackout pulling tight in your gut and heart.
“Michael—ah—wait, I’m going to— if you keep doing it like that”
He didn’t wait. He sucked you deep, his tongue working in a relentless, perfect rhythm, and you shattered, a silent, shuddering wave crashing over you, your cries muffled in the pillow. You were still pulsing when he lifted his head, his face glistening in the faint light. He looked wrecked, his own need a visible thing in the set of his jaw.
“My turn,” you whispered, your voice hoarse.
You pushed him gently to lie back. He went willingly, a long, grateful exhale as he sank into the pillows.
You fumbled down the bed to settle in between his long legs and then took him into your mouth slowly, giving him time to feel every ridge of the roof of your mouth and the soft inside of your cheeks.
Your hand cupped his balls gently, your thumb stroking soft circles.
He was big, honestly bigger than you expected, and you worked him with a tender, worshipful pace, your tongue swirling around the tip before taking him deeper.
His hands found your hair, his fingers trembling against your scalp. His breathing was ragged, uneven staccato punctuated by soft, broken dirty words and your name, a prayer and a curse. You could feel the nervousness radiate off of him.
You felt him swell, his thrusts into your mouth becoming shorter, sharper. “I’m—I’m gonna—” he gasped, his hips lifting off the bed. You pulled back immediately, and with the minimal light in the room you could make out his face, contorted with the pain of being edged, but also pleasure.
He reached out for your hand, like a small plea; you obliged.
You looked down at your joined hands, then at his face, at the quiet desperation there. The power was still out. The suite could have been a ship adrift in a sea of black.
And for the first time all night, you didn’t feel lost at all.
There was now a primal need in you, the electricity he’d sparked with his mouth and his confession, wasn’t sated.
You lifted your head, your fingers tracing a path through sweat glistening on his skin, down the taut line of his abdomen.
“Michael,” you said, your voice a low hum against the quiet. “I’m not finished.”
You felt him go still beneath you, then a slow, deep inhale.
In the dim light, you saw his eyes, wide and dark, fixed on you. The shyness was there, but beneath it, something else had taken root—a determination, a focus that the anonymity of the dark seemed to magnify.
“Neither am I,” he breathed.
His hands came to your hips, his grip firm, turning you. Before you could process it, he had you on your back, his body settling over yours, his weight a delicious, anchoring pressure. He kissed you again, but it was different now. No tentative exploration. His tongue delved into your mouth, hot and searching, and you met him with equal fervor, your legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer until you could feel the hard, insistent length of him, still throbbing and firm, wanting from being brought to the edge before. He was pressing against your slick heat, but was certainly holding back.
He broke the kiss, his breath coming in ragged gusts against your neck. “I need—I need to be inside you. Please.” The ‘please’ was a ragged thing, torn from him.
“Yes,” was all you could manage.
He fumbled for a moment, his hand between you, and you heard the rustle of foil—he must have grabbed it from the nightstand in that first, purposeful trip to the bedroom. His movements in the dark were sure, economical. He sheathed himself, his eyes never leaving your face, and then he was there, at your entrance, the head of him nudging against you.
He pushed in slowly, a groan tearing from his throat, a sound of pure, unraveling relief. You cried out, arching to take him deeper. He was big, stretching you exquisitely, filling you in a way that went beyond the physical. He stilled once he was fully seated, buried to the hilt, his forehead pressed to yours, both of you trembling.
“Oh, god,” he whispered, his voice shaking. “You feel… it’s like you were made for this. For me. Worth the weight.”
He began to move. His rhythm was not the polished, practiced cadence of experience you’d had before. It was earnest, deeply felt, each thrust a question and an answer. He was learning you, listening to your gasps, the way your body clenched around him, and adjusting, his hips finding an angle that made you see stars.
His confidence in the dark was palpable; he was wholly present, every ounce of his focus on the connection, on the feel of you wrapped around him.
“Look at me,” he murmured, his voice a rough scrape in the dark. You forced your eyes open.
His face was a study of intense concentration, his lips parted, his gaze locked on yours as he moved. “I want to see you. Even in the dark, I want to see your pleasure. I want to hear you moan for me.”
He drove into you, deeper, and you moaned, your nails digging into the muscles of his back.
He kissed you then, a messy, open-mouthed kiss that tasted of salt and shared breath. His hands slid under you, gripping your shoulders, holding you impossibly close as he pistoned his hips, the pace quickening, becoming more urgent.
“Turn over,” he gasped against your mouth.
You didn’t hesitate. You rolled onto your stomach, presenting yourself to him, and he was on you in an instant, his body covering yours, his chest hot against your back. He entered you from behind, one arm banded around your waist, holding you to him. This angle was deeper, more primal.
He hooked his chin over your shoulder, his breath hot in your ear.
“Is this okay?” he panted, even as he thrust hard, making the headboard knock softly against the wall.
“Yes,” you choked out. “God, yes, Michael.”
He moaned, a long, low sound of pure satisfaction. His free hand slipped between your legs, his fingers finding your clit with an unerring accuracy that stole the air from your lungs. He rubbed tight, perfect circles there, in time with his deep, driving thrusts. The dual sensation was overwhelming—the fullness of him inside you, the clever friction on your most sensitive nerve.
You were babbling, a stream of half-formed words and pleas, pushing back against him, meeting every stroke.
“I can feel you,” he groaned into your ear, his voice thick with awe. “I can feel you getting tighter.
Come for me. Let me feel you come.”
It was the command in his gentle voice that did it. The coil snapped. Your orgasm ripped through you, a silent, seismic wave that clenched around him so tightly you saw white behind your eyelids. You cried out, a raw, broken sound muffled by the pillow as you shook apart in his arms.
Feeling you climax seemed to shatter the last of his control. His rhythm faltered, became frantic, his thrusts turning shallow and hard. “Fuck, I’m—I can’t—ah, god!”
With a final, deep drive, he buried himself to the hilt and came with a guttural shout, his whole body seizing, his release pulsing hot inside the condom. He collapsed over you, his weight a welcome heaviness, his face buried in the crook of your neck, his breaths coming in great, shuddering gulps.
For long minutes, there was only the sound of your slowing heartbeats and the distant, returning buzz of Atlanta. He softened inside you but made no move to pull away. Instead, his arm tightened around your waist, holding you locked together.
He finally shifted, rolling to the side and carefully removing the now used condom; you could sense the slight bit of nervousness and uncertainness come back to him.
Once he discarded the used condom he clambered back onto the bed where you lay regaining your composure and your elevated heart rate. You had not even thought of the implications this had on your job before you allowed him to ravish you.
You felt like you couldn’t even be bothered to care.
He shifted closer to you and nuzzled your hair, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, his voice drowsy and sated. “I… that was fast. At the end.”
“Don’t be sorry. It felt… really good. It’s been a while for me too” You said, voice soft. Your eyes still had not fully adjusted to how dark it was in the room.
“You shouldn’t leave, if that is what you are thinking. What kind of gentleman would I be if I let you roam around the dark hotel all by yourself?”
You laughed heartily, understanding that he just wanted an excuse to hold you close for the night, now that he had you like this. You were wholeheartedly enjoying it though - totally unexpectedly.
“You’re more unhinged in the dark, Michael” You finally said, humour in your tone.
“That's because you can't see me getting embarrassed.”
“You? Embarrassed?”
“All the time.”
The confession came so easily that it almost startled you.
“In the dark, I can pretend I'm braver than I am.”
❛ jealous!michael jackson 𝑥 female !reader ❜
....✉︎ established relationship. you piss michael off by purposely making him jealous, talking to other men. you're just acting out because he wants to keep you as his little secret. you're genuinely over it. later in the car, he reminds you who you belong to.
(era doesn't matter but i did imagine this with annoyed! michael from the we are the world recording)
....✎ warnings/tags: jealousy. he fingers you in the limousine. hiding the relationship. use of 'mama' as term of endearment. btw michael curses in this one (his internal thoughts at least), that's how annoyed he is.
what’s funny is that you can see him pouting from across the room. you don’t have to look at him directly to know, he’s just so painfully obvious with his face.
what’s even funnier is that the pout eventually turned into eye rolls, before escalating into deadpan stares. bill had to hand him his sunglasses he left in the car. at least that way, the whole function wouldn’t have to see him staring daggers at every man that’s trying to own the privilege of a conversation with you.
you weren’t doing it on purpose at first. it just naturally happened, men would approach a pretty girl like you to get an ounce, a sliver of your attention even. in your little black dress and louboutins, you looked classy, beautiful, and delicious.
it was an important evening after all, a night the record label hosted for the shareholders and other potential investors. it’s the mixer where these grubby men can get their hands on speaking to any artist.
as a PR associate for the record label, you’re used to the one making those introductions. what you didn’t expect was for these people to want to talk to you. you’ve probably spoken to half the men in that room, being whisked away from one conversation to the next.
meanwhile, you haven’t uttered a single word to michael since you both arrived in separate cars. separate cars that he asked for, in his attempt to keep your relationship a secret.
so you find his misery hilarious.
him, not so much.
throughout the evening, he battled coming up to you. as men swarmed over you, he knew it couldn’t be helped. you were gorgeous after all. but did you really have to laugh at their jokes? did you really have to accept a drink from them? and most importantly did you really have to ignore him all night? not one glance in his direction, really?
he saw you take another man’s hand as he led you to look at an art piece on display. probably talking your ear off, shit he could care less about at the moment. the man had his hand on your back, but was slowly sliding down to your waist.
that’s it. he’s had enough.
he storms out of the conversation he was pretending to have, leaving a group of people dumbfounded as he made his way across the room. with the sunglasses on, he had an unreadable expression. he can hear someone whisper “did I say somethin’ wrong?” as he walked away.
he plants himself firmly next to you, shoulder brushing against yours. you can practically feel the steam coming off his ears.
