big mama ⋆˙⟡

ᴅ1 ᴅᴀɴɢᴇʀᴏᴜꜱ ᴛʀᴜᴛʜᴇʀ / ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ / ᴄᴇʟᴇʙʀɪᴛʏ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ᴍᴊ ʙᴇʏᴏɴᴄᴇ ᴀᴀʟɪʏᴀʜ ⟡

[etrnalmuse]

my clients.

[ladyofmjslife]

michael jackson was a BLACK MAN. yall need to remember that. yes his music was and is for everyone but make sure y’all remember he is a black man before anything else, and he experienced the black man struggles!! i see too many people that seem to forget that whether it’s because of his vitiligo or whatever else.

[etrnalmuse]

his cheekbones im ab to go feral yo

[kissmyglxck]

BITTER SWEET .. ‎ꫂ᭪݁ ˎˊ˗ bigheaded baby — part 001.

♯ thrad era!michael jackson x childhoodbsf!reader ᝰ.ᐟ

syn. A 27 year old michael escapes his massive fame to visit his lifelong best friend for the summer at her mother’s house in gary, indiana. Once reunited . . . things get a little hectic. Resulting in a lifelong commitment neither of them expected.

ⓘ contains .. lots of plot . smut . mdni . soft!dom michael . lowkey slow burn . heavy angst . you guys really love each other . p in v . michaels infatuated with you . unprotected sex . mentions of pregnancy . ghosting && sad ending, for now .

🪽- thrad!michael is only mentioned in this part since this is the prologue! bigheadedbaby m.list main m.list

GARY, INDIANA

Michael Jackson.

You hadn’t stopped hearing that from the day you first heard it on television in ‘69.

He was a big star now. Girls fainting over him, paparazzi following him everywhere he went, headlines filled with anything related to Michael Jackson. All this news surrounding a whimsy little boy you grew up with in Gary.

The one built like a microphone.

The same little boy who used to scrape his knees on the wood chips at the park or trying to climb up the oak trees in the neighborhood. The same little boy who swore you had a big head like his wasn’t big too.

You knew Michael for Michael. Knew him since his brothers and sisters started calling him lil daddy, knew him since kindergarten and he’d tell you that his mother made his shirts during free time, knew him since he’d start humming along to songs while you two colored, knew him since third grade when you both would come to school suddenly sad about things that happened at home, just comforting each other in silence during recess when you could.

Knew he was your best friend when you two begged Joe to let you stay over for dinner. And knew you were his best friend that same night Joe decided to start yelling at all of them and you held his little hand under the table.

But that comfortable silence that finally found its way into both of your lives was cut short during the 5th grade year of 1969. Michael and his brothers got signed to Motown Records. And that meant he’d be moving away.

You two wouldn’t be considered equal individuals anymore. You’d still be some random girl from Gary whilst Michael would now be thee Michael from the Jackson 5.

Leaving school, leaving you, meant leaving behind the only person who didn’t look at him like a ticket for opportunities. And the day he packed up for California, you both felt a heavy yet silent feeling of sadness wash over you.

But distance couldn’t kill what you two had. Not in a million years.

Thanks to your mother keeping very good contact with Ms. Katherine, your worlds stayed tethered with no problem.

You grew up in the front rows of screaming crowds, watching the boy who used to sing to stop you crying share his gift right on the big stage and quickly become a living legend.

His eyes often met yours in the crowd. A twinkle appearing in his eye like clockwork when he stared at you.

And every single time he caught your eye from rehearsals or managed a rushed, backstage hug; the superstar instantly melted away.

It was always just Michael.

THE PRESENT (1985)

By the summer of 1985, he was the biggest thing on the planet. Quite literally. But for a few weeks, he completely vanished from the headlines to reclaim his sanity, even if it was only for a second.

He knew exactly where to go.

Your ears shot up at the sound of the doorbell to your mom’s place, instantly turning the tv down. “I got it!” You shout as you speed walk toward the front door.

Your socks slide as you stop at the door, looking through the peephole before an excited gasp is leaving your mouth.

You hurriedly open the door, eyes lighting up. “Michael!” You jump into his arms, hugging him tightly.

He just smiles, hugging you back as a heavy sigh of relief left his body, snuggling his face into your hair.

You pull back, sizing him up. “What’re you doing here?” You grin as he laughs, stepping inside.

“Just wanted to see you, that’s all.” He explains as he turns toward you again.

“Oh please, scrub. You mean you needed a place to hide out because the paparazzi’s on your pretty tail again,” You tease, pursing your lips. He lets out a soft laugh, shaking his head.

“You’re stupid man.” He huffs, playfully pressing a finger to your forehead. You smack his hand away with a grin as you walk into the kitchen, pulling some grapes out of the fridge.

You sit the plastic container onto the island, eating some grapes out of your hand.

“So,” you begin, “how was tour?” You ask, leaning against the island with your elbows, plopping grapes into your mouth.

He scoffs, shaking his head as he grabs some. “Tiring. And especially boring without you there to bug me.”

You laugh, plopping another grape into your mouth. “What, Marlon ain’t keeping you entertained enough?” An amused look on your face as you tilt your head.

“Nope. His head ain’t as big as yours so it didn’t really work..” he pretends to think on it and you throw a grape at him. “Shut up!” You scowl, rolling your eyes as you eat yet another grape from your hand. He cackles, swallowing a grape he was chewing on.

“But uhm..” you swallow, looking down for a second. “how you been since..you know.” You murmur, eyes meeting his again.

He lets out a quiet sigh, hating to even talk about it. Mostly because it still hurts lowkey. “I’m fine tink I promise.” His voice awfully soft.

“..you promise? Cause I was really worried..” You persist, watching the ways his eyes move to see if you catch any twitching.

He nods, blinking as he sucks in a breath, looking down at you. “Promise. Nothing to worry about anymore, I’m good.” He smiles.

You huff after a few moments, sitting up and eating the rest of the few grapes you had in your hand before walking around the island, reaching a hand up to move a curl from his eyelash. “You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?” Eyes fluttering up to his big ones.

He just nods, leaning into your touch as your hand grazes his cheek. “Of course tink.” He whispers, gaze falling upon your lips.

Before the quietness of the air could suck you two in deeper, the loud click of a bedroom door down the hall breaks the silence. The sudden sound of footsteps make the both of you step back an inch naturally. Not out of guilt—just adjustment.

“Baby who was at the door?” Your mother questions from around the corner of the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

But once she sees who it is, she ain’t sleepy anymore. Her face instantly lights up the second she sees who is standing by the island. “Oh my goodness! Michael!” She exclaims.

