₊˚⊹ 𐂯 — michael jackson luvr music luvr heavy off the wall luvr thriller luvr dangerous luvr film student writer editor goth/alternative oct libra sun virgo moon sag rising istj the jacksons jackson 5 the cure siouxsie and the banshees radiohead cocteau twins breaking bad genshin impact
₊˚⊹ 𐂯 — minors please do not follow. i write and repost nsfw stories sometimes!
₊˚⊹ 𐂯 — requests are currently closed! will be open soon enough!
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“Michael had some very everyday sexy things about him, naturally like he would often bite his lip slowly, a kind of a dare. He loved teasing me and, I found out he did this to other women he was attracted to also; and that stare. Michael had a way of looking you in the eyes, and not turning away. It was as if he could actually see right through you, I would often smile, or start to giggle and that would most of the time break his stare. He loved staring into your eyes, and ladies it would make you melt. To say the least.”
this third part of bad influence is turning out so good rn i think this might be my best writing yet... its already super long tho and i still have so many ideas on how to end this IM DYINGG there genuinely might be four parts to ts
summary: your shifts at the library have gotten increasingly more interesting since you’ve started to develop a flirty banter with your favorite patron, michael jackson. the tension reaches a fever pitch when you ask him to stay after closing one night—let’s just say mr. waiting until marriage has thought of a few loopholes for what he considers acceptable in regards to premarital intimacy.
cws: 18+ mdni, smut, barely any plot, (small age gap) not explicitly stated but michael is 22 and reader is 26, kinda switch!mike (mostly sub though), inexperienced!mike & experienced!reader, teasing, handjob, michael cries when he comes ♡, semi public (library is technically closed), religious guilt, he eats it through her panties, use of pet names, dirty talk, cum eating, loss of virginity (m), unprotected p in v, accidental creampie, use of the word daddy twice (sorry), barely proofread
masterlist
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“I think this is your fourth time checking this book out,” you remarked to the boy in front of you.
He looked up, seemingly startled by the sound of your voice. Most days, you didn’t say much to him, assuming he preferred the quiet normalcy of the interactions. You had noticed when girls would rush up to him, prying him with invasive questions and asking for him to sign things–sometimes even to sign them. It wasn’t that you weren’t a fan, because of course you were, but you knew the library was a safe haven of sorts for him.
For most people, their daily life didn’t center around Michael Jackson perusing their place of work. For you, it did.
“Oh,” he said, running a hand along the back of his neck. It was something he did sometimes, which you’d noticed in all your time watching him. He seemed to do it not only when he was nervous, but when he was upset. You hoped desperately he was experiencing the former. “Well, it’s a good one.”
You let out a small laugh, teeth digging into your bottom lip to hide the grin threatening to overtake your features. “I’d hope so, if you’re getting it over and over again.”
“Have you read it?” He asked. He was so close that you could see his eyelashes fanning against his lower orbital bones when he blinked. They were pretty, just like the rest of him. It struck you then, as you studied his face, that this was now the longest conversation you’d had with the superstar, which wasn’t saying much. From your observations, he seemed to be a man of few words. Although you suspected he reserved longer exchanges for more meaningful conversation.
“No,” you told him after a beat of silence, shaking your head. “Honestly, I don’t read very much.”
It seemed like he was unable to help the laugh that escaped him, which only made you laugh right back. “So why do you work at a library?” He asked, genuine curiosity on his face.
“Well, they had an ad in the paper,” you told him, lips turning up into a smile. “They seemed to like me at the interview. Or at least, I can assume so. They keep putting my name on the schedule, if that’s anything to go by.”
“You’re kinda funny,” Michael smiled, running his hand along the back of his neck again. “I didn’t think you’d be funny.”
“Oh, really?” You raised an eyebrow. “And why is that? What’d you think I’d be like?”
Michael’s cheeks flushed, and you smiled. He was dangerously cute. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said, laughter stiff and unnatural. “Didn’t mean anything bad by it.”
“I’m just teasing you,” you told him, grinning. “For the record, I knew you’d be funny. And sweet.”
The flush he wore darkened a bit. You wondered what the warmth of his skin would feel like as you watched him press the back of his hand to his right cheek.
“You’ll have to tell me how the book is on this read,” you said. “If it keeps getting better.”
He nodded, and something passed between you as you handed the book back to him with the new due date sprawled on the slip attached to the back of the cover. There was a current of electricity between the two of you, even at just the simplest gesture of fingers brushing against one another.
“I’ll let you know,” he said, and then he was rushing out the door like he was late for something important. You watched him go, chewing on the tip of your thumbnail.
Some could say you were a goal-oriented person. Your new goal was to build a friendship with Michael, if only so you could watch him get flustered like that again. You hoped that he was open to the idea, too. Little did you know, locked in his bedroom, Michael was thinking of you just the same. Except his thoughts were impure, full of sin and lust that he’d been trying to shake for weeks.
Your mutual obsession was only growing; it was just a matter of time before it reached a fever pitch.
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It had become a bit of a game between the two of you every time Michael came back to the library. At first, it was small things—the brush of his hand on your back as you reached for a book for him (that he could reach much easier on his own), your fingers running along the spine of a novel as he watched them, transfixed, the two of you sharing smiles from across the room whenever he was making small talk with a fan. It was addicting.
You weren’t sure if there was something in the air the day you decided to test your boundaries, but whatever it was—fate, luck, coincidence–you could only hope the reward would outweigh the risk.
“Hey,” you said, catching Michael’s attention as you shelved a book right near where he was sitting and reading. “Do you maybe wanna… hang out, when I get off? I’m closing tonight. We could hang back here. If you want.”
Michael looked up, grin on his gorgeous face. “I’d love to.”
So that was how you ended up alone with Michael, sitting right next to each other at one of the study tables. Your chairs were so close that when either of your knees moved, they knocked into one another.
The conversation of mundane topics like movies, television, and the like had died off naturally, and a comfortable silence had settled between the two of you.
You couldn’t help but notice as you glanced over to him that Michael’s gaze was scathing, mindlessly traveling between your lips and your eyes.
You gave him a shy smile. “Do you wanna kiss me?” You asked.
His throb bobbed. “Oh, God,” he said, and his hands covered his face–not in time to shield the rush of heat to his cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’ve been… I’m trying to be a gentleman.”
You giggled, reaching for his hands to pull them away. His palms were warm, and a little sweaty. It made you smile. “You’re so cute,” you told him.
“Cute like a puppy?” He asked, unable to hide his pout.
“Cute like I wanna kiss you, too,” you replied.
“Really?” He asked, a smile spreading so widely across his face that the sides of his eyes crinkled.
“Really, silly. I’ve wanted to kiss you since the moment I saw you. Did you think I just wanted to discuss books? I thought I told you, I’m not a reader.”
Michael laughed, shaking his head. “I don’t have um, much experience kissing. Or… anything like that.”
You shrugged. “That’s okay. I can teach you. I mean, only if you want. I don’t want the reputation of the horny girl at the library who tried to corrupt you.”
Michael laughed again, gently prodding your shoulder. “I’m a virgin, not a prude.”
It was your turn to flush now. “Oh, I didn’t mean–”
“I’m just teasing you,” he said.
“God, you made me think I was being rude or something. I mean… kissing is fine, right? I don’t think that’s very sinful.”
Michael’s smile wavered, just slightly. “Kissing is fine. I’ve kissed before, just… nothing else really.”
“Michael,” you reached a hand up to cup the side of his face. “We can just talk, if that’s more comfortable for you.”
Michael shook his head. “No, it’s not that. I’m just… worried if we kiss that I’ll want to do more. Like maybe I won’t be able to have much self-control with you.”
“Well, what if I told you that I don’t want you to have any self-control with me?” You quipped, smiling a little.
“Gosh,” he exhaled the word. “You’re really trouble, you know that?”
“So why don’t you do something about it?”
Michael sighed, pulling you closer to him by dragging the legs of the chair you were sitting in along the floor. You giggled at the sudden movement, smiling at him.
“Will you let me taste those pretty lips?” You asked, battling your eyelashes to feign innocence.
Michael smiled, lips twitching from the effort of hiding it. “Trouble,” he said again, mostly to himself. Before you could respond he closed the gap between you, pressing his mouth to yours. The kiss started out gentle, a slow exploration of nervous movement as you eased into the intimacy. Your hands came to rest on the back of his neck, fingers gently brushing against the curls at the nape of his neck.
You took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, sucking his bottom lip between yours gently. He surged forward at the feeling, and a low, rumbling sound muffled into your mouth from the back of his throat.
His tongue met yours and you could feel the shift, a surge in confidence as he kissed you with a fervor that made your toes curl. One of your hands dropped to his thigh, squeezing just a little as you met his passion with a small moan.
“Your mouth feels so good,” you told him, breaking away to kiss down his jaw. Your lips landed on his neck as you went even lower, and you hovered over a spot that made his spine rigid. “Right here?” You asked, smiling. You repeated the motion, pressing another kiss and he let out a soft noise. You sucked at the same spot, tongue lolling out to soothe over the mark that was faintly blooming.