“ah mr.jackson. nice of you to join us. i was just telling y/n here about this piece i just bought fr-”
“let’s go home. now.” he turns to you, removing his aviators so you can see his eyes. he was using a voice he only used with you in private. if other people around heard him, they wouldn’t assume it was from michael. their soft spoken, gentle-mannered michael jackson, usually so polite and respectful.
it raises a few eyebrows from the men you were standing with. “apologies, will you excuse me?” you smile at the businessmen you already forgot the names of.
michael takes your hand and leads the both of you out of the venue and into to driveway where his limousine waits.
and even in his annoyance, he’s a perfect gentleman. stopping bill from opening the car door so that he can do it just for you. “get in” he deadpans.
“i brought a car remember, i can drive myself home” you dangle your keys in the air before he plucks them off your fingers. “please…just get in the car” he pleads at this point, other hand still holding the car door open.
you have no choice but to follow. he doesn’t even slam the door once you’re safely inside.
the car ride home is silent, save for Michael’s incessent finger tapping on the left console where his hand rests. he’s antsy to speak; but he doesn’t know where to begin.
“something wrong, applehead?” you ask, feigning innocence. and as you bat your eyelashes at him, your own lips come to a smirk. at this very moment, he realizes you did it on purpose.
you pissed him off because it was fun for you. you pissed him off to prove a point.
he scoffs at the realization, lips breaking into a thin smile. oh you’re such a brat.
“I get what ya trying to do you know” he starts.
“and what was it I was trying to do?” your arms are crossed.
“my girl was trying to make me jealous. talking up those other men, taunting me, because you know i can’t…” his voice softens and he reaches out to unfold your arms.
“but am I your girl, michael? last I checked, you don’t even want to be seen with me in public”
okay, he totally gets it now. you’re pissed at him because he asked to come separately, which is silly considering you live together. he initially had his reasons, but they all seem so stupid now.
“baby you know it isn’t like that” voice low, he pushes your hair behind your neck. giving him room to plant a little kiss near your collarbone.
you don’t need much convincing either, practically letting him litter kisses all over you. “did I mention how gorgeous you look tonight?” he comes closer as he whispers “my girl, my girl, my girl..I was practically drooling in there begging for your attention”
his hand rubs at your knee, slowly making its way up your thigh, taunting you “but all you wanted to do was talk to those men. do you enjoy making me jealous?” he asks into your ear.
“well, did it work?” you taunt back. palm resting against his chest, feigning a stop in his ministrations.
“you definitely have my full attention now, baby” he smiles before he kisses you. he takes your wrist and removes your hand from his chest, guiding you to grasp his hair instead.
you’re extremely relaxed on the seat, practically laying down as michael hovers over you. his kisses are deeper and you pull him in closer to get more of him.
with the privacy of your limousine, the two of you can do anything. a privilege you both abused more often than either of you would admit.
he hikes your dress up so that it pools by your hips. slowly, he reaches your g-string and rubs his fingers against your clothed clit. this elicits a groan from you, aching to be touched fully.
he gives you what you want as he hooks your panties to the side, his hand now fully working your pleasure. his thumb pads your clit in slow, agonizing circles. he watched as your face falls apart for him.
“tell me who’s making you feel good”
all he can hear is the soft, breathy pants that came out of your own mouth, practically begging for more friction. he inserts two fingers inch by inch, as he slowly curls upwards. “what was that? I can’t hear you baby, hmm?”
you can hear yourself squelching as his fingers settle on a steady pace. it's embarrassing, really how wet you are. he on the other hand, pays no mind, amused at how easily turned on you are.
"you" barely above a whisper.
“louder.” he demands, unrelenting at his pace. he presses hard against your clit, feeling your walls tighten.
“you mike. only you make me feel good.” panting. your senses are overwhelmed, thoughts so clouded that the only thing you can chant at this point is “mike, please”
you repeat it like a mantra, feeling his lips kiss the side of your jaw as he whispers for you to let go.
pleasure washes all over you as you grip his hair tighter, head thrown back as you plead for something you're not sure of. he kisses you back to reality, pausing in between to watch your face – making sure you're okay. "you good, mama?"
you nod, he helps pull your dress down as the car comes to a halt. you're both finally home, and as usual, the fans and paparazzi are waiting by the gate hoping for a glimpse of their superstar. this means michael will have to get down from the car first, while you aimlessly circle around with the driver for another block or two – before ultimately returning to use the back entrance to your own home.
“in all seriousness I hate that we have to keep us a secret” you pout.
"yeah safe to say, lesson learned" he kisses your pout away and makes you wear his shades. "let’s change that starting today." he has a shit-eating grin as he opens the car door.
"michael, are you crazy?" you whisper shout as he steps out. but all he does is giggle as he extends his hand out to you, coaxing you to come out of the limo.
you take his offered hand, and step out with a smile on your face. he takes his sweet time walking you inside, hand on your waist, and a peace sign to the paparazzi.
he doesn't care anymore that the media is within eyesight, taking photos of a disheveled michael escorting his "mystery girl" out of the limo, noting that she's sporting his signature sunglasses.
૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ............✎ masterlist
author's note: i finished this so fast, literally within an hour of seeing the request
thank you @purpleteaandclearskies for the request! hope you don't mind, had to change some details but the general storyline is there haha
synopsis: the two biggest artists in the world have been compared to each other ever since childhood. what's the worst that can happen between friendly rivals who get a little too tipsy after a big award night?
tags: bad!era mike, black reader, childhood acquaintances to lovers, conflicted feelings & yearning, lighthearted rivals, alcohol use, making out, smut, switch!michael, oral (f), fingering, creampie, slight breeding kink(?)
wc: 5.1k
based on the song damned by miguel + michael’s ama 1989 look
notes: hii first full length fic for michael!! i saw too many edits of him to this song and it just sparked this… hope you guys enjoy! this was proofread but if there’s grammatical errors, i apologize!
California, 1970s.
Michael was high on the success of his first solo album and the breakthrough he was making on his own. He had plans for his visuals and short films, eager to share with the world his creative vision.
Around this time you had begun to find your own footing in the industry as a soloist, your path following similar to Michael's. You grew up as a Motown artist alongside your two older sisters, your trio becoming a household name by the time you were seven. You were two years younger than Michael but the comparisons were strong. Both very young leads of your respective groups with voices of gold.
Once you were in your mid teens, you couldn't escape the comparisons and you and your sisters were forced to do appearances alongside Michael and his brothers. You were fifteen and growing irritable with the need to group you with the fellow child star. You personally liked Michael and his gentle personality, but hated when others compared your talents.
Off The Wall came out months after your solo album had broken endless records, with Michael catching up closely to you.
"Ah! I congratulated her on the success of her album!" He quipped to an interviewer for one of the very few press releases he agreed to. "She's been a dear friend of mine ever since childhood. Our musical paths tend to align so I'm always looking forward to what's next for her."
Your careers were an endless cycle of comparison, lasting all the way until the moment Michael broke through with Thriller. A part of you felt slight resentment towards him for being the first black artist to truly crossover internationally. You followed shortly after, however you didn't sell as much as Thriller had. You were always in Michael's shadow to some extent, the second most selling album of time title haunting you as every interviewer asked the million dollar question—how did it feel being second best to Michael?
It felt like a punch in the gut to your artistry, though you never despised Michael himself for it. Not when a part of your heart was reserved for him, something he could never know.
AMA '89 night
A decade after your solo breakthrough, you appear on the American Music Awards red carpet, smiling brightly as you wave and pose for the blinding flare of cameras.
"This way darling!" The paparazzi call out, wanting the best shots of your frame fitting champagne colored dress. It shimmered under the lighting, pairing well against your skin tone.
You finish up your shots, blowing a kiss towards the press, and are led off the carpet by your personal assistant Lia, who rambles about all the stars you have to be seen with that night.
"As always, the press wants to see the King and Queen of pop together. Make sure to spend some time with Michael at any point tonight." You knew this was coming. You couldn't ever escape Michael if you were at the same event. Your stomach twists at the thought of him, as you zone out on Lia's words the moment she brought him up.
"Hey, did you hear a word I just said?" She says your name with a ounce of irritation and you glance at her with a sheepish smile.
"Nope. Something about formalities with other stars, especially Michael." She nods at you while guiding you towards your table for the ceremony.
"Alright well, at least you caught the most important part. I believe he should be seated somewhere near you so it'll be easy to just give him a quick hug, smile, kiss on the cheek like you always do and keep pushing." Her afro bounces as she whips her head around, searching for your table as you stop occasionally, greeting your fellow peers.
"Yes, that'll be easy." You speak through gritted teeth, finally continuing your conversation after cutting through the crowd.
"I know how much you despise him-"
"But I don't." You toss a glance her way as you sit down at your spot, a large ‘32’ on the table signifying the assigned table.
She sighs and nods unconvincingly. "Sure. Anyways, he's at table 35 I heard. Make yourself known at some point with him. I want it to be front page news tomorrow." She points a warning finger at you as your raise your hands in defense, laughing at her.