Michael’s entire face brightens, that signature, boyish grin taking over as he turns away from you. “Hi momma,” he says softly, opening his arms wide as she rushes over to throw her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

“I’m so happy to see you.” Voice warm as she rocks him side to side while hugging him. He chuckles, hugging her tightly as well. “Me too ma’am.”

She pulls away, eyes trailing over yet another one of his new looks. “How you been since—“

“I’ve been fine momma I promise,” He laughs.

“Tink asked me the same thing.” Warm smile on his face. She frowns before smiling again. “Well you let me know if you ever need anything.” She runs her hands over his shoulders.

“Yes ma’am.” He smiles as your mother lets out a sigh.

“Alright well, I gotta go get ready.” She insists. You blink, brows furrowing. “Where you going?” She scoffs, stopping in her tracks and turning toward you. “Girl out.”

You groan. “Oh my god. Ma, where?”

“Girl I am grown, I can go outside as I please. You need to be going outside, shit. Twenty seven years old and don’t come outside your house unless it’s to spend time with your momma.” She scolds as she walks back into her room, leaving you there flabbergasted.

“Ma!” You scoff, throwing your arms up. “Forreal?” You blink as Michael chuckles.

“She’s right though. You never go outside.” Michael adds with a shrug to which you scoff, pushing him. “You shut up. And I do go outside!”

“Yeah when the groundhogs need you..” he mutters causing you to gasp, hitting his arm. “Michael!” You shout and he just laughs, the high and breathy sound echoing through the kitchen. “What, it’s the truth!” He holds his hands up, leaning back against the counter as he catches his breath.

You just shake your head glaring at him. “Whatever man.”

Half an hour later, your mother’s emerging from her room again, this time dolled up.

Michael notices first, brows raising. “Well look at you momma,” he grins, giving her two thumbs up.

Your face scrunches up as you look her up and down, crossing your arms. “You look okay, I guess...” you mutter, scratching the back of your head but unable to hide the little smirk on your lips.

“Must be nice to actually get dolled up for something worth your time unlike the rest of us.” You sigh dramatically which makes her smack her lips, swatting you off.

“Girl please. You choose not to go out. You know how many men try to get you to look their way but you don’t budge?” She tilts her head to which you just huff, ignoring her.

Michael glances over at you with that, eyes wide and a smile on his face. “Really?” He asks, tilting his head to which you roll your eyes.

“Bye mama. Have fun, don’t get into no trouble.” You wave her off.

Your mother just smirks, popping her hip. “Please. I am the trouble, baby. And thank you Michael. At least somebody in this house appreciates the effort.”

“People would be fools not to notice.” Michael adds, leaning his hip against the island with a sweet grin. “Gary ain’t even ready for you tonight momma. Gotta have extra security for you.”

Your mother lets out a loud laugh, getting flustered as she waves him off. “Oh, stop it Mike! You’re gonna make my head as big as hers with all those compliments.” She points at you, causing Michael to start cackling all over again.

You throw your arms up, brows furrowed. “Really?” You deadpan.

“Alright,” she sighs, adjusting her hair. “I’m leaving. You two go do something, get up out my house, go outside if you can!” She says as she starts to walk toward the door.

But before leaving, she points a finger at you. “And Michael,” she starts, pointing at him now. “Don’t let her bully you.” She points at you again, eyes squinted.

“I- wha-? Momma!” You throw your arms up. “He bullies me!” You call out to which she waves off. “Lock this door behind me.”

You stand there with a confused look on your face, arms still thrown up as Michael starts walking toward the door with a snicker. “Yes ma’am.”

He waves bye as she finally exits, the door clicking shut behind her.

You scowl, shaking your head as you cross your arms. “Can’t believe her..” you mumble. “Don’t bully you?! Don’t bully me!” You shout before huffing heavily, shaking your head.

“Don’t shake your head too much tink, it’ll fall off. Too much weight on it.” His voice completely soft and calm as he literally makes fun of you.

You toss your arms to your sides, lips in a frown. “But I’m the one who bullies you. Right.”

He stifles a laugh, grin on his face as he returns back to your side, leaning his back against island. You too stand there in silence for a few minutes, the soft tension that was there earlier slowly returning.

It was getting a little too heavy, and even more so quiet.

Michael looks around the kitchen before his gaze shifts, glancing over at the window in the front room casting a soft glow over the room.

You can see the slight change in his demeanor as reality hits him. For the nth time in his life. But then just like that, Michael is back as he turns toward you with a soft smile.

“Hey,” he calls softly, his tone shifting from playful to something more grounded. Your brows raise in a way to tell him you’re listening. He reaches out, fingers gently catching your wrist. “Let’s..let’s get outta here for the night.”

You blink, eyes trailing down to his hand around your wrist, then back up to his face. “Out of here?” Your brows furrowed. “And go where? Ain’t nothing here to do.”

“We can go downtown,” he suggests with a shrug. “I got a place in the city.” He explains, his voice dropping into a quiet register. “A suite at the Drake. No cameras, no noise. Just..actual space where we don’t have to whisper or worry about anyone seeing my limo.” He gives your wrist a persuasive tug, taking your hand in his.

“Please tink. Come with me. Let’s just have a normal night. Just you and me?”

There’s never been a chance where you’re telling Michael Jackson no. You never could, the vulnerability in his eyes killed you, and you know how rare it is for him to even get a single second of peace nowadays. Plus, the fact that he wants to spend his alone time with you makes something warm blossom in your heart.

“Fine scrub,” you murmur with a sigh, a soft smile finally spreading onto your face. “But,” you hold a finger up. “Only if we get to order a ridiculous amount of room service.”

Michaels entire face lights up, that beautiful, genuine smile returning as he squeezes your hand. “Of course. I’ve got a driver waitin’ down the street, go grab whatever you need.”

You nod with a smile as you pull away from him, walking down the hallway and into your childhood bedroom to grab the bag you originally packed to stay at your mother’s and slinging it onto your shoulder.

“You ready?” Michael asks as you walk down the hallway and back toward him. You hum, taking his hand as you two head for the door.

As you two head out the door and you lock your mom’s door, a thought possesses Michael. “We should order some kfc when we get there too.”

You blink as he strings you along. “Uh Mike, I don’t think a luxury hotel serves kfc..” - “Oh, I’ll have bill go get it don’t worry.” He quickly answers with a smile.

You huff out a laugh, shaking your head. “The privileges of a superstar I tell you..” Michael just wraps his arm around your shoulder as you two walk down the street and toward the very discreet (not) limousine.

The forty minute drive leaving Gary and entering Chicago is a blur as you pass the streetlights. Inside the tinted and warm limousine, you two sit inside playing i spy.