Michael moaned quietly, and you glanced up to see eyes fluttering shut. The hand you had on his thigh traveled a little higher, and you shifted closer to him. He pulled you in for another scathing kiss, and now it was your turn to moan. Your palm kept massaging into his skin, and you could feel his thigh shaking a little beneath you.
“Oh no,” he exhaled, breaking away. “Oh, God. Gimme a minute.”
You pulled back a little, eyebrow raising. “Are you okay?” You asked.
He nodded, and you watched as his teeth bit into his bottom lip so hard that it looked painful. Your hand brushed upwards just a little, coming into accidental contact with something hard. You looked down, spotting the tent in his pants. It made you smile, and then you reached forward to cup his face.
“Michael, it’s okay,” you said reassuringly. “God, you’re so cute. Please don’t be embarrassed. I’m happy that you like kissing me so much, really. I like it too.”
He groaned, eyes squinting open to look at you. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” you said, tone gentle. “Seriously. You know, it's getting hot in here,” you mumbled, reaching for the hem of your thick hoodie. You pulled it off to reveal the thin tank top you wore underneath, suddenly coming to terms with the fact that you weren’t wearing a bra. Michael noticed immediately, especially considering the fact that movement of fabric against them was making your nipples semi-hard beneath the singular layer of clothing.
“Oh,” he said, and when you glanced at him he wasn’t even attempting to hide his stare right at your breasts.
He chest heaved, and then he was patting the tops of his thighs. “C’mere,” he said.
You gulped down your anxiety and nodded, lifting yourself from your chair before you situated yourself on top of him. He was looking directly at you, doe-eyes boring into yours. His pupils were dilated enough that the brown of his irises were just a small outer layer around the enlarged black of his pupils.
“Lord, forgive me,” he said, mostly to himself. He leaned back a bit against the back of the chair, thighs spreading slightly underneath your weight.
You spread your own thighs a bit more so as to easily settle them around his long legs. Your skirt rode up, giving him a view of the greater expanse of your thighs than he’d seen before. As you settled against him, his hands hovered over your legs. You looked at him, watching his bottom lip catch between his teeth. His brow was slightly furrowed, expression forlorn. “Forgive me,” he said once more, eyes casting upwards towards the ceiling.
“Michael,” you said, voice twinged with anxiety. “We really don’t have—”
He pressed his right index finger to your lips. “I want to,” he told you, and despite his demeanor he indeed sounded certain. “I’ve been going crazy over you for months. You have… no idea what you do to me.”
Your breath caught at the admission. “Mikey,” you said, almost whispering due to how nervous you were. “It’s okay, you know. To have thoughts like that. Everyone does.”
“I know,” he replied. His hands finally found the warm flesh of your lower thighs, thumbs resting on the more sensitive skin of your inner thighs. He tightened the grip just barely, allowing you to feel the indentation of his large palm. You forced your breathing to steady.
“I know it’s normal,” he said, calmer this time. “Just… a lot of unlearning, I guess. I don’t… Oh, Christ. I feel so guilty about how much I wanna touch you.”
You cleared your throat before exhaling a shaky breath. “Would it make you feel better or worse if I was the one touching you?”
“I would never ask you to do that,” Michael said, voice dropping an octave.
“I know,” you smiled. “But what if I want to?”
“You really would?” He asked, and you noticed that despite the confidence you’d seen growing from him over the last few weeks, he seemed to be hiding self-consciousness.
You smiled gently, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck so you could pull him closer to you. You kissed him then, slowly, but without any of the desperation from earlier. “Michael,” you said, breaking away. “Of course I would. You do know you’re incredibly handsome, right? There are girls all over with posters of you on their walls that they probably use for kissing practice.”
You could feel the warmth of his flush at your words due to your proximity. “Oh, God, you’re embarrassing me.”
You giggled, kissing him again. “Seriously. You’re gorgeous. So handsome. And you’re so nice, too. It’s actually kind of irritating.”
“Irritating?” He laughed, shaking his head.
“Yeah,” you replied, lips twitching into a lopsided smile. “Save some good qualities for the rest of us.”
Michael smiled so softly it made your heart clench. A current of electricity seemed to pass between the two of you then, understanding, want, and warmth all wrapped up into one.
“Mikey,” you said, biting the edge of your lower lip. “Will you let me make you feel good?”
Michael swallowed loudly, nodding. “Yeah,” he said. His hands tightened their grip on your thighs.
“Let me know if you want me to stop, pretty boy,” you said, reaching down to unbutton his jeans as you pressed your lips to his neck. His head titled just slightly, allowing you easier access to map your kisses. Once you had the button of his jeans popped and zipper pushed down, your hand reached beneath the band of his underwear. You felt for his length, still semi-hard despite the momentary derailment of passion. You pulled him from the confines of the garments in your way, and when you looked down your mouth quite literally watered at the sight. “Oh, Mikey. You’re so big, honey. I didn’t know you were hiding all that in there.”
Michael whined, high and shrill as he turned away. “Don’t say stuff like that,” he said, but if the twitch of his dick was anything to go by you guessed he actually liked it.
“I can’t compliment your pretty, big dick?” You pouted, wrapping your hand around him again. He moaned, the sound muffled by the back of his hand.
“You’re trying to kill me,” he said, chest rising and falling.
You giggled, sliding your hand up the length of him. He moaned again, and it thrilled you how responsive he was just from these light touches alone; the sounds he was making were going straight to the growing ache between your legs. Your thumb traced over the head of his now leaking dick, and he jolted forward. You smiled, repeating the motion. “That feel good?”
He nodded, and you looked up to find his eyes squeezed shut. “Yeah, Christ.”
“Mm, I’m glad. Do you wanna cum all over my hand, baby?”
Michael’s hands left your legs to cover his face again. “You’re so dirty,” he whined.
You smirked, wrapping your hand around him again. Your palm was slick with precum, making the glide across the smooth skin easier. “Seems like you like it, though. Tell me how you like it when I talk all dirty to you, Mikey.”
“I can’t,” he said, shaking his head. His body was trembling beneath you, jolting with nearly every jerk of your wrist. “Please, it’s embarrassing.”
“C’mon, it’s okay, handsome. Just tell me how much you like it.”
“I l-like it,” he admitted, short moans nearly hiccupping out of him.
“Are you getting close, angel? Gonna make a mess all over me?” You asked him.
“Yeah, so close,” he said, and you watched his eyes drop to observe your hand working over him. His hips moved forward at the sight, and you grinned.
“Yeah, fuck my hand, baby. You look so sexy. I’m really throbbing for you, angel. Wanna feel this big dick inside of me soon,” you leaned forward to press your lips to the shell of his ear. “If it can fit.”
Michael’s moan was downright sinful, and his eyes shut once again as he began to move forward into the grip of your palm. His hands gripped the sides of the chair below him, nails scrapping along the wood. “Oh my God,” he gasped, hips losing the steady rhythm he’d created as he barreled towards his orgasm.
You tightened your grip on him, helping supplement his erratic thrusts. Before you could say anything else, the coil wound inside of him snapped–Michael was spurting all over your hand, broken moans spilling out of his mouth. You worked him through it, cooing a little. “Mm, you’re such a good boy,” you told him, and he whimpered. You glanced up at him, noticing the tears shining in his eyes. He blinked a few of them away, and your unsoiled thumb reached up to wipe them. “Michael, are you okay?”
He nodded, hips giving one last weak thrust as his body relaxed below you. “Felt so good,” he said, a few more tears slipping out.
You smiled at him, giving him a gentle kiss to his lips. You sat back a little, looking down at his softening member with a smile. “Let me clean you up, sweet boy.”
Michael didn’t have time to respond before you had dropped to the floor, tongue lolling out to lap up his cum from his tip, all the way to where it was dripping down the length of him. He gasped, jerking forward a little. The movement caused his head to slip between your open lips, and you smiled before wrapping your lips around him for a moment. You popped off of him with a wet sound that echoed around the room, giggling a little as you felt him twitching and hardening already. Next to clean up was your hand, which you did as you made direct eye contact with his pretty eyes.
“Gosh,” he murmured, biting his lip. “I think I’m dreaming.”
You rolled your eyes with a giggle, climbing back up and into his lap again. “How do you feel, Mikey? Do you wanna call it a night?”
Michael shook his head, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you as close to him as possible. Your breasts were flush against his chest, your nipples brushing against the fabric of your top. “Let me kiss you.”
You nodded, meeting him halfway with a kiss that turned into a passionate mess as soon as he tasted himself on your lips. You licked into his mouth, feeling a curl of pleasure when he opened up for you. Michael was such a good kisser that you’d be satisfied if this was how the night ended. Even still, your hips started rocking a little, chasing some relief from the throb between your legs.