"You're the boss!" She smiles at you before disappearing off to another table. You're joined by a few familiar faces, grinning as you hug your close friend, Whitney.
"So glad you're here with me, dear. If I have to sit near another one of these rock bands I'm gonna lose it." She whispers as you hug, making your body shake with laughter.
You sit through the award show casually sipping on your cocktail, smiling when the camera panned to you, and getting up to hug Whitney each time she had won.
You held your breath as the winner for Favorite Pop/Rock Male Artist was about to be announced, a category Michael was nominated for.
When George Michael's name was called, you couldn't help and look towards Michael, his face adorning a smile as he clapped. Your heart nearly fell to your stomach when his eyes shift over towards you, two tables over. You look away, attempting to avoid his burning gaze.
You were called onto the AMA stage five times that night, sweeping every category you were nominated in. As you give your fifth speech of the night, your eyes land on Michael who stared in adoration, his eyes nearly sparkling like your dress.
You hate how a simple glance makes your stomach do flips, nearly throwing off your speech midway. You step off stage with a grin, and are met with a choir of congratulations as you return to your seat. A brief commercial break ensues, giving you a moment to recompose yourself before the cameras flared back up.
That moment is quickly ruined when you feel a hand brush against your shoulder. Turning, you see Michael looking down at you, his infectious smile crossing his face. He leans down, bringing his lips close to your ear to speak.
"Thought I'd come by and congratulate you." He pulls back enough to see your face as your eyebrow quirks up. You recognize the flashing appearing around you as the press snapped photos of their two biggest stars interacting. You ignore it, reaching for Michael so his ear is near your mouth, mimicking his actions moments ago.
"You can never let me approach you first can you? Always gotta one up me." You tease with a playful smirk forming on your lips. He chuckles and lowers once more, his breath fanning against your ear and neck.
"Seems only right considering you're the big winner tonight. Good sportsmanship is important to me." He stays close this time, watching you carefully. The venue was booming, the chatter of the crowd ringing in your ears— yet the pound of your heart seemed to overpower it all.
Your musical rivalry was more on the playful, almost flirtatious, side of things. You know Michael is a Virgo perfectionist and your ego and passion for greatness are two forces that clashed, and yet the two of you remained friends regardless.
"Thank you for the congratulations, Michael. I hope to see you on that stage tonight too." You spoke directly to him this time, his eyes filtering across your face. His large palm squeezes your knee as a thanks, goosebumps forming from his touch. He gets up just as the cue that commercial break was over began. You watch him with precision, catching the way he looks your way once more after sitting down, not expecting to see you already looking. A faint smirk crosses his faces before he looks down and you turn back towards the stage with a slow sip of your drink.
When he accepts his Lifetime Achievement award later that evening, you stand as you clap to show your support. His eyes cut across the crowd while he speaks, addressing the whole room with his gratitude, yet you make eye contact multiple times throughout his speech. He has to be messing with you…
The awards wrap shortly after Michael's award and you catch Lia approaching you mid conversation with Lionel Richie. She waits patiently beside you to finish your conversation, instantly grabbing your hand after you hug him.
"Alright now Mrs. social butterfly," You scoff at her remark. "We have an after party to attend! We're heading back to the hotel to change and arrive fashionably late. You'll be the talk of the night!" Lia smiles brightly at you, guiding you through the crowd towards your valet.
"I'm not showing up in this dress?" You questioned, waving at the cameras trying to capture a good shot of you.
"Girl, no. That's the point of afterparties, to come in a second show stopping outfit! For the Queen of Pop, you have to give them your absolute best." Your security secures you and opens the door of your car for you as you and Lia slide in.
"Is Michael already there?" You tilt your head. She looks away momentarily before holding your gaze once more, a hint of timidity behind it.
"No."
You groan knowing he's going to show up around the same time as you. Your spotlight will be stolen and grouped with your counterpart—once again.
"Great."
"Look right here, gorgeous!"
The paparazzi was starving— famished even, when you step out of your car, thanking your security as he holds out a hand for you to take.
You left behind the tight, floor length, sparkling champagne dress and opted for a shorter cut backless dress. There were gold chains connecting along the open back of the bright red number, making you feel oh so sexy.
Smiling, you walk into the afterparty feeling victorious. You managed to evade a clash with Michael, earning your own entrance.
You take in the glamor of the nightclub that's decorated beautifully for the musicians, before you hear Whitney's voice behind you. Your stomach does a flip when you see her with her arm looped over Michael's shoulder, grinning widely at you. Michael's gaze feels heavy, giving you a once over while bitting his bottom lip. You feel ill every time you see him do it, not realizing how attractive he looks.
"Hey girl! Glad you could finally join us, we gotta get you caught up!" Whitney removes her hold on Michael and decides to latch onto you now, steering you towards a more private section. "C'mon now, Michael!"
You feel warm knowing he's getting a full view of your back and you risk a glance behind you. His eyes are locked onto the small of your back so intensely he doesn't notice you've caught him until the last second, his eyes traveling up to yours before quickly looking away in embarrassment.
The smug look on your face remains throughout the night, knowing each time you glanced Michael's direction, he was already staring or acting as if he wasn't a second ago. Your prestigious group took shots and passed a bottle of champagne back and forth throughout the night, while also getting up to dance and socialize with other celebrities.
You can feel the alcohol in your system, not quite drunk but definitely tipsy, when you came back to your private section, sashaying your hips past Michael. His hand reaches for your wrist, grabbing your attention. You turn to him, the low crease of his eyelids showing he was intoxicated. He says something you can't catch under the pound of the music and lean down to his earlobe.
"What was that?" He pulls you closer to him, his hand moving to your waist, making you fight off a shiver.
"Come dance with me!" He looks at you excitedly, chewing his gum with a delectable grin.
"C'mon, ain't no press in here girl."
His words are enough to get you onto the lower floor, moving your body along to 'It Takes Two', Michael moving alongside you rhythmically. You enjoy seeing Michael dance so casually, different from the calculated, perfected routines he did on stage.
His hands find a hold on your waist, gripping you tightly while your arms link around his neck. The heat between the two of you begins to feel noticeable, as if it was tangible. Something a tension that only two decades of yearning can create.
You rock your hips, the feeling of Michael's proximity and the buzz tingling through your body from the music and alcohol, gives you the courage to gaze up into his already dark state. The quiet, reserved Michael you tend to know wasn't the same man standing before you with a fire lit behind his irises. Your lips part in a genuine display of shock, admiring the way he's making you feel seen by him, finally.
You detach from his hold slightly to turn your back to him, stepping close to him as you sway your hips seductively. You don't get the chance to see the way his bottom lip gets sucked between his teeth, nor the faint sound that leaves his lips upon feeling you press against him.
His hands find a place low on your hips as you practically throw your ass back on him, your back flush against his chest.
"I got an image to uphold, dear. You keep that up and we're gonna be front page news." He spoke lowly in your ear, his soft tone earning a sly grin from you as you turn back to face him. You grip the side of his face, bringing him towards his ear to speak freely.
"We're front page news either way. Let's give them something good."
Your playful comment has him dragging you towards the door, making a pit stop at the phone to call your security detail.
"Hey, Sam it's me. Send my car back to the hotel."
You expect the shutter of the cameras when the two of you rush out of the dark nightclub, shouts and hollers from the media trying to gather either of yours attention.
"Michael! Our king and queen! Over here!"
He holds the door open to his car, ushering you inside before following right behind, slamming the door. You're both in a fit of giggles as the driver asks Michael where to. He composes himself enough to direct him back to his hotel before the divider slides shut with a mechanical whir.
"For someone so particular about his image, you seemed to let go just for a second there." You tilt your head at him, catching the shy Michael start to creep back in when his eyes drop to his lap briefly.
"Yeah… That's what a bit of a buzz and twenty years of-" He cuts himself off, eyes going wide. You glance at him confused, catching a battle wage across his features.
"Mikey, what's wrong? Twenty years of…?" You question using his nickname reserved just for you, one you called him when you were younger.
His big brown eyes meet yours anxiously, a shy grin spreading. "It's what twenty years of being in love with you will do." He finishes faintly, his eyes struggling to keep contact with your own shocked, bright ones. If you were anyone else, his aviators would have been on, unable to fully get a glimpse of his vulnerability.
"We're so incredibly stupid," You huff a laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. You thought about how the feelings you harbored for years that were disguised as mutual respect, or sometimes resentment, were a way to keep yourself guarded. "I've been ignoring how I feel for you since I was fourteen, Mikey."
His eyes nearly pop out of his head at your revelation, his hands flying to your knees that are turned towards him.
"You're not fooling with me are you?" He speaks your name with such delicacy it makes you feel lightheaded. You shake your head, planting your hands on top of his.
"I could never. I don't think…anyone else could understand me in the way you always have." You nearly knock the wind out of Michael's lungs, as his grin grows wider.
"I've…I've always felt the same way," He flips his hands to squeeze your own. "You have no idea how many songs of mine you've helped produce." His voice drops in the slightest, illuminating the underlying meaning in his words. You feel a fire ignite in your belly, taking a hand and dragging it up to his chest to spur a reaction.
"Oh yeah? Which ones?"
"That's a secret." His voice came out soft as he spoke, his bright, toothy smile making you reflect back at him in the same way with an airy laugh. "May I… kiss you?" He asked gently, cupping your face with his large palm. His gaze is pure adoration, fixating on your plump lips before connecting back at eyes.