Every time you got one, Michael would say it doesn’t count, and then take your point for himself.

“No, that counts!” You argue as you point at the pizzeria with the pepperonis lit up. “No it doesn’t!” He laughs, “I said something fully red.”

“No you did not! You’re cheating Michael!” You reach over, hitting his shoulder to which he giggles, moving his shoulder. “You just a sore loser.” He drags out, sticking his finger in your ear to which you slap him away.

The brown oak door is shut carefully as you two enter the penthouse. It’s beautiful; floor to ceiling windows, marble counters in the kitchen, modern but sleek interior, and one huge white bed with a mattress that is so pillowy.

“Wow..” you had never seen anything like it, well, except for in movies, but this was the real thing.

You sit your things in the closet as bill rolls in a cart of light foods to fill you both with after that semi-long trip. You didn’t mind one bit at the gesture, thanking him as he left out the room.

Leaving you two in a hotel room alone.

Things are normal at first— conversation drifting smoothly, goofing around while eating the treats and food brought for the both of you, reminiscing about times together, and asking each other silly things.

Eventually, time passes as you two finish up your food, empty plates placed back onto the cart, an almost finished glass of orange juice sitting on top of a plate, and treat wrappers sitting on the other.

Not long after, Michael suggests you two watch a movie. You say yes of course, flopping back against the plush pillows at the head of the bed. He does the same, snuggling right next to you as he flips through the channels.

When incredibly sweet and iconic Lady and the Tramp pops up, you two don’t hesitate and immediately agree to leave it playing.

As you two watch, you can’t help but notice the way Michael’s hand constantly brushes against yours. Fingers sliding gently over your own, thumb pressing into your palm, and how he softly lifts up your hand, wrapping his own hand around your wrist to check your pulse with his thumb.

It makes your heart race with how gentle he is with you. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think Michael was trying to make a move on you. Not like you would mind anyway.

“Hey,” his voice suddenly disrupting your thoughts as you look over at him. He smiles, glancing back at the tv for a moment. “The movies almost over so I’m gonna jump in the shower and wash the road off,” his voice quiet yet sleepy at the same time. “I’ll be quick so you can get in behind me, tink.”

You smile with a nod as he stands up. “Okay, thanks scrub. And don’t worry, take your time. I’m gonna finish watching this.”

He gives you a gentle, warm smile as he hums before heading into the huge bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

Now you’re left alone with your thoughts with Lady and the Tramp mindlessly playing in the background. This was quickly becoming an intimate space, no matter how much the two of you tried to ignore it.

You didn’t necessarily see a problem with it, but you knew how Michael was, he’d either say what he wanted or wouldn’t say a thing. Not like you were expecting anything! He’s your best friend, been your best friend since preschool so why would you care?!

You sigh, shaking your head to let your thoughts drift away. You suck at trying to convince anyone especially yourself.

After about twenty minutes, you hear the shower turn off. The movie that was idly playing shut off a few minutes ago, leaving you to sit with your thoughts once more before you decide to gather your things for the shower.

The door slides open and Michael appears, a towel around his neck, plaid pajama pants on, white socks on his feet, and a plain black tee. He looked insanely cute for such a simple outfit.

“Bathrooms all yours tink,” he gestures as he steps out of the doorway and over to the bed, plopping down while running the towel through his hair.

“Thanks bighead,” you joke softly as you walked past to head into the bathroom, shutting the door right behind you.

The second the bathroom door shuts, Michael lets out a sigh he didn’t even know he was holding in as he glances over at the door.

What does he do while you’re in there? Pretend to watch tv? Pretend to sleep? No, all of those just seemed awkward.

So he opted for the best option, turn the tv off, turn the lamp off, get comfy on his side of the bed, and stare at the ceiling til he fell asleep. Unfortunately for him, he just could not close his eyes. Not when he knew you were in the shower and the steam was probably circling your body.

Gosh he felt like such a pervert.

The next twenty minutes feel like hell as Michael hears you finally finishing up in the bathroom once the shower cuts off.

His nerves are back ten fold. Not only were you about to come out the bathroom smelling like heaven, you were also about to sleep next to him in the same bed. HIM. He finds it funny in a way. You guys have always shared a bed during sleepovers—you’re best friends for gods sake, but now it felt like it’d be intensely different since the two of you were grown adults.

The soft click of the bathroom door opening disrupts his thoughts, breaking the silence as a warm wave of “clean” scented steam rolls into the bedroom.

“Michael?” You call out quietly, checking to see if he’s still awake.

Michael pretends to be asleep, quickly closing his eyes as he hears your footsteps move against the carpet. The mattress dips as you pull back the heavy and warm duvet, slipping into the space beside him.

You squirm as you stare at the ceiling staying very still on your side of the bed, arms tucked tight by your sides.

Your scent fills the bed. It’s sweet, and cozy, and sexy all at once. It was killing Michael. He could eat you right now—

“Hey, you’re not asleep,” you suddenly poke at his arm with an amused look. Michael jumps ever so slightly, glancing over at you briefly. “Oh yeah, heh..you got me.” He smiles, keeping his attention on the ceiling.

You blink, confused, but quickly turn your attention to the ceiling as well so you don’t do anything stupid.

You two stare at the ceiling in silence for a good ten minutes before Michael breaks the silence.

“Hey..” he whispers into the darkness, voice barely carrying through the pillows. You hum in acknowledgment, and you can feel and hear the sheets rustle as he gets closer. “I was just thinkin’ y’know since I been on tour so long…you got anybody special in your life right now? Like..you datin’ anybody?” He questions.

You snicker, shaking your head. “Yeah, you.” But then you quickly noticed how that sounded and clear your throat as you see Michael’s face start to heat up. “N-not like the-the dating part, more so the special person.” You quickly correct, eyes hurriedly focusing back on the ceiling.

“No, yeah I-I get it.” Michael turns his head toward the ceiling too. “Got it the first time.” He smiles awkwardly.

You nod against the pillows, a question infiltrating your mind, causing you to scoot closer this time. “Uhm, what about you? You got another one of those tour girls?” You ask with amusement, trying to lighten the mood.

“No.” Michael answers simply—and way too quickly.

“Oh…” you swallow, quickly nodding.

Silence settles over the room once again, the only sound audible being the shaky breaths of the two of you.

After a few moments, Michael shifts on his side, sheets and the duvet rustling with him. His hand grazes over yours under the covers, slowly but gently intertwining his fingers with yours.

“I don’t care about any of those girls tink, never have.” he whispers, thumb running over your knuckles. “Although there are some pretty fish,” he huffs with a chuckle, causing you to laugh too.