Michael moaned against your mouth, and you felt his dick twitch again beneath you. You knew based on your minimal clothing that your arousal was smearing against him, which only made you feel even hotter. The damp cloth of your thong beneath your skirt suctioned against your core as you rolled your hips. Just as you felt yourself working up to a rhythm, Michael paused. His hands on your waist lifted your weight suddenly, and before you realized what was happening he’d successfully maneuvered you so that your back was flat against his chest, legs hanging limping off the sides of his thighs. The change in position was startling, and you could feel his heart hammering against his ribs.
“If I keep going I won’t be able to stop,” he murmured, and it came out almost like he was a petulant child whining at being scolded for doing something they weren't supposed to. “Oh, God. I wanna touch you so bad but it’s wrong.”
You whined a little, suddenly feeling so exposed. “We don’t have to do anything else,” you said, your bottom lip caught between your teeth for a moment. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to try and jump your bones like that.”
He laughed, but it sounded bitter. For a moment you were worried he was angry with you before he said, “I’m not upset with you. I just… I didn’t know it would feel this good. Kissing you, touching you… your hand on me. It all feels so good.”
Your cheeks heated at his words. “You feel good too, Michael,” you said, turning your head so you could glance at him out of your periphery. “Should I… put my hoodie back on? I’m sorry again. Really.”
His hands slid around your waist for a moment, and the touch sent a jolt down your spine. “No, I…” He trailed off. “Let me try something, ‘kay? You trust me?”
You nodded, smiling a little. “Yeah, of course. Are you sure, Michael?”
He made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat before slipping his right thumb underneath the side of your thong–not from the top hem of the fabric at all. You opened your mouth to question what he was doing, but then you felt him gather the material together. It was almost like he was trying to give you a wedgie from the front, which felt ridiculous for a moment. The brief sound of protest died on your tongue before he could even notice as he tugged up on the garment. The fabric snagged along your clit, creating a friction that had you gasping. He kept going like that, using the fabric to pleasure you, his wrist circling which caused it to push and pull against you. It felt dirtier than if he was just rubbing you himself somehow, a loophole he’d made up in his head to touch you intimately without committing sin.
“M-Mikey, shit,” you whined, head lolling back against his chest. You could feel your arousal sticking to your thong as he used it to stimulate your clit.
“Don’t cuss, honey,” he cooed, his voice thick with desire and deeper than you were used to hearing him. “I’m just touching your clothes, right? Makin’ sure they fit okay.”
The laugh that bubbled out of you was cut off by a moan as he pulled the material taut once again, dragging it up and side to side. You looked down at what he was doing, noticing his fingers glistening with your arousal as they faintly touched the outer lips of your pussy. For some reason, this was turning you on more than you would’ve imagined. It felt like a secret, a dirty secret.
Michael let go of the garment, and then his hands were on your waist again. “Turn around,” he murmured. You did as he said, chest heaving. He guided you into his lap again, and you felt the unmistakable bulge in his jeans that had already formed again. You longed to grind down on it, but you weren’t sure if that would upset him again.
“Okay,” he said, exhaling quietly. He gave you a soft kiss before pulling away. “I wanna try something. Can you actually lie down on the study table?”
You nodded, throat bobbing into a gulp. You pried yourself off of him, legs wobbly as you stood. You perched on the edge of the table, hands supporting you as your back slowly came into contact with it. Your legs spread just slightly, but you weren’t sure if that’s what he wanted.
Michael was on the floor in front of you then, eyes peering up at you from underneath his lashes. “It’s not as bad if you keep your clothes on, right?” He asked, although you could tell by the crazed look in his eyes that his decision was already made.
You propped yourself up on your elbows, eyebrows lifted quizzically. “What’s not so bad?”
Michael bit his lip to hide the smirk threatening to overtake his expression. “Lord, forgive me,” he murmured, and then his mouth was on you–or rather, his mouth was on the thin, flimsy fabric of your thong.
You gasped. “O-oh, Mike, you don’t have to. It’s okay.”
He paused and the look he gave you from between your thighs made you bite back a moan. “Just keep this on, and we’ll be okay.”
You nodded, breath shaking as he dove back in. Even through the fabric, you could feel the careful and deliberate laps of his tongue. He’d found your clit with an ease that made your eyelids flutter shut—hadn’t he said he was a virgin? Apparently he had many natural talents. You opened your eyes to glance down at him, and his eyes were shut like he was the one receiving the pleasure. It was making your head spin, a low moan spilling from you as he suctioned against your bundle of nerves. The sucking made your toes curl, and your head fell back.
“Oh, God. Please don’t stop doing that. Feels so good,” you said, voice already thoroughly fucked out.
You looked back down to see that Michael’s eyes had popped open at that, his gaze sharp. “It feels good?” He asked.
You nodded, thighs trembling around him. “Yeah,” you said. Your elbows flattened so that your back was completely against the table, body thrumming with a pleasure that had you shaking. Your right hand traveled down to reach for his hand that was on the edge of the table. He laced your fingers together, and you smiled a little, back arching just slightly as he sucked again.
The material of your thong was rendering itself useless, so damp that it felt like his mouth was actually on you without the barrier. He was circling his tongue slowly, pressing against you as you cried out. His free hand traveled between your legs, finger prodding around until he found your covered opening. He circled his index finger around it, pressing into the fabric.
You turned your head to the side, overwhelmed with how turned on this was making you.
“Wanna be inside of you so bad,” he said, pulling away from you for a moment. “Oh, God.”
You moaned, clenching around nothing at the admission. “Mikey…”
“Oh please. Pleaseplease.” He babbled.
“Oh baby, are you sure?” You asked, wanting nothing more than to just say yes.
He nodded, standing up. He pulled your knees towards him, making sure you were on the very edge of the table. His hands reached down between you, spreading your legs wider. He moved your thong to the side, eyes staring at your now exposed cunt.
“Oh, fuck,” he moaned, eyes squeezing shut for a moment. “Just don’t take these off, ‘kay? You’ve got that, right baby?”
You nodded, mouth filling with saliva. “Mmhm. I’ll be a good girl for you, Mikey.”
“Jesus Christ,” he said, head lolling back against his shoulders before he looked you square in the eye again. He shoved his pants further down his thighs, and you were pleased to see more of his exposed skin.
“Get yourself all wet for me, sweetie,” you cooed, smiling sweetly. “You’re about to stretch me so much. Need to make sure it’s as easy as possible.”
He cursed under his breath, gripping himself with trembling hands. He began to slide his dick between your folds, arousal coating him easily from how wet you were.
“Quit swearing,” you teased. “God is watching.”
“B-baby, please,” he begged, eyes prickling with tears.
“Come on,” you smirked. “Start with the tip, honey. Get me warmed up.”
Michael nodded, body tense as he watched you spread yourself open for him. He allowed the head of his throbbing cock to rest at your entrance, moaning before he even pushed it in.
Slowly and carefully, he began to enter. His hips moved forward inch by inch, and then you were swallowing his head. He gasped at the feeling, whimpering so loudly he covered his mouth with his free hand. The stretch had you letting out a long exhale in response.
“Christ,” he panted. “So warm. Oh my God.”
“Mm, keep going,” you begged, relaxing to accommodate his size.
Michael nodded, a pained expression overtaking his face. He pushed forward, sliding deeper inside of you. The drag was so slow that you could feel each sensation intensely. Michael was breathing so heavily already, and it made you giggle a little.
“Like how it feels, Mikey?” You asked, clenching down around him.
He moaned, hips thrusting even deeper. “Yes,” he said.
“Go all the way for me,” you told him.
He silently obliged, sliding to the hilt. You looked down, watching as he disappeared completely inside. Your breath caught, hands clenching into fists. “Oh, Michael. Fuck me, please.”
Michael stilled before he pulled out, his whimpers filling the space between you. He pushed back in slowly, then back out again. He worked himself into a delicious pace, slow but so deep.
Your back was arching off the surface of the table as he fucked you. “Michael, so good. Gonna cum all over your dick, baby.” You reached down to hook your arm under your left thigh, pulling it back towards your torso. It allowed for a deeper angle, and Michael took to it quickly. He was moving a little faster now, suddenly dragging along the spot inside of you that had you crying out.
“Right there,” you babbled. “Oh shit. Please, do that again,” you begged.
Michael moaned in response, repeating the action. Your body trembled at the feeling, head moving from side to side. Your right hand pressed flat into the table, desperate for an anchor.
“There?” He asked, doing it again.
“God, yes. You’re fucking me so good. Do you wanna make me cum, daddy?”
Michael’s hips jerked out of rhythm. His hand flew up to cover his mouth and hide the moan, but you could tell by the erratic thrust forward that he liked the nickname.
You giggled a little, pushing your hips down to meet his. “Oh, I’m gonna remember that response,” you told him. “C’mon, sweet boy. Keep going. You feel so good.”
“Shit, I’m so close,” he admitted, and you stared up into his eyes. Sweat was pooling at his hairline, beads glinting down his arms. He started to move again, a little smoother. He reached down to rub tight circles at your clit as he chased his own high, and you moaned, pulling your thigh up even higher.
“Michael,” you said, breathless. “Baby, I’m gonna cum.”