You answer him simply by closing the distance, your lips connecting like the final pieces of a puzzle. You sigh against his lips, pure bliss filling your senses as he grips your waist, moving his lips gently with yours. When he pulls away to watch your face, he hovers close enough to feel your breaths puff across his face.
"The Lady in my Life." He says, looking into your eyes with a careful glint.
"What… What about it?" You nearly whisper, toying a finger into his jheri curl.
"I wrote that for you. The Lady in my Life will always be you."
You don't give him a second to think before you're crashing your lips into his, full of passion and desire this time. He lets out a muffled noise, finally moving along with you. Staying connected, you climb into his lap, settling perfectly there. He already is half-hard, stirring a whine from you as you grind your hips down into him, his own grip gliding you against him.
You seperate for a moment to take a gulp of air before diving back into each other, your center meeting his own with a suppressed moan. He began to tug on your bottom lip just as the car slowed to a complete stop, halting your actions. Michael pulls away with a groan, resting his forehead against your own as you try to catch your breaths.
"We got maybe 30 seconds before they open that door. We should make ourselves presentable." He sighs against you, closing his eyes briefly as if he was relishing in the moment. You slide off his lap, readjusting your dress and wiping the lipstick from off your face as Michael straightened out his rumpled shirt, playing with his hair to look put together again.
By the time you make it through the threshold of his room, you're practically throwing yourself on him again, his noise of surprise becoming muffled between your lips as he locks the door behind him with one hand, the other slotted at your hip. He breaks away and directs you towards the bed, swatting at your ass once as he admires the design of your backless dress.
You sat on the plush king sized bed, looking up at Michael seductively as he slowly approaches you. "Gonna be shy with me, Mikey?" You tease, an eyebrow raised.
A knowing, sly grin spreads on his face as he stands before you, bringing a hand under your chin to tilt up towards him.
"Not when I've been.. burning… with desire for you for this long." Goosebumps form on your skin from his words just as he leans down, pressing his soft lips to yours.
You pull him on top of you, immediately comforted by the feel of his weight against you. The kiss held the same intensity displayed in the car, with Michael gently spreading your legs wider to nestle against your core. You moan into his mouth as he grinds his hips into yours painstakingly slow, his teeth pulling at your bottom lip as he pulls away, leaving a trail of kisses long your neck.
You try to shift your hips up, connecting with his clothed hardness and both groaning in sync. Your panties were sticking to you now, creating a wet patch on Michael's designer pants from where you met.
"Mikey, baby." He hums into your neck in response, working his way down to kiss down the valley of your breasts. "I need you to touch me. So bad."
You feel his smile against your skin as he traveled lower, your cocktail dress fully bunched up around your waist now. He kisses your inner thighs, shifting from one leg to the other, before you feel him right at your center, dragging a long finger along your soaked pussy. You whine and frantically grab at the sheets next to you, peering down at him as he presses a kiss against your covered folds. He loops his fingers around the thin material and with a slight raise of your hips, is able to drag them down fully. He groans at the sight of you spread out so bare for him and you can't help but spread wider.
"You have such a pretty pussy, prettier than I imagined." The word sounds vulgar coming from his sweet mouth, which turns you on even more, sending a fresh wave of arousal down to your pussy in response.
"Can I taste you, sweet girl?" He asks, his thumbs rubbing circles into your skin closest to your aching core. You frantically nod your head, forcing out a yes just as frantic, eager to feel him on you. He smiles at your desperation before he dips down, licking a long stripe straight up to your clit. You jolt and cry out, feeling his warm tongue flick along your clit, wasting no time in leaving you a withering mess. He gazes up to watch your every reaction, enjoying the way your lips are between your teeth before you fall back against the bed, pushing your hips up into his mouth.
He alternates between burying his tongue deep in your hole and pleasuring your clit, his nose bumping against you and stimulating you even more. Your hands are in his curls, keeping him in place as he slurps up every drop of your essence, wanting nothing more than to feel you gush around his face.
He works a finger in while sucking on your sensitive bud, earning a moan from you. The stretch was making you delirious, whining about how much you needed his cock.
"Not till you finish for me." He speaks against you, sending vibrations to your stomach. You feel the familiar twist in your gut signaling you're close to your climax, mumbling how close you are when a second finger goes in, scissoring you open for him.
"Mikey… I… Please…" You plead, just desperately searching for your release. His tongue and finger moves in tandem, moving quickly to bring you to your peak. Michael grinds his hips into the bed, searching for friction while your legs begin to shake above him, the tightrope inside of you snapping. You cry out his name, grinding your hips into his face as you ride out the waves of release, Michael groaning into your pussy as your slick leaks all over his tongue.
His movements still as you catch your breath, still shaking from the intensity of your orgasm. The loss of his fingers from your hole nearly makes you whine before the sight of him takes your breath away.
His eyes sparkle at you while he wipes your juices from his face, cheeks lightly flushed and his curls a mess from your grip. He slides his fingers into your mouth and you suck on the digits, holding eye contact while swirling your tongue along the finger pads, eliciting a soft moan from him. He pulls them out and makes quick work of pulling your dainty dress over your head, your full body on display for him as he watches in awe.
"Are you gonna join me or do I have to rip all of this off you myself?" You question with a tug on his trousers. His suit jacket was already lost earlier, making it easier to pop open his buttons while you pry off the heavy belt around his waist. Your hands are on his zipper before he lays a hand on top of yours, opting to do it himself.
"You just lay your pretty self right there." He speaks sweetly, his eyes carrying a shadow of nervousness that's mostly masked behind the profound lust. You've known Michael all your life— you know he's feeling shyer now.
You're about to speak before the sight of him in all of his glory has your mouth opening. You hone in at the sheer size and girth of him before glancing up at him, his lip between his teeth as he feels uneasy under your heavy gaze.
"Mikey, what happened to you not getting shy on me?" You offer a faux pout as he huffs a laugh.
"I'm not… I mean not really it's just… you know, I've liked you for so long and- and I can't believe-" You shut him up sitting up on your knees and dragging him towards the bed, gently pushing him back onto the soft mattress next to you. His eyes flash with shock, opening his mouth to speak before you plant a finger over his lips, looking down at him with an eyebrow quirked.
"I've thought about this probably as much as you have," You state simply, watching his wide eyes light up. "For the love of everything good, if I don't ride you right now, I'll go insane."
He nods as if his mouth had gone dry and scoots towards the middle of the bed. You swing a leg around him, straddling his lap as his hard dick pokes against your lower stomach. You grab him and begin to line the tip up with your leaking hole, his breaths growing heavy under you.
"Relax, pretty boy. Gonna make you feel real good." You purr right as you start to sink down, his mouth hanging open from the feel of your walls going down on him.
You ease down his thick length, pausing to accommodate to the stretch. Micheal's hands come to your waist, gently caressing you in encouragement. You sink all the way down with a moan, Michael whimpering as you pulsate around him. You give an experimental drag of your hips, lifting up and sinking back down once, making him moan loudly.
You start to bounce, steadying yourself with a grip on his shoulders as you slide down his length, both of your moans filling the room. His hands are gripped iron tight on your waist, watching with glazed over eyes as you ride his dick, the slick sounds your bodies produce becoming music to your ears.
You clench around him when he squeezes your ass, making him choke out a strangled noise of pleasure. You’re grinning in pure bliss, the stretch of his cock better than you ever imagined, your pussy leaking around him in response. When his cock hits you at a certain angle, you double over into his chest with a cry.
"Right there was good?" He questions, brows furrowing. You nod and don't notice his shift in demeanor until he starts pounding into you from below, eager to help you reach that spot again. The smack of skin on skin fills the room as he ravishes you from below, his large palms guiding you down to meet his thrusts by gripping your ass tightly.
You moan his name and squeeze him tightly as he fucks up into you, roughly smacking your ass. You leave a white creamy ring around his dick as you ride him, his hand connecting with your ass once more after seeing your reaction, crying out for more. Your clit rubs against his pelvic bone with each thrust, sending sensations to your aching clit. You rub the sensitive bud while Michael reaches for your breast bouncing in his face, squeezing the flesh there.
"Riding me so good… oh god… you're sinful." He nibbles at your earlobe as he talks into your ear, building up your second orgasm of the night. Your cunt squelches embarrassing loud but you're too fucked out to even care, moaning as you feel your peak approaching with each drag of Michael's cock.
"Mikey, I'm so close!" You cry out, feeling his dick hit deeply inside of you. His own soft moans and whimpers bring you to your release as you tighten around him, throwing your head back with a loud moan. He doesn't let up his pace as you ride out your orgasm, shaking as he pounds into your dripping walls desperately, chasing his own release.
He's about to pull you off him as his climax approaches, but you keep your legs firm around him, squeezing your walls tightly around him and sinking down on his cock to meet his thrusts. "Inside of me, let me milk you baby." You say with a drag of your hand along his chest.
He looses it at the thought of filling you with his seed, his thrusts becoming sloppy as his dick twitches, hot ropes of cum spilling out of him with a cry of your name.
You stay on top of him for a while, catching your breaths. His hand is firm on your back, gently sliding soothing patterns up and down your skin. You pull off of him shortly after, leaning back to let him watch his cum slowly drip out of your hole and onto the sheets. You take your finger and stuff the rest back into you, making Michael groan at the filthy sight.
"You're gonna be the death of me, woman." He sighs, giving a completely fucked out smile at you.
"The headlines tomorrow may take you out before I ever do." You tease, knowing the press were having a field day seeing the two of you get into the same car earlier.