“They aren’t you.” He squeezes your hand, “there’s only one person I think about when I’m on stage… when I’m brainstorming.. and it’s you.” Your breath hitches in your throat at the admission. Slowly, as if gravity is pulling you, you turn your head against the pillow to face him. And to your surprise, Michael is already looking at you.

In the dim, quiet night of the Chicago skyline, moonlight hits his face. His eyes wide and shimmering with a look of affection. A look only for you.

The tension between you two is strong, pure, and raw longing.

The space between both of your faces feels agonizingly small, feeling his soft breathing and smelling whatever beautiful scent he had lingering on his body. He does the same, catching a whiff of that warm and sexy body butter you had on.

You get entirely lost in his gaze. You can see the way his eyes fall over your face, stopping dead at your lips, as he asks a question without words. His eyes slowly trail back up, lip between his teeth as his eyes meet yours again. And with some sudden push, you bring your lips toward his, leaving a long and lingering kiss against his lips.

Your breathing is shaky as you pull away, eyes roaming his to see how he felt. But Michael wastes no time returning the kiss, assuring you that he wanted this just as much. You hum into his mouth, trembling as you cup his face.

With zero hesitation, Michael’s hand leaves yours, moving to wrap around your waist instead as the kiss deepens.

You moan into his mouth, bobbing your head with his as your tongues fight for dominance just before you pull back, panting. “Michael..” you call out softly, voice trembling. “Wha-what’re we doing?”

Michael reluctantly pulls away as well, letting out a shaky and ragged exhale as his eyes flutter open in the dark, completely dazed. His usual demeanor and composure broken.

“I don’t know tink,” he whispers back, his voice breathy and raspy as he leans in to press a soft, lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth, unable to contain himself now. “Ion know, but.. I-I don’t want it to stop.”

“We’re best friends though,” you remind him, swallowing temptation as you obviously couldn’t care less about that in the slightest, your own hands tightening on his face. “This could make things awkward.”

Michael hums, nodding as he runs his thumb over your lips. “I know.. but that’s a risk I’m willing to take. For you.” He admits quietly, not stuttering once.

“…if we do this,” you swallow, eyes blinking down for a second. “If we do this, everything changes Mike..”

Michael stays quiet for a moment, taking in your words. He’s had eyes for you since those days in elementary where he’d sing to cheer you up. But he was child then, he had no idea what any of that meant til he got older, and once he found out, the feeling would never let go.

“Maybe..” he begins. “Maybe it’s time it did,” he murmurs, eyes searching yours for any kind of regret. “I’ve been waiting way too long, tink..”

The next thing he knows, you’re smashing your lips against his at the confession, whimpering into his mouth. The hand around your waist tightens as he suddenly flips over, hovering over you with his hands sprawled out by your head.

Michaels breath lingers over your lips, eyes low as he finally lowers his head, capturing your lips in a passionate and entirely messy kiss.

Your hands instantly find their way around his neck, pulling him closer as he makes himself comfortable between your legs, slowly grinding against your clothed cunt.

You moan into his mouth, tilting your head to deepen the kiss while your hands trail up into his hair, fingers carefully roaming his head.

Your lips part as you take him further into your mouth, tongues swirling in union as Michael’s hand wanders down your body, gripping at your breast and waist.

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer; wanting to feel every single bit of him. His fingers move from your waist to your hips til he reaches your thigh, kneading sensually before hiking it up higher.

He pulls back momentarily, burying his head deep in your neck, leaving kisses on your jaw whilst nibbling on your neck. Gasps leave your mouth as his hands find their way underneath your shirt, slowly lifting your shirt over your chest, exposing your plump breast to him.

His breath hitches as he stares at your soft and bare skin—a sight he’s only ever been able to imagine. His hands tremble slightly against your ribs before they travel upward, his huge palm cupping your breast with gentleness.

His gaze darkens as he catches the way your lip gets caught between your teeth, anticipating his next move.

He opens his mouth, lolling out his warm tongue and licking against your nipple before leaving feverish amounts of kisses on your chest.

You gasp, back arching off the bed with need for more of his touch.

Your fingers tangle into his dark curls, tugging just enough to pull his face up from your chest, forcing him to look you in the eye. “Michael, please,” you whimper, voice in a pouting and wrecked tone as you stare into his big, blown out eyes. “Stop teasin’..”

A low, shaky groan leaves his chest, blinking away for a moment. “M’not teasing mama,” he promises, thumb pressing into your hip as his weight fully settles between your thighs.

“I’m trying not to lose my mind before I’m even inside you. .” He mutters before pressing his soft lips against yours once more, shifting his hips and dragging his clothed thick length hard and slow against your folds.

The friction makes your toes curl and a high pitched whimper tear from your throat.

He wastes no time hooking a finger into your shorts, breaking the kiss to pull them off causing you to shudder. Your panties follow suit after he runs his fingers over the lace of the thong.

He practically moans at the sight of your glistening folds and pulsing hole, all wet and ready for him.

He licks his lips hungrily, but ultimately decides to pull his shirt and pajama pants off, leaving him absolutely bare.

Your eyes lower at the sight, very satisfied. You don’t hesitate, fully removing your shirt from your body and tossing it elsewhere. You’re quick to hook a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him down to messily clash your lips together. “Hmm..” you hum into his mouth, wrapping both arms around his neck now.

He doesn’t break the kiss once when he finally slides into your soaking pussy. He’s slow and controlled, letting you adjust to his size. You let out a cry at the stretch, face contorting in pain and pleasure. And out of instinct, you push at his abdomen.

Michael groans at the sudden tight squeeze of your walls around his cock, knees almost buckling as he attempts to sooth you of your nerves. He shushes you, pulling away just an inch to intertwine his fingers with yours, pinning them against the sheets.

A choked moan leaves his throat as he bottoms out, beginning to thrust into your sopping cunt at a slow pace, working his hips steadily.

Your eyes roll, head thrown back against the pillows as your legs tighten around your waist. “Oh god,” you moan breathlessly.

“I gotchu mama,” he moans, leaning down to lay kisses to your face as his strokes become hungrier. “Love you so much. .” He grunts, brows furrowed as he bites his bottom lip. His pace gradually increases, fucking you like no tomorrow. "Unngh!" you whimper.

God the two of you were crazy. He was buried deep inside you, pace intensifying with every thrust—and there was no condom to be found.

Michael couldn’t keep his hands off you, giving it to you at every angle he could throughout the night. You cried, sobbed, mewled, whined, whimpered, all of it from the feel of his dick dragging in and out of your walls with no remorse; just pure love.