Michael nodded, brows scrunched as he thrust into you a little faster. You felt the buildup of pleasure finally snap, and your body tensed up so tightly you could faintly sense the threat of a cramp in your thigh. You gasped, body jolting as you came around him, walls fluttering. You were trembling, a loud, deep moan spilling from the back of your throat.
“Oh God, I can’t–” Michael gasped, and you felt him release inside of you. He was shaking all over, hips snapping into you, the room filled with the sounds of the slap of skin against skin. He whined shrilly, head thrown back before he collapsed forward.
His arms came down around either side of you on the table, palms flat. He was hovering just above you with unshed tears in his eyes, body still shaking. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I tried to pull out. I was going to, I swear. You just looked so… Oh, God. I’m so sorry.”
“Michael,” you said, dropping your cramped thigh so you could cup his face in both of your hands. “It’s okay, I’m on the pill.”
Michael whined a little, still sensitive inside of you. “Oh my God.”
“It’s fine, really. Just buy some condoms for next time, okay?”
Michael nodded, breath fanning against your face before he pressed a kiss to your lips. “Okay,” he agreed, and you shared a smile. “You want there to be a next time?”
You smirked, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. “Of course, daddy.”
Michael groaned, and you felt the twitch of his softening dick inside of you. “You’re really something else, you know that?”
You giggled. “I know,” you agreed. “Now let’s see how long it takes for you to get hard again, sweet boy. I’m not done with you yet.”
The most racist fan you know is trying to convince you Michael didn’t love black women meanwhile this is one of the books in his collection of Black Literature. It’s so embarrassing knowing that there are nonblack fans who practically worship Michael Jackson but are incredibly racist to his Black fanbase and completely dismiss his blackness because it’s not palatable for them. Michael was a black man first before he was an entertainer and never shied away from uplifting his black women. This is evident in the way he portrayed us in his romantic music videos, making us his sole perception of beauty. If you are a nonblack fan, you cannot disrespect his women while idolizing him because he would not tolerate that behavior at all. Although Michael wanted to be accessible to all people, he was incredibly loyal and protective of the men, women, and children of his community. You cannot separate his Pro Black message from Michael because it is ingrained in his music, his philanthropic spirit, his videos, and his artistry. Remember the same man you obsess over lived through segregation, Jim Crow, and was the target of racially charged discrimination while touring the Deep South during his Jackson Five days. This is the same man who forced MTV into airing his music videos Billie Jean and Thriller during a time when Black artists weren’t allowed airtime. I abhor you to educate yourself, listen to his Black fanbase, and learn about his dedication to Black History.
thinking about... reader with acne and childhood bff!jacksons!michael who has the biggest crush on you despite it! ꉂ(˵˃ ᗜ ˂˵)
childhoodbestfriend!michael who notices the way you duck your head when he pulls out his camera—how your hand rises instinctively to cover the side of your face, fingers curling protectively over your round cheeks like you’re trying to hide the evidence of something completely shameful. he always catches your wrist before you can fully retreat from him, and his grip is always gentle and careful, like you’re something precious that could shatter if he’s not tender enough with you.
“don’t,” he says quietly, and his thumb finds the inside of your wrist where your pulse flutters from his touch like a trapped bird. the pad of his finger rests there until the frantic beating slows into an eased rhythm. “you look so pretty.”
and he means it, every single time. he’s never once looked at you like there was something that needed fixing or hiding or an apology for existing.
you’ve known this since before either of you had words for it.
childhoodbestfriend!michael who has been yours since before either of you understood what belonging even was. back when you had braces that caught every blinding camera flash during school photos and made you hate the sculpt of your smile. back when his vitiligo first started appearing across his knuckles like spilled milk, and he’d tuck his hands deep into his pockets during recess, shoulders hunched like he wasn’t aware of the fact he was forming his very first insecurity. that habit never really left him, even years later in his near twenties when his hands became something the whole world wanted to see.
you shared everything together. your firsts—an awkward, curious kiss when you were barely thirteen, all clumsy enthusiasm and uncertainty, teeth bumping and noses colliding because neither of you knew what you were doing other than the fact that you wanted to do it with one another, no matter what. you shared lasts as well, like the final time you brought your favourite stuffed animal to a sleepover because you’d realized his presence beside you was enough to keep the homesickness at bay. michael never made you feel small for needing that comfort. he just tucked the blanket around the both of you and pretended not to notice when you sleepily wrapped your arm around his waist and pulled him close like you had with your worn plush a mere week ago.
he was there during your worst days—the ones where you couldn’t stand your own reflection, where the face in the mirror looking back at you felt like a stranger wearing your features all wrong. and then he was there during your best days too, the brief windows when a new treatment or hack you found in a magazine at your local drugstore seemed to work and your skin glowed for three perfect weeks before it all came plummeting down into the familiar landscape of bumps and forming scars you’d grown to expect. he was there for the hope and the disappointment both, never flinching from either.
and now you’re both older, bodies settling into themselves in ways that feel both familiar and foreign. his face has sharpened into something striking—jawline defined, eyes deep-set and thoughtful, every angle of him transformed into an attractive specimen the camera loves. yours, on the other hand, softened and rounded in places you used to wish away, your features finding an alluring harmony.
but his acne started to show up as well. just like yours a couple years back.
and somehow, that made everything feel a little less lonely, because he looked just as beautiful despite the new texture residing on his features.
childhoodbestfriend!michael who always sits close to you during movie nights at hayvenhurst. his long legs folding up awkwardly on the couch because he’s still getting used to his height, still surprised by the way his body doesn’t quite fit into spaces it used to. his knees bump yours as he settles in beside you with a soft giggle, and your shoulders press together under the same blanket, the fabric warm and smelling faintly of laundry detergent and the cologne he started recently wearing—it was clean and safe, and it all smelt like home.
when you laugh at something on screen, he turns to look at you instead of the tv.
he loves the way your face moves when you’re happy—the way your cheeks lift and your eyes crinkle at the corners, the flickering illumination of the screen getting caught in the small creases of your skin like it’s been waiting for permission to land and rest there. he thinks you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, every bump and scar and soft curve, and he’s thought that for years now. but he doesn’t know how to say it without risking the only thing that matters to him.
so, instead, he opts for watching you laugh and memorizes the shape of your joy instead, cataloging it somewhere deep in his chest where he keeps all things he’s too afraid to say out loud.
childhoodbestfriend!michael who gets painfully self-conscious before interviews and photoshoots, and you always find him standing in front of the mirror in some backstage hallway, fingers hovering tentatively near his chin, his cheek, the side of his nose—taking inventory of every imperfection like he’s gathering evidence against every flaw. the fluorescent lights are merciless, washing out the glowing melanin of his skin and replacing it with harsh highlights of every insecurity he’s found over the years.
you walk up beside him and catch his judgemental eyes in the reflection, and you notice how he’s burning himself up from the inside with relentless criticism.
“you look handsome,” you say simply with a smile, and you mean it in the same uncomplicated way he always means when he claims how pretty you are.
he huffs a little laugh, shaking his head. “you don’ gotta say that…”
“i’m not jus’ sayin’ it,” you bump his shoulder with yours, grounding him. “you do. you always do!”
and the confident, unbothered way you say it makes something in his chest unclench. the harsh fluorescent burning softens into something warmer, like sitting by a fireplace on the coldest night of winter. he’s starting to think that warmth is coming from you standing unapologetically beside him.
he believes you, because you’ve never lied to him—not once in all the years you’ve known each other. because of that, a new sense of confidence surges through him and his frown is quickly replaced by a smile when he finally meets your eyes in the mirror.
childhoodbestfriend!michael who started seeing his own face differently after watching the way you learned to carry yours. you don’t hide anymore, not like you used to. you laugh louder now without covering your mouth, and you let him take pictures of you—candid ones where you’re mid sentence or rolling your eyes at a ridiculous thing he just said, completely unguarded and real in a way that makes his chest ache with something he can’t quite name just yet.
and if you can do that—walk into a room and not apologize for taking up any space—then maybe, he can too. maybe he’s been learning courage from you all along, the same way you learned it from the gentle insistence in his voice every time he called you beautiful.
childhoodbestfriend!michael who has the biggest, most ridiculous crush on you and does an absolutely terrible job of hiding it.
marlon teases him constantly. “boy, you’re starin’ again.” he whispers, elbowing his little brother in the ribs during rehearsal.
“i wasn’t—”
“you were.”
and he was. always. he can’t help it. you’re magnetic in a way that has nothing to do with symmetry or perfection, but everything to do with the way you exist in the world—you were finally unapologetically yourself after so many years of trying to shrink yourself into something inconspicuous. he’s watched you bloom into your own skin, and he can’t look away. and it’s not like he really wants to try.
childhoodbestfriend!michael who always asks before he touches your face, like he’s afraid of assuming he has the right even after all these years of knowing one another.
you’re sitting on the edge of his bed one night after a long day, exhausted and rubbing at your eyes, and he’s watching you like he’s trying to commit every second to memory—the slope of your shoulders, the way your hair falls, the particular shade of tired that softens your features.