"The King and Queen of pop finally together? Could be worse things to write about." He looks at you playfully, turning your hand over to plant a kiss at the back of it.
"They're already planning our wedding details!" You giggle, not catching the way his eyes falter for a second.
"Did you miss the lyrics in The Lady in my Life? I've been envisioning it."
You tackle him, littering his face with kisses as he cackles like a young kid, giddy that he finally had you in his arms.
And for the rest of his life, he silently prays.
note 2: mrs. young freak ho is back 😇 idk yall something about switch but sub leaning mike just do it for me… expect more of this from me i like my men #submissive LOL.
summary: a perfect beach day with your sweet boyfriend should have ended in peace, but when his brothers’ usual teasing pushes Michael’s insecurities a little too far, you’re quick to remind him exactly where he stands ‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.
warning: sexual themes, smut, 18+, jealousy, insecurity & slight mild emotional hurt, fluff, family teasing, slight possessiveness, shower sex, already an established relationship, maybe a bit of a breeding kink thrown in there lol
a/n: hope u like this cute lil story!!! i have been quite busy with work and moving apartments, so i tried to write this quickly in between the chaos, have a nice weekend everyone <3♡‧₊˚
A comfortable silence settled inside the baby blue Cadillac as a sweet beach day slowly came to an end. The smoldering California heat was finally beginning to subside.
This was one of those rare days when your usually busy boyfriend had cleared his schedule completely — an entire day devoted to you.
The scent of sunscreen and coconut lingered on both your skin. Your hair was still damp with saltwater, beginning to dry into soft, messy waves. Your curls looked untamed and golden, lightened by the sun. A warm, sun-kissed glow had settled over your skin.
You'd had a wonderful day, and you were silently grateful Michael had brought his Polaroid camera to capture it all.
Maybe it was the excitement of a new relationship — or the fact that you hadn't seen your sweet, hardworking boyfriend in an entire week — but you couldn't help staying close to him in the back seat. Almost draped over him.
Your fingers remained intertwined, your head resting on his shoulder, both of your curls blending together in the lingering warmth.
You glanced up at him instinctively. He looked down at the same moment. A soft grin spread across both of your faces before he leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.
You held his gaze for a moment longer — soft, loving, intense — his eyes catching the sunset so perfectly they looked like burning amber.
Your intimate moment came to a gentle halt as the car slowed to a stop. Sweet old Bill was probably tired of driving lovestruck youngsters around all day. Although he kept his distance and mainly handled pickups and drop-offs, he'd been around long enough to witness plenty of your softness together.
Bill adored Michael and you, of course — but sometimes the two of you were so in love it was basically a public service announcement, and he had no choice but to play third wheel.
"Finally home, lovebirds," the older man said, his brown eyes meeting yours in the rearview mirror.
You gave him a bright smile and a gentle pat on his shoulder. "Thank you, Bill."
The man was practically a Jackson family member himself, and you couldn't help but see him in a fatherly light sometimes. He had a soft spot in your heart.
Michael gave him a quick handshake of thanks through the leather seats before stepping out. He immediately reached back for your hand, helping you out of the car.
The midday heat had softened into something gentler. The air smelled faintly of jasmine blooming nearby.
You walked side by side toward the house when Michael slipped an arm around your waist.
"This has really been one of the best days I've had in a while," he said, looking at you with the most lovesick expression in his eyes. "My beautiful angel."
Something warm spread through your chest at his words, your smile softening as you looked back at him — like you still couldn't quite believe he was real sometimes.
"I love you, Mikey."
For a moment, his expression only deepened, like he was holding onto that sentence.
"I love you too, angel."
He squeezed your waist lightly before letting go as the front door came into view. He opened it slowly, and you both stepped inside.
Thankfully, most of the family members were out. The lack of cars outside confirmed it — except for a few.
Your suspicions were confirmed the moment loud commotion drifted in from the kitchen. You exchanged a quick look with Michael.
Ah yes — the sweet-talk trio.
Michael had always appreciated how much you liked his family, and they liked you just as much. But whenever even one of them was around — or all three together — it never took long before the teasing started. Words like foxy, sultry, and trouble were thrown around far too easily, always followed by jokes about how Michael had somehow "managed to land you" of all people.
Michael hated it more than he'd ever admit. Not because they were trying to be cruel — but because it always stirred something uncomfortable inside him. There was a trace of insecurity there, quiet and unspoken. Like he couldn't quite believe you were real — or that someone like you had chosen him at all.
You noticed it, even if he never said it aloud.
That's why you always called him pet names like pretty boy or angel face. Because to you, he wasn't just talent and charm and mystery — he was beauty itself. Soft. Rare. Irreplaceable. You just wished he could see it as easily as you did.
You walked into the kitchen hand in hand.
You were wearing a tiny denim halter dress that left little to the imagination, a gold pendant resting at your chest with a delicate "M" engraved into it — a gift from him, of course. On your feet were your wooden platform clogs, adding to your sun-drenched, effortless look. You looked like you had stepped straight out of a magazine.
Michael, however, could only look at you in awe — and slight nervousness. He already knew what was coming.
As soon as you rounded the corner, the three of them were there — Jackie, Marlon, and Jermaine sprawled around the kitchen island, lazily tossing a tiny basketball back and forth between them before they noticed the two of you.
Jackie spotted you first and let out a low whistle.
"Well, damn," he grinned, giving you a quick once-over. "Mike really let you leave the house dressed like that? Man's braver than me."
You rolled your eyes dramatically. "Ew."
Marlon immediately burst out laughing.
The flirting never really fazed you. They were Michael's brothers before they were anything else, and the idea of entertaining them like that was honestly almost funny to you. Besides, you knew it was all playful — none of them actually expected anything from it, and if anyone ever crossed a line, you would've made yourself perfectly clear.
Marlon laughed at your reaction, spinning the basketball on one finger before pointing toward the gold pendant around your neck.
"You see that 'M' around her neck, Jackie?" he said. "You ain't got a chance, brother." Then he looked at you with an exaggerated grin. "But me, however…" He placed a hand against his chest dramatically. "Now that's a different story, sweetheart."
You snorted. "Yeah right, Marlon."
Laughing softly, you tossed the beach towel in your hand at him, earning a loud cackle from the kitchen.
Michael, meanwhile, let out a long sigh. "Are y'all done now?" he muttered, already making his way toward the fridge.
Before anyone could answer, Jermaine cut in immediately, like he'd been waiting for his turn all along. He leaned back against the counter with a smirk.
"She trouble in that dress," he said casually. "Legs for days, all sun-kissed and pretty… got Mikey all lovesick." Michael shut the fridge door harder than necessary. Jermaine only grinned wider. "Bet he spent all day rubbin' sunscreen on your back and feedin' you grapes."
"Oh my God," you groaned, covering your face briefly. "You're just jealous he actually has somebody to rub sunscreen on."
The kitchen immediately erupted into loud whistles and dramatic "ooohs." Marlon nearly doubled over laughing while Jackie pointed at Jermaine like he'd just lost an argument.
You caught the small, half-proud smile tugging at Michael's lips before he reached for your hand again, pulling you closer against his side.
Jermaine noticed instantly. "Man, look at him," he laughed. "Holdin' her hand immediately like she gon' disappear." Michael's grip tightened slightly. "Our baby brother gone soft."
"Jermaine," Jackie warned through a grin.
But Jermaine kept going anyway. "You better keep an eye on her dressed like that, Mikey. Leave her alone for one second and somebody gon' steal her."
The kitchen went a little quieter after that. Marlon's grin faltered. Jackie shot Jermaine a look.
Michael's jaw tightened.
"I'm not soft," he snapped suddenly, voice sharper than before. "And y'all need to stop."
Marlon raised both hands innocently, already laughing again. "Ooh, he mad now."
That did it.
Michael dropped your hand, cheeks flushed deep with embarrassment and irritation, before turning on his heel and storming out of the kitchen without another word. His footsteps disappeared quickly down the hallway.
Your expression immediately fell. "Mikey — come on…"
Usually, the teasing was harmless, mainly done to get a reaction out of Michael more than anything else. And you always reminded him of the same thing: no one could ever steal you away from him. Still, you knew his brothers could be knuckleheads sometimes — and this time they'd pushed too far.
You slowly turned back toward the trio, disappointment written clearly across your face.
"I expected better from y'all," you said firmly, pointing directly at Marlon. "Especially you."
"Aw, c'mon —"
Before Jermaine could even defend himself, you launched the cold water bottle in your hand straight at him.
"That's assault!" Jermaine shouted between laughs, jerking his head out of the way just before the bottle flew past him.
You ignored him completely, already hurrying down the hallway after your poor boyfriend.
A loud bedroom door slam echoed upstairs.
You quickly made your way up the staircase before turning toward his room, a small breath leaving you as you pushed the door open.
Michael was sitting at the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, head buried in his hands. Visibly upset.
"Mikey…"
He didn't answer at first. The teasing had gotten to him more than usual, stirring up all those quiet insecurities he always tried to bury.
You slowly approached him before stopping directly in front of where he sat. From this angle, you almost towered over him slightly. Gently, you reached down and held his colder cheek in your warmer hand, slowly rubbing circles across it.
"Hey," you said softly. "Talk to me."
Michael let out a frustrated breath. "They always do this."
You brushed your thumb across his cheek. "I know."
His gaze dropped to the floor. For a moment, he seemed unsure whether he wanted to say the next part out loud. Then he did.