When it’s all said and done and he’s filled you to the brim, the room suddenly feels too quiet.

The desperate and needy heat of your bodies slightly cool once Michael collapses next to you, chest heaving as he glances over at you.

He doesn’t wait for your eyes to flutter open and catch his; he pulls you toward him, instantly wrapping an arm around your waist as he tucks you into his side, and lies your head against his chest. You’re both completely spent, sweat glistening over your warm bodies.

He buries his face into your hair, letting out a long sigh of contentment. He places a kiss to the top of your head, his hand finds yours and he holds it tight. For a moment, you two sit there in silence, soaking in each other’s presence.

As his chest slowly rises and falls beneath your cheek, he begins to scatter lazy, ticklish kisses down your temple and against your collarbone. You squirm, giggling with a shriek as you shrug him off. “Michael, stop — it tickles!” You snicker, big smile on your face as your arms only tighten around him.

“Oh yeah? What about this?” he chuckles, tickling your side with his free hand causing you to yelp, kicking him gently under the covers.

“But hey,” Michael calls out to which you hum, being intrigued. “How was it? How..how’d I do?” He piques, brows furrowed. You sigh all big and dramatic on purpose, just to make him think you’re disappointed or don’t want to talk about it, but then he sees the smile creep onto your face.

“You did great Michael.” You smile, bring your intertwined hands up your lips, kissing the back of them. “It was everything I had hoped for.”

He melts at that, pulling you even closer to hug you. “So glad you enjoyed it tink, I really am.” Voice warm and full of happiness.

You huff out a laugh, loving how flustered he got no matter the circumstance.

“I never wanna fail you. That’s been my goal since we were little.” He murmurs softly. “My goal was always to keep this little girl entertained or she’d find elsewhere to bring her friendship to. But I knew it had to be you,” he brings your hand to his lips kissing it slowly. “always you.” He whispers as a happy frown appears on your face, cuddling him.

“Oh Michael, I could never be bored with you, no matter if you put in effort or not. You were always gonna be my best friend.” You smile, getting comfortable against his chest. “Even with that big head you got.” You snicker.

His face brightens at that, huffing out a laugh as he playfully hits you. “Shut up..” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead with adoration.

He rolls onto his side slightly, sitting up against his wrist as he looks down at you. His eyes are soft, completely relaxed, and adoring. A look you haven’t fully seen in a what feels like forever. “I was thinking…” he bites the inside of his mouth, fighting a smile. “We should go to that drive in theater next weekend. Bring a blanket, some food, and turn it into a real date.” He persuades.

“Oh and they’re playing Grease.” He adds.

You gasp, face lighting up. “What?! Mike I love that movie!” You exclaim. “I know, me too!” He giggles. “that’s why I suggested it!” He exclaims with a big smile.

“Yeah, of course we can go!” Giggles overwhelming you with joy as your arms squeeze around him.

But that joys cut short once Michael sighs, eyes droopy as he looks down at you. “I uh..forgot I have a studio session that weekend.” His fingers idly tapping against your skin. “Oh..!” You blink, nodding. Right, you forgot he was a superstar. “Okay,-“ you clear your throat, trying to brighten the mood. “What about the following Monday? We can just go to the regular cinema?” You suggest, to which Michael sighs, shaking his head again.

“Got a photoshoot Monday..” he murmurs, whole demeanor becoming upset.

“Oh. Right, forgot about that..” you swallow, smile faltering as you stare up at him, fingers beginning to trace along his chest.

Everytime either of you attempted to mention new spots to hang out, he was always busy that certain day. No room for a girl in his life, not a girl like you that actually mattered to him.

“Look mama, we’ll figure it out.” He reassures with a certain challenge in his eyes.

“I know my schedule seems real packed, but I promise I’ll find time for us. When I used to do that for you it never seemed like you minded sitting backstage.” Expressions soft.

Your smile fully drops before you speak. “But I did,” You defend, head slowly lifting from his chest.

“I should’ve been able to watch you from the front every time not just when you could.” Hand wrapping the sheets around your chest.

“You had a section for your family, even Joe.” You deadpan.

“Come on, tink..” he mutters.

“No! In what world does that make any sense?” You tilt your head. “Am I not considered family enough to you to be sat with them or something? Ive been here since the beginning of time.” Brows furrowed as you stare at him.

Michael just scoffs, sitting up from the bed as well with a frown on his face. “Don’t go putting words in my mouth tink.”

“Im not, I’m just tellin’ it how it is.” You cross your arms. “I get sick of being back there every show, then when you get off stage I only get five minutes with you.” You shrug, throwing your hands into your lap.

This isn’t about being hidden backstage.

Michael stares at you now. The heavy silence that stretches between you two seems sudden in the moonlit room. He’s completely caught off guard, a mixture of hurt and sheer exhaustion washing over his face.

He wants to argue.

To tell you that backstage is the safest place for you, that backstage is his getaway after a long performance to see you before having to step out and see paparazzi, to tell you that backstage is the safest place for you, and that he’s trying to protect you from the cameras because you despise them—but the defeat in your eyes silences him.

With a heavy, apologetic sigh, he rubs a hand over his face. "Tink, I..." He trails off, voice cracking ever so slightly. "I'm sorry. I didn't know you felt that way. Thought I was keeping you safe...” he murmurs, gazing down into his lap.

His eyes lift back onto your face, a very small, tentative smile appearing. “Well... we can talk about it tomorrow, I promise. I'm just tired. Is that alright?”

You feel bad in a sense. You know he didn’t do it on purpose to upset you, he was being considerate to a person he practically knew everything about.

But now he feels terrible.

You lean forward, cupping his face to kiss his lips with a small smile. “Of course that’s okay, Michael. M’sorry, I should’ve said something back then..” your eyes glazed over.

“Don’t put it all on you, ma. I should’ve noticed your body language every time. Thank you for finally telling me. And I’m sorry for immediately thinking to hide you once we reached a certain age without asking.” His hands clasp gently around your wrists.

He kisses a hand before pulling away with a soft smile. “Let’s get some sleep.” He lies back down, arms open as he waits for you.

You giggle, looking down at him before lying back down, snuggling into his chest. Michael pulls you right back into his side, hold almost tighter—desperate in a way, like he’s afraid you’ll go.

He places a kiss to your hair, heart content. “I love you mama,” he mutters, caressing your skin.

You snuggle impossibly closer, heart full of contentment as well. “I love you too bighead,” you hum, eyes fluttering shut.

He pinches you in your side causing you to squirm with a chuckle. “That’s your nickname, bighead, not mine.” A grin on his face.