“can i…?” he reaches out slowly, hand hovering in the space between you, and his fingers are trembling so very slightly that you don’t even notice.
you nod, expecting him to pull you into one of his warm, enveloping hugs.
but instead, his palm settles gently against your cheek, and the surprise must show on your face because the corners of his mouth curve upward into a small, nervous smile. his thumb traces a soft line near your temple, and his touch is so warm and careful that you find yourself leaning into it without thinking, like you’re a dainty flower turning toward the sunrays.
“you’re so beautiful,” he whispers, and his voice slightly cracks on the words, betraying just how much he means them.
you feel the embarrassing heat creep up your neck and spread to the tips of your ears. you tip your head down bashfully, trying to escape his intense yet also gentle gaze. “michael…”
“i mean it,” he tilts your face up with the tip of his slender, index finger, so gentle it barely registers as any sort of pressure to look at him. “i really, really mean it.”
childhoodbestfriend!michael who notices when you’re having a bad skin day—when you’ve been picking at your face without realizing it, or when your foundation is applied a little thicker than usual and you won’t quite meet his eyes the way you normally do.
he doesn’t make a big deal out of it. he just pulls you into a hug, rests his chin on top of your head, and whispers sweet reassurances about how breathtaking you are no matter what.
and you do know, because he never fails to tell you—you’ve counted about a hundred times this month alone. but hearing it again still makes your throat tighten with affection for this boy who has been yours for as long as you can remember.
childhoodbestfriend!michael who loves the way you touch his face too—with absolutely no hesitation or disgust, just pure tenderness that makes him feel more seen in a way he never is on stage in front of thousands of bodies.
you’re backstage after one of his destiny tour shows, and he’s sweaty and exhausted and slightly broken out along his jawline from the stress of wanting to perform perfectly. you reach up to brush his damp curls back from his forehead without thinking twice about it, your fingers gentle against his overheating skin.
“you were so amazing tonight!” you exclaim and your voice is flooded with genuine awe.
he closes his eyes and leans into your palm against his face like it’s the only thing keeping him upright through all this chaos. “you made it better by bein’ here, lil’ lady!”
you softly laugh at the silly nickname and roll your eyes. “uh huh, right.”
“i’m serious,” he insists, and when he opens his eyes again, they’re so sincere it makes your heart stumble over itself.
childhoodbestfriend!michael who gets quietly protective when other people make careless comments about your appearance.
he had invited you out to studio 54 one night after finally convincing the bouncer to let both of you in despite being underage through some networking techniques. after what felt like days of endless persuasion from the needy boy, you finally agree to go as long as you can wear a full face of makeup. under the colourful lights that paint you a mixture of pink, blue and gold, someone—clearly drunk and very thoughtless—says something cruel about your skin, and michael’s jaw tightens so fast you think he might actually crack and fracture the bone into two.
“michael, it’s fine,” you murmur, catching his forearm gently before he can say something he’ll regret.
“they shouldn’t talk t’you like that.” his voice is low with annoyance, anger simmering just beneath the surface, threatening to boil over any second.
you look at him seriously, squeezing his arm to bring him back to you until he takes a breath and nods. but his hand finds yours under the bar table and doesn’t let go for the rest of the night, his thumb tracing absent patterns across your knuckles like he’s reminding himself you’re still there beside him, safe and sound, still his in whatever way he’s allowed to have you.
childhoodbestfriend!michael who takes pictures of you all the time—polaroids, disposable camera shots, blurry images where you're mid-laugh or caught completely off guard in the most unflattering angles possible.
"why d'you always take pictures of me?" you ask one day, watching him shake out another polaroid, watching with a smile as the image of you in a silly pose develops in his slender hands.
he shrugs, smiling that shy, lopsided smile that never fails to make your stomach flip. "cause i like lookin' at you."
its such a simple answer that’s delivered so casually, but your heart does something so complicated in your chest that it leaves you light-headed for just a moment. because he says it like it’s so obvious—like there’s no other possible reason he could ever need.
childhoodbestfriend!michael who finally, finally tells you how he feels on a quiet night in his room when it’s just the two of you, the window cracked open and the sound of crickets drifting in on the warm breeze that smells like jasmine and summer.
you're lying side by side on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, and he's been quiet for too long. the silence feels heavy with something unspoken that’s been building between you for years. it’s threaded in the thickness of the humidity, and it’s almost unbearable.
"what're you thinkin' about?" you ask, finally breaking the sickening silence as you turn your head to look at him.
he turns to meet your gaze and thoughtfully hums, falling into another brief silence before finally answering: "you."
you laugh softly, trying to lighten the sudden weight in the air. "what about me?"
"jus'... everything." he swallows hard, and you can see his throat jump up and down with the effort of trying to regurgitate the feelings he’s held for you since you were both kids with scraped knees and impossible dreams. "i love your face. all of it. every little part. the way y'smile, the way your nose scrunches up when you're concentrating, the way your skin catches the light... i love it."
your breath stops completely, caught somewhere between the confines of your lungs and the tightness of your throat. it feels like fireworks are being lit in your chest, sparking and crackling, and threatening to burst into an unsaid confession you’ve been holding for the same amount of time.
"and i know—i know you don't always like the way you look, but i do. i really, really do. and maybe tha's selfish, but i needed you t'know." his voice drops to barely a whisper, trembling a bit at the edges. “i’ve needed you t’know for so long now.”
you reach over, fingers finding his in the small space between your bodies, interlacing together like they’ve been anticipating this moment since the beginning of time.
"it's not selfish," you whisper. "i love you too."
his smile is so bright and relieved that it could crack the sky wide open, could lighten every dark corner of the world into something blinding. when he pulls you closer, tucking you safely against his chest where you can feel his anxious heart racing against your cheek, you finally come to the realization that maybe this is what home has always been—not a place, but him all along, the boy who has loved every version of you and taught you how to love them too.
i was listening to simulation swarm by big thief on loop while i wrote this and i was getting emotional I LOVE PROJECTING IN MY FICS!!! I hope u enjoyed
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synopsis: after a long night of you and michael ding dong ditching and trick or treating around hayvenhurst he seems kinda needy for a different treat
warnings: eater!michael, porn with small plot, missionary, sub!reader, michael fucking you with his and your outfit still on, dom!mike, fucking in risky areas of hayvenhurst (?), mdni.
The crisp October air brushed against your cheeks, carrying the faint scent of fallen leaves and autumn chill, but you could barely feel it over the sound of your own laughter.
Beside you, Michael was practically doubled over, his hand clamped over his mouth to stifle the giggles bursting out of him. Even through the full werewolf mask complete with fangs, fur, and those famous piercing eyes he couldn’t hide that unmistakable, soft-hearted laugh of his.
"I can't believe you actually knocked and ran!" you whispered-shouted, adjusting the delicate fairy wings strapped to your back as the two of you ducked behind a neatly trimmed hedge on the quiet Hayvenhurst street.
"You said I wouldn't do it!" He protested quietly, his varsity jacket swishing as he peeked over the top of the bushes. A mischievous grin tugged at his whiskered lips. "Look, they just opened the door!" You both watched in silence as a neighbor stepped out onto their porch, looking left and right with a baffled expression before shaking their head and closing the door. As soon as the porch light clicked off, Michael turned to you, his dark eyes sparkling under the streetlight, and burst into another fit of quiet giggles.
He reached out, his clawed glove gently catching your hand and pulling you along down the sidewalk. Your pillowcase full of candy clinked softly against his with every step. "Okay, okay," he hummed, looping his arm around your waist to pull you close against his side, his thumb tracing a slow circle against your hip through your fairy dress. "That's three houses ding-dong ditched and half a pillowcase of candy collected. What's our next move?"
“really wanna start heading home now,” you said with a light giggle. Leaning into his touch as his warm slid across your waist holding you. You loved spending quality time with your boyfriend and this was really nice and fun due to the fact he was always either away on tour, rehearsals or another recording session. “take me back to your place.”
He squeezed your hand, his laughter tapering off into a contented sigh as the cool night wind whistled through the trees. "Come on," he murmured softly, nudging your shoulder with his. "Let's start heading back before the monsters start lurking in the dark.” He said jokingly.
You turned down the tree-lined street toward the heart of Encino, the quiet neighborhood wrapped in late-night shadows. The contrast between your glowing fairy costume and his full Thriller beast makeup was ridiculous, but with his arm draped warmth over your shoulders, you couldn't care less. Every few steps, Michael would glance down at you, his dark eyes softening under the artificial fur and whiskers. "You cold?" he asked, rubbing his hand up and down your arm to ward off the breeze. "We can take a shortcut through the estate gates if you want to get inside faster."
As you both strolled up the driveway toward the familiar iron gates of Hayvenhurst, Michael suddenly slowed his pace. The playful energy from earlier shifted, replaced by a quiet, lingering tension. He pulled you a little closer, his gaze drifting down to your lips before sliding back up to meet your eyes. "You know..." he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, smooth and surprisingly heavy, "all this running around gave me an appetite... and I'm not really feeling the candy anymore."