"Sometimes I think they're right."
Your heart squeezed. "About what?"
Michael swallowed. "About you being too good for me."
The confession came out so quietly it almost hurt to hear. He let out a shaky breath, shaking his head like he already regretted saying it out loud.
"I mean… I see the way people look at you," he added softly. "You could have anybody. Anyone would be lucky to have you." He swallowed again. "I just… don't know why you picked me."
You immediately shook your head. "Oh, angel face."
His eyes finally lifted to yours.
"Michael, do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds?"
A weak laugh escaped him. "I'm serious."
"So am I."
You threaded your fingers through his curls. "You're talented, kind, thoughtful, hardworking, beautiful — and somehow you still act surprised that I love you."
A faint blush spread across his cheeks. You smiled.
"Trust me, pretty boy. If anybody's lucky here, it's me."
The blush deepened immediately. He looked at you for a second longer than before, like he was trying to hold onto what you said.
Then you grinned. "Aaaand…" you continued, giving one of his curls a gentle tug and earning a quiet little huff from him, "you've got this wonderful singing voice, this crazy passion for everything you love, and the foxiest lady completely devoted to you."
"Aaaand…" you teased again as his face turned even redder, "one flash of that smile and I melt like ice cream in the sun."
"Baby…" he groaned, hiding his face in his hands.
You couldn't help but laugh with him, gently straddling his lap. You peeled his hands away from his flushed cheeks and cupped his face with both of yours, thumbs stroking tenderly.
"You're so pretty, Mikey," you murmured, affection thick in your voice. "You're mine… and I'm all yours."
Michael's breath hitched. The frustration in his eyes melted into something warmer, hungrier. He looked up at you like you were God's own gift — sun-kissed and glowing, somehow all his.
"You really mean that?" he whispered, voice low and rough around the edges.
"Every word."
You held his gaze for a moment longer, watching the way he seemed to soften under your words. Then you traced your thumb across his lower lip before slipping it gently into the warmth of his mouth.
He closed his eyes and sucked softly, almost in awe, his tongue brushing the glossy red of your nail. A faint flush rose to his cheeks almost immediately, his breath catching slightly as he looked at you again.
"And you know what, Mikey…?" you continued, voice dropping sweetly.
His lashes fluttered as he met your gaze, still a little dazed, before giving a slow shake of his head.
"I think you've been such a good boy today," you murmured, voice soft and steady. "Taking me to the beach… treating me like I'm heavenly and divine… and being so patient when your brothers tried to rile you up." A small pause. "I think you oughta be rewarded."
A soft hum vibrated against your thumb. You slowly pulled it from his lips with a quiet pop.
Michael let out a shaky exhale, already shifting beneath you like he couldn't wait another second.
You climbed off his lap, and he moved to follow like an eager puppy. Before he could fully stand, you placed a gentle hand on his chest and pushed him back down onto the bed, your fingers splayed warmly over his skin. His breath hitched at the contact.
"Uh uh, not yet, pretty boy," you murmured, smiling down at him. "You gotta watch me undress first."
"O-okay…" he whimpered, eyes wide and hazy with want as he stayed right where you put him.
You slipped off your chunky wooden clogs first, the illusion of being as tall as your boyfriend cracking immediately. Your red-manicured toes — matching your fingers — sank into the soft carpet. Michael watched with parted lips and that same reverent hunger, anticipation curling warmly in his stomach.
You reached behind your neck and untied the thick denim straps of your halter dress, then slowly peeled it down your body. As the fabric slipped over your chest, the cute polka-dot bikini came into view. Michael's breath caught sharply. You saw the way his swim trunks tented, his hand twitching desperately in his lap like he was aching for relief. A quiet, needy sound escaped him as he palmed himself through the thin fabric.
You paused with the dress right above your navel, giving him a teasing little pout.
"Angel… please," he breathed, looking absolutely devastated.
"That wasn't very good, was it, Mikey? I didn't say you could touch."
He could only stare at you in awe, eyes wide and shining with want.
You stepped closer, nearly between his spread knees, then continued sliding the dress down your hips until it pooled at your feet. You bent slowly to step out of it, your chest dipping right into his eye line, the delicate gold "M" pendant gleaming between your breasts in the golden sunlight.
As you straightened up again, you slowly reached behind your back and began untying the bikini top. You were so close to him now, barely inches away — close enough to hear the way he gulped.
No matter how many times you'd been intimate, Michael always reacted like this — like it was the first time he was seeing you bare, like he was falling in love with you all over again right in front of your eyes.
The bikini top slipped from your fingers and landed with a quiet thud on the floor. Michael's eyes were wide, dark with hunger and awe, drinking in the sight of you like you were something sacred.
He reached out with trembling hands, gently grasping the sides of your thighs before pressing his forehead against your stomach, breathing you in like he needed you to survive.
You couldn't help the soft giggle that escaped you. You threaded your fingers through his damp curls, tilting his face up gently.
"Wanna help me with the last piece, pretty boy?" you asked, voice low and sultry.
He looked up at you with the most loving, hungry expression — those big doe eyes full of adoration and want — and nodded almost shyly. "Y-yes," he breathed.
You guided his hands to the ties at your hips. His fingers were shaky with anticipation as he fumbled with the strings, but he eventually managed to pull them loose. The bikini bottoms slid down your legs and pooled at your feet, leaving you completely bare before him.
For a moment, Michael just stared, lips parted, like he couldn't quite believe his luck.
You gave him a soft, teasing smile before turning and walking slowly toward the bathroom, hips swaying gently. You paused at the doorway and glanced back over your shoulder with a playful pout.
"What? Aren't you gonna join me?"
You didn't wait for an answer — just stepped into the bathroom at a light, teasing pace and slipped into the shower, turning the water on and letting the warm spray fill the space with steam.
Behind you, you heard Michael scrambling to his feet, nearly tripping in his hurry. Clothes were shed in a clumsy rush, and then the shower curtain was yanked open. He stepped in without hesitation, pulling you into a hungry kiss the second the water hit his skin.
Your back met the cool tile wall as his body pressed against yours. You could feel how hard he was, flushed and aching, pressed warmly against your stomach. Heat pooled between your thighs at the contact.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers tangling in his wet curls as the hot water cascaded over both of you, drenching your hair and turning your curls into heavy, dripping strands.
Michael moaned softly into your mouth before trailing desperate, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down to your neck, like he couldn't get enough of you.
His hands slid down your body with that familiar mix of shyness and hunger, reverent even now. One slipped between your thighs, and you gasped as his long fingers gently stroked through your folds, teasing with careful devotion.
"You're so beautiful," he whispered against your neck, voice husky and full of awe, barely rising above the rush of water. "So wet already… I can't believe you're mine."
He eased one finger inside you, then another, curling them slowly while his thumb found your clit and began rubbing in gentle, devoted circles. Your hips bucked into his hand, and he let out a soft, shaky breath against your skin, pressing his forehead to your shoulder like he needed the contact to stay grounded.
"It's only you that makes me feel like this, Mikey…" you moaned, voice trembling. "The only ever."
He pulled back just enough to look at you. The warm water had flushed his face a deep rose, droplets clinging to his lashes and tracing luminous paths down his cheeks and jaw. In the soft golden light filtering into the shower, he looked almost ethereal — those wide brown eyes dark with want, his curls plastered wet against his forehead.
A slow, gorgeous smile broke across his face before you pulled him into a desperate kiss.
Every time you got close like this, the shy boy who blushed at the mere thought of intimacy seemed to melt away. In his place was someone bolder, more confident — someone not afraid to use his words and tell you exactly how much he wanted you. It never failed to make your knees weak.
"God, baby… you feel so perfect," he murmured through the kisses as his fingers pumped deeper, steadier. "So warm and tight around my fingers… My beautiful angel. Look at you, taking me so well."
You could only moan into his mouth, biting gently at his lower lip as pleasure coiled tighter in your belly. His thumb circled your clit with more pressure now — steady, relentless — while his fingers curled just right against that perfect spot inside you. The contrast between the quiet, blushing Michael everyone else saw and this version of him, here in the steam and golden light, sent heat flooding through your entire body.
"You're so gorgeous like this," he breathed, voice thick with emotion. "Moaning for me… all mine."
The pleasure built slowly, deliciously, your moans echoing softly against the tiled walls. But right before you tipped over the edge, you reached down and gently grabbed his wrist, stilling his hand.
Michael pulled back, breathing hard, eyes hazy with lust but flickering with that familiar thread of worry. The careful, gentlemanly side of him always surfaced at moments like this.
"Did I do something wrong, baby?" he asked softly, voice rough but tender.
You shook your head, still catching your breath. Without another word, you turned slowly in his arms and pressed your front against the cool tile wall. You arched your back and pushed back against him, feeling his hard cock nestle hot and heavy between your cheeks.
Glancing over your shoulder, voice needy and breathless, you said, "I need you so bad, Mikey… Please fuck me like this. From behind."
You could feel his heart hammering wildly against your back. His wide eyes went even wider — like a deer caught in headlights — surprise and desire warring across his flushed face. Even now, with the water streaming down his body and his obvious need throbbing against you, he hesitated. Always the gentleman, always worried you might feel like you had to do something bolder just for him.
"W-what…?" he stammered, hands settling lightly on your hips as if afraid to grip too tight. "Baby, you don't have to… I mean, if you want me to see your face —"
"Please, baby," you whispered, pushing back against him again, slow and deliberate. "I want you like this. I want to feel you deep."