“Well both of got big heads, so.” You shrug to which he sleepily cackles. “Whatever. Goodnight tink.”

“Goodnight Michael.”

3:00 AM

The suite is freezing, but in a good way when you suddenly wake up. You’re engulfed by his warmth and Michael is out like a light.

His face is relaxed, sleeping like a baby with you around.

Seeing him sleep so peacefully makes your heart ache, knowing he probably hasn’t slept like this in a while.

It hurts your heart knowing you had to leave. Because if you didn’t leave now, your life could possibly change forever tomorrow once paparazzi finds out Michael is staying here.

That is if they aren’t already outside the building camping.

Your lip trembles as you bite it, hand softly grazing over his cheek, frown on your face.

He was ready to change things for you, change schedules, cancel things, stress himself out, just so you’d have an actual permanent place in his life. But you couldn’t let him do that, you wouldn’t. You cared about him too much.

He’s a superstar, he was always destined to be one. And you’re someone who wants to stay out of the limelight, keep your sanity, stay connected with your family, and continue to be the one normal person Michael has in his life.

You saw what the light was doing to him, so why would you wanna follow suit? You couldn’t live in his fantasy, even if you wanted to. Even if you really wanted to.

So reluctantly, you pull away slowly, the bed dips as you slide off, carefully slipping out of his hold.

You gather your clothes from the floor before heading over to the closet and grabbing your things, pulling a hoodie and sweats from your bag to throw on before slinging your bag on your shoulder.

You look over at the bed, stealing one last lingering glance of him tangled in sheets.

It’s better to leave now, while the memory is still perfect. If you leave now, you won’t regret it. Is all you kept repeating in your head.

You hesitantly pull your gaze away from him before you end up making a rash decision. You make your way toward the door as tears brim your eyes, lip quivering while you nibble on it and quietly slip out the room.

You repeated told yourself it was for the best, walking down the hallway toward the elevator as tears start to slowly fall, the sting pricking the corners of your eyes.

You quickly wipe your face as the elevator comes up, stepping inside with a quiet sob as you dig your nails into your palms with no idea of what was to come.

With no idea that something little was already blooming in your stomach, ready to completely rock the both of your worlds.

I really hope you guys liked this, it took me 9 days to finish🌝 Lmk how it was and reblog if you can! 🪽

kissmyglxck — don’t copy my work, ask to translate, & if you recreate anything pls tag me <3

❤︎ series tags : @loveposiie @killathrxlla @thebabykashmere @mattbymills @neopolitandoll @reystarkf1 @applehead-luvr @vyvyrulesboisdrool @tenderlyboundlessparagon @amilliongoodfish @rhianthebest @michaeljacksonapplehead @itztamar @iiamjzz8 @daddytillerrr @kayybaereads @uknownn111 @mikey-apologist @angelfacediary @lover-of-games-horror-music17 @savagenctzen @xyahx @mysterioussag @pixieelixer-24 @heubstr @777mimsspace @the-whitequeen-13 @ilovemonk @michaelsapplehead @katseyeed @cchampangemamii @sclareclipse7 @sunsetdrvr @laniiky @wildpandorasky @jeong1nsmainchick @gon3foreverr @natishaqueen @premiumgyu @tojiswifeforlife @khxna @rolemodelshit @cosmic-lovrs

[angelh3ad]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ his hands

content  18+  smut  thrad!michaelxreader  sizekink?  noplot

notes  a short drabble of how his big hands and long fingers satisfy you ♡ for ref, his hand is 23-24cm (9-9.5in) long, with a span of 28 cm (11 inches). the avg is 19cm long!

when you're both making love, he wants you to know that you're undoubtedly his. he shows this by grabbing onto your throat as he drills his cock inside of you; the pressure his fingers put onto your neck make you feel so lightheaded. you pathetically attempt to hold onto michael's waist with your legs for support.

just putting one finger inside already sends you over the edge. michael is more than able to hit your cervix—it's that long and thick. when another finger enters into your folds, you can't help but start to cry. he doesn't admit it, but the sight of you trembling under his hands puts a hard tent on his pants.

michael was so shy to do this at first, but over time, he realized how much he loved slapping your ass. he enjoys how plump and hot it becomes, feeling the heat as he rubs the same spot to soothe the sting. your whimpers only make him want to do it harder, but he knows that he can't bring himself to. he loves you too much to risk actually hurting you.

he loves putting fingers down your throat to see you choke on it. the way your eyes water, your lips tighten, and your moans muffle through his digits is his favorite kind of foreplay. it gets him so hard that it makes him so, so impatient to replace his hand with his cock. “just a little more, baby," michael coos.

sometimes, when you both go out together, he'd wear his iconic rhinestone-studded glove. it gets you so wet to think that just the other night, his long fingers were gloved by your pussy instead. you've yet to ever tell him that, but you know he has his own dirty thoughts of you even outside of the bedroom.

[kkgalerii]

٠࣪⭑ SWEET DEFIANCE ;1989

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

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

˗ˋˏ༺❤︎༻ˎˊ˗

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he clicked the button off, looking up at you with a lazy, wicked, and completely satisfied grin. "because the second we get upstairs, these pants are coming off. and so are you."

[douceurrrr]

MEANIE

𝜗ৎ michael’s wife is a bitch but fine as fuck (18+ blurb)

𝜗ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ you were a handful to say the least. michael doesn’t even know how he manages to handle you. you never fail to make his life very interesting. everyday is something new, and something eventful. you always say what’s on the mind and michael loves it, he loved your attitude. most importantly he loved the way your ass looked in those juicy couture tracksuits and how your curls bounced when you were throwing a fit about something random. with each pout or snarly remark you made resulted in michael getting turned on and michael was always turned on because you were always bitching about something.

“stupid fucking press.” your tone was sharp, louis vuitton bag swinging as you paced through the living room as michael watched you through his sunglasses—from his spot on the couch. his eyes would occasionally trail down your body, particularly your ass with the word 'juicy’ written in rhinestones.

“please don’t curse, honey.” michael breath out, calm and quiet—letting a soft grin appear on his face. you huffed, ignoring him and rolling your eyes at his response.

“don’t tell me what to do.”

“don’t be like that, babylove. i don’t like that kind of talk from you.”

your eyes narrowed. “ n' i don’t like that gucci bag you bought me, so i guess we’re even.” and just like that you stomped your way to the bedroom you and michael shared and slammed the door. michael being michael, he just smiled and shook his head. he was immune to your attitude by now, too obsessed with you to care.