You looked up at him, a knowing smile playing on your lips as you reached up to trace the trim of his varsity jacket collar. "Is that so?" you murmured, leaning in just close enough for your breath to brush against his cheek. "well Michael it’s late I’m sure your parents and siblings are home we shouldn’t disturb t-“
He tilted his head down, the faint scent of his cologne mixing with the autumn air, his lips just barely brushing the sensitive skin of your neck, making a shiver run down your spine. “their not worried about us baby, I promise…it’ll be quick, swear.” He muttered giving your neck soft feather like kisses, he knew what he was doing and he knew exactly where your weakness was. And that was on your neck, soft kisses and licks on your neck had your legs shivering already.
The second the both of you walked inside the quiet house of hayvenhurst the heavy oak door slammed shut behind you both, the echo swallowed by the mansion's cavernous halls. Michael pressed you against the wall in the foyer, his werewolf mask already discarded somewhere on the marble floor. The jacket with the embroidered "M" still clung to his shoulders, half-unzipped, revealing the sculpted chest beneath. His mouth crashed into yours, tasting like candy and mint, his tongue slipped passed your lips.
You let out a soft groan, your arms wrapping around his neck pulling him closer to you as if he wasn’t already close enough. “m-mike baby,” you breathed out between the kiss trying to get your words out but he seemed to not wanna hear you talking right now with the way he was devouring your mouth. “mmh babe…maybe we should go upstairs?” You finally managed to get his lips off of you which did nothing but cause a whine to escape his lips.
“It’s fine mama, everyone’s sleeping I promise,” he muttered tugging your hand leading you towards a room with couches that was big enough to look like a big bed. He was thrilled to have you tonight, “just be quiet for me, yeah?” He asked looking at you tilting his head down to give your lips a quick peck before finally pushing you slightly on the couch, he looks at you smiling.
You bit down your bottom lip looking at him, he looked so handsome. He sunk down to his knees immediately causing your eyes to grow wide. “michael we can’t do it here, we could get caught.” You said with a dry laugh expecting him to agree with you since you both weren’t in his room you were in an open family room filled with couches and a large tv. Your eyes stayed on his watching him bunch your green tulle skirt around your waist completely ignoring what you just said.
“just stay quiet and we won’t get caught.” He muttered lowly but loud enough for you and him to hear. His fingers hooked into your panties and pulled them down your thighs slowly. “Look at that…so wet f’me already?” He cooed, his big wide eyes looking up at you as he started pressing soft kisses on your thighs before spreading them open kissing inside of your thighs and around your pussy avoiding the place you wanted so bad.
He didn't ease into it. His tongue flattened against your clit and dragged upward in a long, filthy lick that made your knees buckle. Then he was devouring you sucking the swollen nub between his lips, flicking it rapidly with the tip of his tongue while two thick fingers pushed inside your pussy without preamble. The wet sounds of his mouth working you over filled the room, punctuated by your broken gasps.
"Fuck, you taste so good," he murmured against your folds, the vibration shooting straight through you. "Such a pretty thing…you taste so amazing tink." His fingers curled, finding that spongy spot inside you and rubbing it mercilessly while his tongue circled your clit in tight, relentless patterns. "taste so amazing…could stay here all day.” He continued pumping his fingers in and out of you while his tongue stayed circling your clit then pressing kisses on it.
Your hands fisted in his hair as he ate you out, “oh my gosh mike, so good, babyy” you dragged your words out whining. Your praises made his dick throb in his pants. “fuck– baby wait, we could get caught.” You whined, your hands trying to push his head away which he didn’t budge at all. His head staying in the exact same spot.
you tossed your head back, your fingers practically gripping the light out of Michael’s hair which caused him to groan, the vibrations sending shockwaves to your clit which caused you to yelp out. “mmnghm–“ You moaned out.
“be quiet.” He said. The dual sensation of his tongue and fingers working your pussy in tandem. Your thighs shaking around his head, you tossed your head to the side your breathing quickening rapidly. “wait– mike shiittt,” you moaned your fingers pushing at his head trying to create distance as his tongue was literally flicking rapidly on your clit. his free hand pulling your waist back down refusing to let you run from his mouth and fingers.
“mmh stay still you’re making too much noise baby,” he muttered softly pulling back just enough to talk. His long pretty fingers still pumping in and out of you curling them finding your g-spot. He sat up straightly his lips finding yours as he continued pumping his fingers in and out of you.
you were babbling about complete nonsense your hips jerking up slightly. “Oh my gosh– michaell” you said between the kiss. He was trying to get you to stay quiet due to the fact that you were overly loud somewhat, or maybe you were just too loud for his liking but still!. “s-shit mike hnghm” you cried out, loud and shameless your voice echoing through the quiet living room.
He pulled back just enough from your lips. “shh baby, you gotta be quiet or we’ll get caught.” You really didn’t have a damn at this point if the two of you got caught, the way his fingers were finger fucking you relentlessly made you turn into a babbling moaning mess which he loved. his two thick fingers sliding deep in and out your soaked pussy with wet squelches. He pumped them hard and fast curling them against that spot that made your back arch off the couch.
“mi-michael– oh fuck, right there don’t stop.” Your lips found his mouth again, the kiss was messy you tasted yourself on his tongue as you felt the feeling of yourself about to cum in your stomach. “m’gonna cum– ohmygosh I’m cumming!” You yelped out.
“there you go, mama” he panted against your lips, not letting up for a second. his fingers still dragged slowly in and out of your pussy. your orgasm hit hard, your whole body shaking as you cried out his name. your pussy clenched and pulsed around his fingers, gushing wet and hot over his knuckles while he kept pumping through it, drawing every drop out of you. “good girl baby, look at this mess you made.” He whispered, still kissing you slowly as your thighs trembled around his wrist.
You kissed him back for awhile, after a few seconds of relaxing from your absurd orgasm you felt his fingers leave your sopping pussy. He stood abruptly, he looked so good from your view that you had to tell him. “you look so handsome mikey.” you said while his fingers were tugging at your tulle skirt higher. “thank you baby.” His cheeks warmed from the compliment you gave him.
he started to unzip his pants and pulling his boxers and pants halfway down leaving his varsity jacket on with the “M” plastered on the front. He spread your legs out to a V shape holding his hands underneath your knees keeping them nice and open for him. He didn’t really need to use his hands to guide his dick to your pussy, he let his hips do all the work for him. “you gotta be quiet for real now, okay?” He warned as he notched the head against your entrance. You nodded your head biting down on your lower lip. “uh-huh”
He pushed in with one long thrust, bottoming out in a single stroke that punched the air from your lungs. The stretch burned deliciously, your walls fluttering around his thick girth as he started to move. “God, you’re so tight,” he groaned, hips snapping forward in a perfect steady rhythm. “you feel s’good,” he moaned, it felt like your pussy was sucking him in tight like a glove, thrust after thrust dragged wet squelching noises from your pussy.
You kissed him once again, pulling him down wrapping your arms around his neck. You whimpered into his mouth, your thighs twitching as he drilled inside you. The wet, sloppy sounds echoed through the quiet living room. “you feel soooo good baby, don’t stop pleasepleasepleasee.” You didn’t know what you were begging for at this point, him to make you cum again, to stop, or to keep fucking you like this. “why you fucking me like this– ohmygosh!” you moaned against his lips biting down softly on his lip.
He hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, the new angle letting him grind against that spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyelids. “because I-i love you, fuck you’re so beautiful in this outfit baby.” He pulled back from the kiss sitting up while still thrusting inside you going faster. His eyes looking over the outfit that you still wore, you had the wings on and the sandals on still and you looked absolutely stunning in his view. “that’s it baby,” he praised, voice strained. “takin’ this dick so well such a good girl f’me, hm? you like when i fuck you like this?” He asked half expecting you to answer him but the look on your face proved you were too fucked out to fathom any correct answers.
“ye yes yesss!” You said loudly truly not caring about being quiet anymore nor did he. His hand found your throat, applying just enough pressure to make your head swim. “look at you, you look s-so beautiful.” He breathed out. He shifted again, both hands gripping your hips as he pounded into you with renewed vigor. The tulle of your skirt bunched between your bodies, the rough fabric of his jacket scraping against your nipples through the thin top. Every thrust punched a lewd moan from your throat that you tried to desperately hold back at times.
“be quiet baby, please” he begged, his hips moving faster though. The wet squelching sounds getting louder. “but god I love hearing you moan, sounds so beautiful, right baby?” He looked at your face making eye contact with you.
“y-yes!” You nodded your head looking up at him before your head tossed to the side which he didn’t approve of. “uh huh, look at me baby.” He cupped your cheek with his hand cupping your cheeks together forcing you to look at him. His other hand worked your clit as his hips moved. Gosh he was amazing at multitasking. His fingers finding your clit in time with his thrust, the dual sensation pushing you over the edge, “m’cumminggg oh fuckk!” You moaned out. Your orgasm crashed through you in waves, your pussy clenching rhythmically around his dick as he fucked you through it. He followed moments later burying himself to the hilt and flooding your walls with his cum.