That finally seemed to sink in. Michael let out a shaky exhale, almost a whimper, his breath warm against your wet shoulder.
"Oh lord… You're gonna be the death of me, pretty lady."
His voice was thick with both awe and lingering shyness, but his hands tightened on your hips with newfound, if still slightly tentative, confidence. A soft giggle escaped you, melting quickly into a moan as the thick head of his cock brushed against your slick folds, teasing you with slow, deliberate strokes while his breathing grew heavier against your skin.
Then he finally pushed in — slow, steady, and so deep you moaned into the cool tile. He stilled once he was fully seated, chest pressed flush to your back, clearly fighting for control. The feeling of him buried so deep inside you, stretching and filling you completely, made your head spin.
His hips began to move in deep, rolling thrusts — intimate, controlled, each one pressing right where you needed him most. Every push pulled soft, needy sounds from your throat as the steamy air danced across your bodies and the running water murmured steadily in the background.
All the while, he trailed tender, open-mouthed kisses along your shoulder and the curve of your neck — sweet and worshipful even as his thrusts grew deeper. Like he couldn't stop himself from loving you gently, even in the middle of this.
He angled his hips just right and stroked that sweet, devastating spot inside you again and again. Pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your core.
You were breathless. The words spilled out raw and needy. "Mikey… please," you moaned, pushing back to meet his deep thrusts. "Fill me up… I want you to come inside me."
Michael's rhythm faltered for a moment, a shaky groan leaving him as his lips pressed another lingering kiss to your wet shoulder. You felt his cheeks burn hot against your skin.
"Y-yeah?" he breathed, voice husky and a little shy even as his hips started moving faster, driving deeper with every stroke. The words tumbled out suddenly, unfiltered. "You want me to put a baby in you, angel? Right here?"
He panicked for half a second after saying it — but your frantic nod chased the worry away.
"Please… I want it. I want you to fill me up."
He cursed softly under his breath — a rare, rough sound that sent chills racing down your spine. You'd never heard anything like that from his mouth before. He buried his face in your neck, trailing more kisses there as his thrusts grew more desperate, deep and purposeful, like he was determined to give you exactly what you'd asked for.
His hands tightened on your waist, one sliding down over your stomach and up the front of your body before carefully, gently pressing against your throat — not squeezing, just holding you close and steady. The other wandered lower, finding your clit and rubbing fast but controlled circles against your sensitive nub.
"Then take it, sweetheart," he whispered hotly against your ear between kisses, trembling. "Take everything I give you…"
The bold words, the steady deep rhythm of him pumping inside you, his skilled fingers, and those sweet lingering kisses along your shoulder all combined to pull loud moans from your throat. You couldn't hold them back, and neither of you cared if the rest of the house could hear. Secretly, Michael seemed to like it — the way you fell apart so loudly for him, proof that only he could make you feel like this.
Pleasure crashed over you first, deep and shuddering. Your body tightened around him as you moaned his name, waves of it rolling through you. Michael followed right after with a broken, shy groan, pressing as deep as he could go while he spilled inside you, giving you everything you'd begged for. He held you close, trembling against your back, still pressing soft kisses to your shoulder as the water continued to rain down warmly over you both.
After a long, hazy moment, he eased out of you carefully and turned you in his arms, pulling you against his wet chest. His chin rested on top of your head while his big hands stroked slow, sweet circles down your back.
"You okay, angel face?" he asked gently, voice hoarse and full of tender concern.
"More than okay," you whispered, smiling against his skin.
He pulled you into a tighter hug, holding you like you were something precious, then kissed you softly. One hand came up to stroke your cheek in gentle circles. His eyes met yours, warm and full of quiet wonder.
"I love you so much, my sweet girl."
You grinned up at him. "I love you, pretty boy."
You both laughed softly, the sound echoing lightly in the steamy shower. The mood shifted back to something sweet and playful as you continued washing each other — rubbing shampoo into his curls, him carefully running soapy hands over your sun-kissed skin, gently rinsing away the last traces of the beach day.
Before long, you couldn't resist. "I don't think you're gonna be hearing any more teasing or flirting from them for a long time now."
Michael let out an embarrassed laugh, cheeks burning hot again as understanding dawned. "Oh god…"
You just smiled back at him with a big grin, feeling warm and content.
This really had been one of the best days in a long while.
and while we’re on the topic of accusing authors of using ai one of the BIGGEST things that piss me off is the fact y’all are stating em dashes as the main reason you can “tell” a fic is written with ai… tells me you’ve never read off anywhere but wattpad pls 😭 anyone who learned how to actually write knows how to use punctuation correctly thanks!
in which thrillerera!michael and fem!celeb!reader get a little carried away in the backseat of michael's new ride .ᐟ
content warnings - switch!mikey, smut ,f oral p in v, shit pacing, as it is 3am. mike being desperate asf srry
long fic warning! wc - 2.3k sheesh
established relationship!! porn with like half a plot
authors note - hi! im totally not scared to upload my first fic omg haha why would you ever suggest that...! what stage of grief is this , also sorry if the smut is lackluster, this was my first time ever writing it.
michael's foot tapped impatiently (nervously), against the cobblestone porch.
he'd been waiting for you, for far to long at this point. the sun was already dipping into the horizon, casting a heavenly peach over the multistory house michael was nearly ready to break into, in anticipation.
he raised his closed fist once again, right before his knuckles made contact with the wooden door, it suddenly opened.
you stood there, head tilting slightly at the sight of the tall man. michael’s heart skipped a beat, It was evident that hed drawn you from whatever relaxation youd finally managed to find, by the state of you. he'd seen many beautiful girls in his day, but there was something effortless about you, eyes he could never say no to—curtained by lashes, nearly fawn like in his mind. soft lips he was sure hed be the first and last to kiss, the gentle glow of the light behind you hugged your curves; taunting him to trace his gaze down the nightgown adorned on your frame.
you are desire personified.
"michael? i thought we were meeting up tomorrow?." you say with soft inquire, rubbing the sleep that lingered on your eyes.
michael's outstretched hand awkwardly lingered before dropping to his side, then reaching up to scratch his neck. he let out a breathy giggle, looking away briefly before speaking.
"i know, i know—but you know how long its been since ive been to see you? with all your shoots? speaking of which, i got an early copy of your vogue cover, maybe it was worth the wait.” he mumbled, small nervous smile, though you two had been together long enough, you made him feel like a giddy, juvenile fan; which he couldnt deny he wasnt.
your small smile stretches to a grin as you shake your head at his words. “howd you even get that? theyve barely began manufacturing?”
The man shrugs “im desperate enough.”
You let out a genuine laugh at that, which shoots straight south on michael, he felt a greedy satisfaction at being able to make you laugh like that.
“oh, i also forgot to mention, i bought a car today.” michael says simply, as if reciting the weather.
you blink once—twice, then speak. “im sorry, a car?”
he shrugs.
you stare blankly for a breath before nodding slowly.
“i forget you are you sometimes.”
his smile is gentle, “i also drove it here, i wanted you to see it before anyone else, other than bill...and uh—paparazzi”
your eyebrows raise in intrigue, “thats bold.”
he giggles softly nodding. “Maybe, but i have a sneaking suspicion youll think it is worth it.”
you step past the threshold of the door, shutting it behind you swiftly, facing michael.
"well i wont hold you back any longer, where is it?" you say, looking past his broad frame, trying to steal a peak. which his figure doesnt allow
his features light up like a christmas tree, he prompts his hand, which you easily take.
he made it a step and a half before rambling about the features of said car, something about horsepower, milage, many things you dont have the interest in retaining, so instead you listen to his endearingly excited tone, his free hand expressing his words further as he leads you around the side of the house, to the guest driveway.
“michael, you bought a fucking cadillac?” you gasped.
the car was undoubtedly impressive, it looked like it morphed straight out of '58. cherry red complimenting the body, flashy white lining the rims and top. your mouth agape slightly, as you broke away from michael's hand to take a closer look.
you walk to the passenger side, peering into the windows, white leather seats gleamed, a lighter red then the rest of the car encapsulated the dash. the cherry and vanilla swirled effortlessly through the entirety of the interior.
as you were preoccupied, micheal was focused on much different things. he swallowed thickly as his eyes directly tracing the curve of your ass, the nightgown hid very little to the imagination, it seemed to taunt him every time you bent further, blanketing the silky skin beneath.
his arms crossed over his body, as if attempting to shield himself from the lust sinking into his bones. gaze trailing up your arched spine, he nearly choked on the jagged air he tried to maintain. Those two weeks apart were fully catching up to him.
you turn suddenly, causing michael to snap his gaze down to the concrete beneath his shoes. your eyebrows furrow slightly.
"mikey?"
"yes, my dear?" he muttered under his breath weakly
"are you okay? did something happen?" you walked the short distance to him quickly, gently placing your hands on his biceps.
he finally meets your gaze, awkward smile drifting up his features, as he nods. He is now noticing the way your eyebrows upturn in worry, is the same look he entices when he is balls deep in you. great timing.