𝜗ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ as far back as michael could remember you were always like that. you were at the local park when he saw you, dressed up in a short sundress with heels—walking your tiny pomeranian. he remembered they was way your glossy lips moved while you were on the phone with one of your home girls. you were a playboy bunny at the time, living with the rest of the bunnies at the mansion. michael spotted you from across the grass and froze—you were hands-down the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. that deep brown skin, those curves, the confident switch in your step. he approached you, you can’t remember everything he said but the one thing that stuck with you was:

“i’ll call hugh right now and tell him that you’re mine”

you laughed, kissed your teeth, and rolled your eyes but gave him your number anyway. he’s been wrapped around your finger ever since.

𝜗ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ Fast forward to now, you two have a an beautiful home and along down the road you let michael knock you up with a beautiful daughter, who’s 16 and just like you—to michael’s dismay. when you had her you gave her the name star because you always tell her:

“you’re gonna be a star, just like mommy”

𝜗ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ you never fail to uplift your daughter and michael loves it. you also never fail to spoil her, so much that michael’s pockets gets flimsy in result of her constant need to take star to get some ‘new bling bling’ as you and star would say but michael never understood.

𝜗ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ star was sometimes the main reason you and michael had arguments—if you consider you yelling and michael’s calm and collected demeanor a argument (more like a one sided fight). it was always about clothes but most of all, low rise jeans. low rise jeans is a huge trend that star wanted to be apart of. there was one particular style that all the girls were rocking—the zodiac jeans. they were dangerously low with a zodiac sign on the butt of the jeans with rhinestones and they had a cute little flare at the ends. star made the mistake of asking michael first.

star had spent hours imagining herself in these jeans. she even would act as if she had them on, practicing her strut for the school hallway. soon she would build up the courage to ask her father for the jeans—not that she needed courage to ask for money because has no problem asking for money but it was the simply fact she might hear the worst word in history: no

star strolled along down the hallway, en route to michael’s private studio, within the house. star pushes open the studio door quietly. the room smells like warm wood and faint cologne, monitors humming low while michael works at the boards in a simple button-up and sweatpants. michael hears the sound of feet along the floor and instantly lifts his head. his eye met his daughter’s, giving her a warm smile.

“oh hey, sweetheart.” he waves her over, opening his arms wide. she waltzed right into her father’s arms, feeling his lips on her forehead.

michael sensed that she was going to ask something, mentally preparing his wallet. “what’s up?”

star chewed the inside of her mouth, fidgeting with her bright, glittery pink nokia. then she just spewed out, “daddy… can I please get some money for these new low-rise jeans? they’re so cute and everybody at school has them.” she shoved her phone in his face, showing michael a picture.

his eyes squinted at the picture but eyes suddenly widened. michael looks up, that gentle smile softening his face before the dad mode kicks in. “oh honeybee, those are entirely too much for your age. I don’t think so, princess.” star pouted, getting ready to rebuttal. “but daddd, please? mama lets me wear stuff like that all the time.” he shakes his head firmly but lovingly: “but nothing, twinkle. my answer is no.” she huffs dramatically, braids flipping as she turns on her heel to leave. as she reaches the door he calls after her softly, “love you, baby girl.” she pauses, still upset but not cold-hearted, mumbling “love you too” before heading out.

star comes straight to you in the kitchen, pout still on her face. you’re leaned against the marble island looking like the reason why michael can still get it up— baby blue tracksuit zipped low to show cleavage, curls up in a bun, glossy lips shining, french tips tapping away on your phone while the pomeranian naps nearby. “mama, dad said no to the jeans… he said they too much for my age.” you set your matcha down, popping your gum loud. “well let me go talk to him. you should’ve just asked for the money straight up, star. haven’t I taught you enough about handling your daddy?” you wink—switching out the kitchen, bare feel against the tile with purpose.

you stroll into the studio like you own the whole estate (because you basically do). michael looks up from the boards, already sensing the storm. “baby, before you start—” you cut him off, hand on your hip, “michael, about those jeans for star. she’s sixteen, not six. let her feel cute.” he stands, trying to stay firm: “they show way too much waist, darling. I’m trying to set boundaries.” you kiss your teeth loud, glossy lips pursed in that signature pout. “boundaries? ya know what? fine.” really? did michael finally win?

you turned you heel and strutted out the room with a sway of your hips. michael smiled to him with triumph, thinking he actually won a argument. usually the arguments end in you getting your way but it was finally time that michael got his way, or so he thought.

later that afternoon you slip star some cash (plus extra for shoes to match). “go handle that, baby. mama got you.” star squeals and hugs you tight, “you’re the best mama ever!” when she comes back strutting through the foyer in the low-rise jeans—waistband sitting dangerously low on her hips, her zodiac written on the back—she looks every bit the stylish princess you raised. michael walks in from the studio, with a smile on his face—still thinking he won the argument from moments ago but once he approaches the living room he stops cold. “…star, those are the exact ones I said no to.” you’re lounging on the nearby chaise in your tracksuit, legs crossed, smirking. “and? if you think i was gonna let my baby be the only one without something, you were surely mistaken.”

at least you were coming from a good place in your heart.

𝜗ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ it didn’t matter how many times you gave michael a headache, you always made up for it in bed. light dim, clothing set long discarded, your deep brown skin warm and glowing against the silk sheets while michael’s big hands explore every curve—long fingers gripping your thick thighs, sliding deep between your folds until you’re crying out, trembling. “you’re impossible… my impossible wife,” he groans, thrusting into you with that perfect rhythm, one hand gently around your throat. you moan loud, nails raking down his back, curls messy across the pillow. “but you love when I get my way, daddy.” he does. from the park day he claimed you till now.

𝜗ৎ i had a taste of the mj mature era smut anddd i understand now… he was sooo yummy during that era! this has been my drafts for a whileeeeeee also pls interact with this, don’t be a stranger 😋

[meninecanela]

Me at 3 AM, horny as hell, scrolling through my likes looking for that one fanfic i read months ago

[belhead]

one and the same

[strangerexee]

ʙᴀʙʏ, ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴜꜱᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜰɪɴɢᴇʀꜱ | ᴍɪᴄʜᴀᴇʟ ᴊᴀᴄᴋꜱᴏɴ

، summary𓈒 michael is often busy with rehearsals and you ain't have no pleasure in a good minute so you just politely ask him to just use his fingers.

، pairing𓈒 michael jackson x black!fem!reader

، warnings𓈒 SMUT, 18+, masturbation, no use of y/n, kissing, fingering, crying, oversimulation, use of "baby".

، notes𓈒 I ain't write for michael in a minute (IM SORRY—i was feening for his brother), this was a bit rushed, but it literally based off this post- like wym his fingers was nearly five inches long??? bye; enjoy my strange ladies.