He stayed inside you as you both just came, his forehead pressed to yours as you both were catching yall breathing. After a few seconds he pulled out of you watching his and your cum run out your pussy, he plopped down next to you on the couch. You turned your head towards him with a big cheesy smile. “Well happy Halloween.”
✨✨cat (this one looks almost identical to mine🥹), rosy maple moth, mouse✨✨
no pressure tags: @cuntbitchandthebottlemen @quietchaosclub @scalpdisease @crowsberries (so sorry for any unwanted/repeat tags, pls ignore if that’s the case!!)
⋆˚࿔ a michael jackson x small-chested!reader oneshot!
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𑣲⋆ — synopsis: three months of stolen glances and electric rehearsals finally break in a fogged-up car when michael discovers that his large hands were made to hold every inch of you.
𑣲⋆ — cw (18+): porn with plot ♡ car sex? ♡ slight exhibitionism maybe ♡ build-up to sexual content ♡ power dynamics (softdom!michael but michael is super needy, subbish!reader) ♡ size kink (large hands covering small breasts) ♡ michael and reader reaches orgasm untouched (grinding in pants) ♡ michael is needy (and lowkey pervy) & whipped idk what else to add tbh oops
𑣲⋆ — wc: 3.5k >.<
𑣲⋆ — a/n: had otw michael in mind in honour of otw's 47th anniversary but it fits any era i think... also trying to work on part 3 of bad influence but work has been kicking my ass :c hopefully will be out soon i PROMISE!!! enjoy this little imagine ive had in the back of my mind for a while instead (im projecting as a girl with small boobs)
— comment here if you'd like to be part of a future tag list! ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶
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you’re at one of those quiet, late-afternoon rehearsals of his, where the studio is mostly empty except for a handful of dancers stretching in the corner and the faint hum of the sound system cycling through the same ten or so tracks on low volume. you’ve been working together for three months now—brought on as a choreographer for his upcoming tour—and the collaboration has settled into something comfortable and electric all at once. today you haven’t done much performing—mostly observing and taking mental notes as your peers work through their formations and transitions. you settle cross-legged on the floor, back against the mirror, half out of habit and half to cool down once you notice how the loose tank top clings to your skin, damp from the fifteen-minute routine you forced out of yourself before. the top was one of your go-to throw-ons—the type that you reach for on mornings when there’s no time to think, comfortable and forgettable enough that it barely registers how lousy it really is. but it doesn’t matter because it’s just another rehearsal day. nobody’s really watching you specifically anyway.
except michael is watching.
he’s been eyeing you for the better part of ten minutes now, standing near the far wall with his arms crossed, weight shifted onto one leg in that casual way that makes him look like he’s just passing time. but his eyes haven’t left you once. three months of working together means he knows your body in ways that blur the line between professional and something far more dangerous—the way you lean forward when you’re concentrating, elbows on your knees, chin resting in your palm. or the exact angle your shoulders drop and hold into when you’re exhausted from a day’s worth of moving. or how you bite your bottom lip when you’re counting the rhythm of his music in your head. but he has been especially noticing the way your lousy tank tops shift when you move, the fabric draping loose enough that he can see the gentle curve of your collarbone and how it meets the very soft slope of your chest, the complete and total absence of any bra line or strap cutting across your shoulders.
this isn’t the first time he’s catalogued this particular detail about you—the way the fabric falls uninterrupted against your skin and the freedom of movement that comes with the lack of constraint beneath. he’s been collecting these stolen glances for weeks now, tucking them away in that careful corner of his mind where desire lives before it’s given permission to become something more. he was noticing you in a… different way more and more in tiny fragments: the way your shirt drapes differently than other women’s when you demonstrate an arm sequence, or the soft movement beneath the cotton when you laugh too hard at something he’s said during water breaks; the complete absence of any restrictive architecture between your body and the world never leaving his mind. he’s been letting himself see it only in his peripheral, never giving himself the pleasure of looking directly because the moment you acknowledge something like that and let yourself really think about it—it stops being an innocent observation and more like an obsession.
and god, there’s definitely been some sort of tension that has not been helping his case whatsoever. it hung in the space between you when he adjusts your posture during a routine, his hands careful on your hips, lingering just a second too long. or the loaded glances across the studio when you nail a difficult sequence and he grins at you like you’ve just done something miraculous. the way you both maintain a careful, professional distance even tough every accidental touch—your shoulder brushing his, or the soft graze of your fingers when passing a water bottle—it sends electricity crackling through the thick air between you. three months of this particularly careful dance; this unspoken thing that neither of you have been brave enough to name.
but today, something shifts. maybe it’s the way the late afternoon light slants through those high studio windows, turning the air golden and catching on the fine sheen of sweat still cooling on your skin. maybe its how unselfconscious you are in your body, how you stretch your arms overhead without thinking and the fabric of your tank top pulls taut across your chest for just a breath—just long enough for him to see the gentle swell and soft shape of you—then falling loose again, watching the perfect contours disappear beneath the fabric as if that little moment didn’t just leave him nearly hypnotized. maybe it's the cumulative weight of three months worth of peripheral noticing, or of careful distance, or of just his undying want for you finally reaching critical mass. whatever it is, it all clicks into place in his mind with a clarity so sudden and complete it makes his mouth go dry and his pulse kick aggressively against his throat.
you never wear a bra.
the realization spreads through his mind and into his body like lava, pooling low into his stomach and making that pulse in his throat spread into a rhythm that feels excessively quick and obvious. suddenly every moment of the past three months rewrites itself in his memory with this new knowledge: the soft bounce when you demonstrate a jump sequence, the way the cold air conditioning makes your nipples just barely visible through the cotton during early morning rehearsals, the complete freedom of movement that comes from absolutely nothing between your skin and the world except intention and fabric. the thought makes something desperate curl tight behind his ribs, and he realizes with another startling sense of clarity that he’s been half-hard just from staring at you sit against a mirror, and that this careful distance you’ve both been maintaining is about to shatter completely.
when rehearsal breaks and bodies start filtering toward the exit, he’s moving toward you before his brain catches up to his legs. you’re still cross-legged on the floor, reading whatever magazine was left in the break room with an absent focus that makes your bottom lip push out slightly, and when his shadow falls across you, you look up with that polite smile that makes his chest ache—it’s the exact same, gentle smile you’ve been handing over to him for the past three months, but now it feels weighted with everything unspoken between you two.
“hey,” you say, and your whole face softens in an intimate way that’s only meant for him.
“hey yourself.” his voice comes out rougher than intended, and he has to clear his throat as he crouches down to your eye level. “you headin’ out?”
“in a bit. why, wanna grab food or something?” it’s the routine after rehearsals, no matter how short they run—takeout, usually KFC, and an innocent debrief on the day’s progress. you both keep it carefully professional, even though you both know the only reason you keep inviting one another like this is from the pull neither of you have the courage to name.
“yeah, sure. or—” he pauses, and he shifts his weight on the balls of his feet. something in his hesitation makes you tilt your head like a curious puppy. “or we could jus’ go back t’mine?”
you study him with that perceptive look that always makes him feel transparent, like you can see straight through skin and bone to the want underneath. the three months you’ve spent together means you’ve learnt to read his facial expressions, and right now, it’s something different to what you usually see. “you okay, mikey?”
“yeah!” he says a bit too quickly, but his eyes drop to your chest for a fraction of a second—so brief you almost miss it—before he snaps his head right back up to you. “jus’—” he swallows hard, and you notice it. the careful distance has finally cracked. “jus’ wanna be alone with you for a bit.”
his honesty makes you straighten your face into earnestness. you’ve both been so good at pretending this painful tension doesn’t exist—this professional wall that’s felt more like torture than protection is finally crashing down as you stare into his eyes that are loaded with all sorts of emotion. you’ve ignored every sign, and you’ve decided in this moment that you’re done pretending.
“yeah,” you say softly, and watch relief flood his features. “okay. me too.”
then, something breaks in his expression—a feeling that’s been held too tight for too long finally loosening into something more sincere and vulnerable. “yeah?”
“yeah, michael. let’s go to yours.”
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you don’t even make it out of the studio parking lot.
michael pulls into the far corner—a section that’s always empty at this time of day, shadowed by the building and hidden from the main road—and he kills the engine with hands that are visibly trembling with cracking resistance. for a moment neither of you moves, sitting there in the sudden silence with the months of tension pressing in like the air before a storm breaks. you can hear his fast and shallow breathing, and you’ve become hyper-aware of the way his long fingers are still gripping the steering wheel like it’s the last solid thing left in the confined space.
“michael—”
“can’t wait.” the words spill from his fractured voice like a confession he’s been holding in for centuries, and when he finally turns to face you, it’s like watching someone come undone in real time. his pupils have swallowed the warm chocolate brown of his eyes whole, leaving only a fathomless black. his brows are drawn down into a ferocity that makes your breath catch and you instinctively press your thighs together at the view presented to you, heat aggressively flowing low in your belly.