"yes, sorry--i was just distracted." his arms unfold, hands landing on your waist. "its unlocked,” he notions to the car with a nod. “the uh, inside is bigger than it let's on." he nudges you gently, you linger slightly on the unease, but ultimately accept his answer with a nod.
his hand moves to the small of your back when you turn, he leads the both of you to the doors, he opens the passenger for you. you take extra caution when entering, worried even sitting on the seats would ruin them — this makes michael chuckle under his breath.
hes quickly at the driver's side, sliding in with ease. he glances to you, “baby, youre not gonna make the car implode by getting comfortable.” he teases gently, which elicits a half pout from you. he cant help himself from letting his eyes drift to your glossy plump lips, he felt like a pure sinner imagining the things he wanted to do between them. when you looked down, poking softly at the button and nobs lining the dash, he took his time to notice the swell of your breasts. I mean who could blame him, when the cold dusk air caused your nipples to harden. he noted the lack of bra, before biting his lip slightly, looking away. His pants never felt more constricting.
"you like it?" his uneven voice suddenly filled the quiet car, you nod with a bright smile. " 's beautiful mikey, but don't you think its a little flashy for someone who wants to be under cover? what will your dad think about this? You know how he is with money…" you inquire with a tilt of your head.
michael laughed shortly, shaking his head. "well I dunno, I thought yknow...with the album out and the success of that…I should treat myself." he shrugged slightly, eyes catching your gaze. “plus a busted dodge dart could leave those gates and still be followed, hayvenhurst is never clear of wandering eyes.” the last part quieter
you nod slowly, you guessed that made sense.
you suddenly break the short silence. "yknow, I haven't exactly 'treated' you for the album either..." your words were careful.
what michael had failed to note, was the reflection in the windows earlier was practically a mirror; you clocked his desperate gaze almost instantly. and it was certainly no secret with the tent in his pants he made no effort to conseal.
mikes breath quickened as the mood suddenly shifted. he was delayed to a awkwardly quick nod.
“and you know,” you say slower, leaning over ever so slightly to caress his thigh. “The vogue shoot took so long, and that was so nerve racking…” your eyes drift slowly to his. His blood runs cold.
"well, um, I dont want you to feel like you have to d-" michael began, eyes shifting from your delicate touch, to your eyes rapidly.
you huffed, leaning over the console to quickly catch the man's lips. michael's brain short circuited, taking a second to late to match the kiss.
he was glad you took the initiative. yes, you had been intimate before, but you still made him so jittery; with the expectation to please you. your hand reached to lay against his jaw, as you moved together desperately. His hands flew to your sides, clawing to get you closer. he gained a bit of gull, his tongue found the entrance to your lips, desperate to get past you let him; not without a struggle of dominance—which you ultimately won once he pulled away
a string of saliva lewdly connected you together, his breath fanned against your lips as he took a second to let his lungs catch up. "the backseat–its uh, nice." he winced slightly at his maladroit words.
you couldnt help the giggle that left your lips, "you're such a dork, mike." you say, teasingly. michaels face blossoms burgundy.
your eyes drag over his handsome features, before kissing his cheek briefly. You brace yourself on your knees, quickly moving to climb to the back seat. Michaels hand shoots up to aid you. In the maneuver, you made no attempt to hide the accentuation of your ass as you bent to reach the seat..
he swallowed as he shamelessly you watched over.
to say he was lost, was an understatement. He was sure he was in heaven. Your plush thighs squeezing his head, hands tangled in his hair as he got to devour you, completely. His tongue moved feverishly over your pearl, circling it, before slowly licking up your slit, where he pistoned two fingers in and out quickly, bending at every breach to assault the spongy spot inside of you. Your moans erupted throughout the small cabin, fingers grasping in a frenzy. long lost were your concerns of wrecking the freshly refurbished seats; as you arched deliciously into michaels face. He groaned into your puffy pussy, shivers rattled up your spine. “missed this—missed you.” he mumbles, before continuing his attack on your sensitive bud.
“m–mikey!” your head threw back as he sucked. “oh michael!---please!--dont stop!”
his free hand gripped the flesh of your thigh, leaving an angry mark in its wake. you weren't able to form the words before you released. your back arched once more, chasing the crashing feeling, pornographic moan following suit, as your thighs trembled.
he lapped desperately, causing you to whine at the overwhelming sensation. “mikey—!”
he pulled off, a shiteating grin finding his glistening lips. “sorry baby.” his hazy eyes met yours as he shamelessly sucked you off his fingers. You looked away quickly, flushed cheeks deepening.
He leaned up, gently but firmly moving your face to meet his, encapsulating you in a deep kiss, you tasted yourself on him. Whining below him he pulled away. “Need more—please, michael.” if he didnt know better you nearly looks distressed. He moved his hands to his belt, quickly moving to kiss slowly down your esophagus, as the metal of his belt clinked, unbuckling, he quickly shoved the pants down, he didnt even bother sliding them off fully. he stroked himself once, then twice. your lustful gaze watching his hand, you adjusted on your elbows, reaching to replace his hand. his breath sputtered under your grasp, but he let you take over, dropping his hand to your waist.
you stroked slowly a few times, before finding his gaze. he looked heartbreakingly handsome above you, sweat gently glistening his forehead, damp curls cascading down. lips red and puffy. your pussy clenched around nothing as you looked back down to his cock; angry red tip wet with pre cum. you gently guided him forward, to your entrance.
he winced above you as his tip breached you, the stretch was noticeable as your eyebrows upturned. he gently took your hand wrapped around his cock, aiding you slightly quicker into you. you let out a broken moan once he bottomed out. he faltered slightly, having to readjust his arms caging you. his pace was antagonizingly slow, you gently started bucking your hips up, his cock slid in and out easily, coated with your slick. he stifled a grunt ad he lifted slightly, finding a better angle in the tight space. angling upward had him even more deep within you, his resolved cracked at the pathetic moan that left your lips. he quickly pushed all the way in.
his pace was brutal, the built up tension, distance, and time all came crashing through michael as he thrusted in and out of you. “y–youre so deep!” you cried out, the car shook with every drag of his cock.
“you–you feel so good, baby, so tight— imagined you like this for so long.” his eyes were squeezed shut as he fucked into you nearly primally. you clung to him, nails digging into the sweaty shirt sticking to his form. the ache of your small claws sent shivers down his spine as he went impossibly quicker.
you felt him twitch inside of you, you clenched tightly, causing his head to fly back. “p–please, please keep doing that! baby–i– youre gonna make me cum, please baby!” his pathetic groans, had the tightening band in your stomach coil tighter.
“come in me–michael, please!” you begged feverishly. his hips wretched fully forward, stilling as deep as he could reach, bending down next to your ear, your senses overwhelmed by him.. “my pretty model–my pretty girl, y’gonna look so pretty carrying my babies.” he grunted out, small thrusts finding his hips as his seed released into you, with a broken whine. you came soon after. coil snapping violently, as your release washed over you euphorically.
michael pulled away enough to meet your gaze, gently shifting the locks of hair thatd fallen infront of your flushed features. he smiled warmly. “i think that was a good way to break in the new cadillac.”
you grimaced quietly, unable to help your breathy giggle. “youre a pervert.”
holy shit i pulled an all nighter to finish this bitch. please forgive the awkward transition to smut! as this was my first time writing it...smile.
anywho! hope you enjoyed this! and thank you to the people who waited!! ask or req anything else if youre interested! im now gonna try and figure out how to make a master list!! pray for me.
everything felt slow tonight, heavy with summer heat and sleepiness. michael had turned off most of the lights a few hours ago, leaving only the amber glow of a few lamps scattered around the room.
you were wearing some type of pale, flowy night gown, halter strings tied behind your neck to hold your breasts up. the back was low and sexy, stopping right at your tailbone.
behind you, michael looked so beautiful in his silk black shirt. it was half buttoned, hanging open enough to expose the smooth skin of his chest. you could feel the heat of him everywhere. his legs spread on either side of yours, one arm wrapped low around your waist while his knuckles continued their slow absentminded path up and down your spine.
you let your head lull back as you exhaled, smoke curling slowly towards the ceiling.
michael's chin reached up to rest on your shoulder while he tilted his head just enough for his lips to ghost against the side of your neck. not even full kisses at first. just soft lingering presses of his mouth against your warm skin while his breathing fanned over you.
“mmm,” he murmured lowly, almost to himself. his nose nudged softly beneath your ear, breathing you in. he was addicted to the feminine smell of your lotion and perfume mixed together. when you melted back against him with a tiny sigh, he smiled against your skin cutely.
the palms of his hand rubbed over your inner thighs, hiking the hem of your dress up enough to reach right where he wanted to.
"there she is," he whispered, letting one of his fingers run over the slit of your cunt, "pretty girl." you weren't wearing any panties of course. you were comfortable in your own home. you took another hit of your prettily rolled blunt, letting a slow exhale slip through your nostrils as you whined.
his forehead rested against the back of your neck as he lightly shushed you, loving how your back arched up off of his stomach. two fingers pushed into you intoxicatingly slow, making your legs spread open wider for him.
"here baby," you managed to say, handing the blunt over your shoulder to him. your hips rolled up with a gentle moan, pushing his fingers deeper so you could feel him in your core. he let out the quietest sigh against your skin as he felt you clench around him, curling his fingers up with the blunt nestled between his lips.
he turned his head away as he exhaled, not wanting to get smoke in your face. his other hand continued to massage at your inner thigh, wanting nothing more than to make sure you were comfortable and pleasured and pampered, like his princess should be.
your bj michael fic is really similar to something i read recently in here.. did you take inspiration from anyone?
hi! no i didn’t take inspo from anyone, i was unaware anything relatively similar was out there.. if it seems like it that wasn’t my intention! i genuinely just cooked that up earlier cus it was smth i was thinking about 😭