“i’m sorry, i know we should—i know i should take you home ‘n do this right but i jus’ can’t—” he’s already reaching for you, hands finding your waist with the urgency of someone who’s been starving, pulling you toward him across the center console like you’re the only thing that matters. “been waitin’ too long. please.”
the please breaks you completely.
you’re climbing into his lap before your thoughts can catch up to your instincts, your knees bracketing his hips in the driver's seat, and the steering wheel becomes an afterthought pressing into your spine because his hands are finally sliding up under your soft tank top and it feels like your prayers have finally been answered—his hot and broad palms tracking up your ribs, and the sound he makes when his thumbs brush the underside of your perky breasts is so tender that it feels like you’ve discovered a new religion.
“my god,” he breaths, and his voice is trembling at the seams. “oh my god, baby—”
his hands cup you fully now, and that’s when you both feel it—the way his palms become a sanctuary, his fingers spreading wide to cradle every inch of soft skin, the perfect fit of your body in his hands like you’re something small and precious he’s been entrusted to hold. he makes this wounded sound in the back of his throat—like a moan and a whimper deliciously blended into one—and his face transforms into something like ecstasy, like he’s witnessing the divine made into flesh.
“you’re so—” he can’t seem to find the words adequate enough for whatever revelation is washing over him, but the involuntary buck of his hips beneath you finishes his sentence clearly. his hands squeeze the soft swell of you gently. “fit so perfect in my hands… look—” he squeezes a bit harsher this time and you gasp, the sensation rippling through you like stones dropped into still water. “look at how perfect you fit. how perfect you are.”
“mikey—” your voice comes out breathy and broken, a hidden plea wrapped in his name.
“been thinkin’ ‘bout this,” he’s rambling now, thumbs brushing over your nipples and making you arch into his touch. “been thinkin’ ‘bout how you’d feel in my hands. dreamed ‘bout it… ‘n you’re so much better than i imagined. so fuckin’ perfect…”
he suddenly pulls your tank up and over your head in one hungry motion, and in a heart beat, you’re bare in front of him in the dim, amber light of the parking garage, and the look on his face makes you feel like the most exquisite thing he’s ever been allowed to witness. his hands are back on you immediately, cupping and tentatively squeezing, thumbs circling your nipples until they’re hard and sensitive, and you’re grinding down against him in its own ancient rhythm you’re not aware of.
“tha’s it,” he breathes, watching your face like he’s memorizing scripture. “tha’s it, baby, take what you gotta.”
the car is getting hot, windows starting to fog from your combined breathing, and you can smell the leather of the seats mixing with the salt of sweat on skin laced with with his notable cologne and the three months of restrained want finally given permission to exist freely. his hands never stop moving, kneading and completely obsessed with the way you fit in his palms like you were designed specifically for this purpose, and every time he presses more into your nipples, you make these soft noises that seem to unravel him thread by thread.
“love how small you are,” he’s murmuring against your collarbone, lips dragging across your skin. “love how i can cover you up completely. feel all of you at once, you’ve no idea—” he squeezes again and you whimper, the sound pulled from a deep, vulnerable place settled in low in your abdomen. “—no idea how crazy this makes me.”
“mikey, please—” you’re not even sure what you’re begging for anymore, just that you need more of whatever this is—more of him looking at you like you’re something holy.
he dips his head and takes your nipple in his mouth, and the sensation makes you cry out his name, fingers tangling in his hair like you’re trying to anchor yourself to earth. his tongue circles and flicks while his hand works the nipple on your other breast, twisting and gently pulling before finally flicking small circles on your bud. the dual sensation is overwhelming, and you hips grind down harder against the very obviously large bulge in his pants. you can feel how hard he is, throbbing even through the layers of fabric between you both, and when you roll your hips just right, he breaks away from your chest with a desperately loud moan that sounds like it’s been torn straight from his lungs.
“f-fuck—baby, you’re gonna make me—” he unlatches from your swollen nipple and his hips buck up to meet yours while his hands tighten on your breasts, squeezing almost too hard, but you can’t deny how much you love the way he’s losing control solely from admiring your breasts. “can’t believe i finally get t’touch you like this.”
“wanted you to,” you gasp out, grinding down harder with every word. “wanted this for so long.”
“yeah?” he switches to your other breast, sucking your nipple into his mouth while his hand flicks the other, swollen one, and you can feel him trembling beneath you like he’s barely holding himself together. “wanted my hands on you? wanted me t’touch these perfect tits?”
the crude word in his gentle voice makes you moan, and you feel him smile against your bud, pleased with the reaction that got out of you. his free hand slides down to grip your hip, guiding your movements, helping you grind against him in a rhythm that has you both panting like rabid dogs. the steering wheel keeps digging into your back but you’re too far gone to care, can’t care about anything except the building heat between you and the way his warm and wet mouth feels on your sensitive skin and how his large hands make you feel so small and completely worshipped, like you’re a treasure he’s been searching for more than his entire life.
“so good,” he’s whimpering now, and the sound goes straight between your legs, and you can feel your panties becoming useless from the stickiness forming on the fabric. “so, so good, baby. wanna make you feel so good.” he suddenly tugs at your nipple as he looks up at you like you’re a statue to be worshipped, and you gasp, the sensation electric. “jus’ tell me what you need.”
your thoughts are scattered like dandelion seeds, and you can barely form the words: “j-jus’... don’t stop, mikey.”
“never, baby.” he truly promises, and his hands are everywhere—cupping your breasts, gently circling your nipples, kneading like he can’t get enough, like he’s trying to memorize the exact weight and feel of you in his palms, committing you to muscle memory. “never gonna stop touchin’ you. gonna worship every inch of you till i die.”
the windows are completely fogged now, the car rocking slightly with both of your movements, and somewhere in the back of your mind you register that anyone could walk by and see the sin taking place, but it only makes everything more intense. michael’s mouth finds yours in a passionate kiss that’s fueled more from ache than technique—his tongue and teeth clashing against yours in a shared breath, and his hands yet to leave your small breasts, constantly caressing like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he stops his devotion to your pleasure.
“mikey, baby—” you break the kiss, gasping for air. “i’m so close, i’m—”
“yeah, baby, c’mon.” his voice is wrecked, shattered into pieces, and you can feel him throbbing against you. you can tell he’s also close from this, from grinding and licking on you like a teenager who's just discovered what bodies can do. “lemme feel you, mama. wanna feel you come apart on me.”
he pinches your nipples gently at that and that’s all it takes—you’re releasing the tight knot in your abdomen with his name on falling from your lips like a prayer, grinding down hard against him while his hands knead your breasts through the waves of pleasure that crash over you like surf against shore. he follows seconds later with a broken moan muffled against the swollen and petite curve of your chest, his hips jerking up as he spills in his pants, hands tightening on you like you’re gravity in of itself.
for a long moment after, you just stay like that—you practically heaving in his lap, his face buried in the soft swell of your tit, both of you inhaling the humid air and energy of the tight car. his hands are wrapped tightly around you waist, and you can feel his lips moving against your sensitive skin in what might be words or might just be reverent sounds, a language that exists only in this moment.
“we—” he finally manages, his voice hoarse and quiet. “we didn’t even make it t’my place…”
you laugh breathlessly, and you can feel him smile against your chest when your fingers meet the nape of his neck, twirling his tangled curls in between your fingers.
“don’t care, anyway.” he continues, his hands squeezing gently but possessively, like he’s officially claiming you.
you pull back enough to look at him, and his face is flushed and his lips are swollen. he’s looking up at you like you hung the moon, the stars, the sun—the entire universe, answering every question he’s ever asked. “we should probably—”
“mhm,” but he doesn’t move or let go just yet. “jus’—gimme a minute. wanna hold you a bit longer.”
so you gladly let him, sitting in his lap in a fogged-up car in an empty parking garage, his large hands trailing up to cradle your breasts again like they’re something precious and fragile—as if they’re spun glass—and you’ve never felt more wanted in your entire life.
eventually you do pull apart—reluctantly, of course, with soft kisses and whispered promises that taste like salt and want to make up for the lack of skin-on-skin contact. you find your tank top crumbled on the passenger seat and pull it back on while he attempts to make himself presentable, both of you grinning at each other like idiots who’ve just discovered a secret the rest of the world doesn’t know. when he finally starts the car up again, his hand immediately finds the soft plush of your thigh.
“still wanna go t’mine?” he asks softly, and your hand lands on top of his, your thumb stroking across his prominent knuckles. you smile and shyly nod.
the drive to his place is quieter now, the desperate edge finally satisfied but the want still lingering gentle in the air, simmering under the surface like embers waiting to be fanned back into flame. he keeps glancing over at you with that intoxicating smile of his, and you know this is just the beginning. know that when you get to his place, he’s going to worship every inch of you properly, going to show you just how perfect he thinks you are with the entirety of his body.