It was about 2:14 in the morning the last time you checked the green digital clock on your nightstand before going downstairs, and you done switched sides on the couch for what felt like the fifty thousandth time. You were curled up on said couch in the living room, the only light in the room coming from the warm, amber glow of the flickering television screen playing on mute. You had a satin robe tied loosely around your waist with your silk slip underneath, and your bare legs tucked under a thick throw blanket.

The house was too damn big when he wasn't there. You’d been trying to watch some late night sitcom reruns, but your eyes kept drifting to the heavy doors of the entrance.

You had the AC humming at a cool seventy degrees, but under this blanket, you were burning up. And it wasn't because of the weather outside. It was a deep, simmering heat right in your bones, settling heavy and tight right between your thighs.

Lord knew you loved your man. You loved his drive, his genius, the way his eyes lit up when a new idea clicked in his head. But this tour prep? It was running him ragged, and by default, it was leaving you high and dry; but shit, if you didn't miss your man.

And more than just missing his conversation, your body was aching for him.

You stared up at the ceiling. I ain't had no real lay down in...what? Three weeks? Four weeks? A whole fucking month.

It had been almost a full month since the two of you had really, truly connected. A month of quick, sleepy kisses in the mornings, brief phone calls during his fifteen minute lunch breaks, and falling asleep on opposite sides of a king sized bed because he was too physically exhausted to do anything but pass out the second his head hit the pillow.

Just yesterday, the desperation had gotten so bad you actually tried to take matters into your own hands. You’d dim the lights, pulled down your panties, and tried to get some relief. But it was a disaster. Every time you tried to find the right angle, your hand would cramp, or you’d lose the rhythm, or you just couldn't quite reach the spot that was aching deep inside your pussy. The frustration had built up so fast, hot and heavy behind your eyes, until you just ended up curling into a ball and crying actual tears of pure, unadulterated aggravation.

Imagine crying over some damn fingering. You’d felt so pathetic, sitting there with wet cheeks and a throbbing ache that wouldn't quit.

And now, here you were, twenty four hours later, and the ache was only worse.

Your skin was practically buzzing. Every little rub of the satin robe against your thighs felt like a tease. You’d spent the last hour just thinking about him- his hands, his voice, the way he breathed against your neck when he got worked up. You were needy, plain and simple. You wanted him, and you weren't planning on letting him just slip into sleep tonight without giving you a little piece of himself.

Just as you were about to give up and let sleep take you, the heavy thud of the front door finally echoed through the house.

You sat up, throwing the blanket off your legs. Your heart did a little flutter as you heard the familiar, exhausted sigh, followed by the soft rustle of his jacket being hung up in the closet.

A moment later, Michael walked into the room.

He looked absolutely beautiful, but incredibly worn down. He was wearing black pants, a loose, button down shirt over a white tee, and his black loafers. His curls were damp, clinging to the back of his neck and framing his face in sweaty spirals. His shoulders were slumped, and his eyes heavy with exhaustion.

When he noticed you sitting up on the couch, a soft, weary smile broke through his tired face.

"Hey, beautiful," he murmured, his voice incredibly deep, raspy, and quiet from a long day of singing. "What are you doing up? It's so late."

"Waiting on you," you said, your voice soft but carrying that smooth, slow drawl. You stood up from the sectional, stretching your legs, letting the silk robe part just enough to show a sliver of your thigh. "You look beat, baby."

Michael walked over to you, his movements slow. When he reached you, he just collapsed his forehead right onto your shoulder, letting his arms wrap loosely around your waist. He let out a long, shuddering breath, breathing in the scent of your cocoa butter lotion and the sweet perfume you’d lightly sprayed before he got home.

"I am," he whispered against your collarbone. "We did the choreography for 'Billie Jean' and 'Beat It' back to back today. Frank wanted to run the lighting cues over and over. My knees are aching, sweetheart. I feel like I could sleep for a whole week."

You gently stroked the back of his neck, your fingers slipping underneath the damp curls at his nape. You felt a wave of maternal warmth for him, but right beneath it was a burning, tight sensation in your lower belly.

"Mmh, I know you tired, Mike," you murmured, shifting your hips slightly so they brushed against his. "But I been missin' you. Like, really missin' you."

Michael pulled back just an inch, his dark eyes looking down into yours. He had that soft, gentle gaze he always got when he was looking at you, but there was a distinct fog of fatigue over his pupils. "I miss you too, girl. So much. Let's just go up to bed and cuddle, okay? I just want to hold you."

He reached down to take your hand, intending to lead you toward the grand staircase, but you didn't budge. You held his hand, but you anchored yourself, stepping closer into his space.

"Michael," you whispered, looking up at him with wide, glossy eyes. The desperation in your face must have shocked him, because his gaze instantly sharpened as you continued. "I don't just want to cuddle. I'm bout to go crazy. I swear to God I am. I ain't had none of you in a whole month."

"Have you been crying?"

You bit your lip, a hot flush of embarrassment creeping up your neck. You didn't want to admit it, but you were too far gone to care about your pride.

"Yeah," you confessed, your voice cracking slightly. "I was. Yesterday. And tonight."

Michael’s brow furrowed, his thumbs soothingly rubbing circles into your hips through the thin silk of your slip. "Why, baby? Tell me. What happened?"

"I just did! Because of this," you burst out, gesturing vaguely down between your bodies.

Michael let out a soft, breathy chuckle, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He reached up, gently tapping his fingertips against your chin. "Sweetheart, I love you, and you know I want nothing more than to lay you down right now. But my back is so stiff, and my body is literally aching. I don't think I have the strength to give you what you need tonight. Let me get some rest, and I promise you, tomorrow morning I'll make it up to you."

"Tomorrow morning you gotta be back at the arena by eight, and you know it," you pointed out, stepping even closer, wrapping your arms around his neck. You looked up at him through your lashes, letting your lips part slightly. "And I can't wait that long. I'm practically dying over here."

"I'm sorry, baby," he whispered, kissing your forehead gently. "I just don't have the energy for a whole session."

"I ain't asking for all that," you murmured, your hand sliding down his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart through his shirt. You let your fingers trail down, stopping right at his waistline. "I know you tired. I know your knees hurting. So you don't gotta do all that..."

Michael raised an eyebrow, a slight, intrigued smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Oh, really? And what are you suggesting?"

"Just use your fingers, baby," you whispered, your voice a smooth, seductive purr against his ear. You nipped gently at his earlobe, making him shiver. "Just sit back, relax, and use your pretty hands on me. That's all I need. Just a little taste."

Michael groaned softly, his grip on your waist tightening just a fraction. You could tell he was fighting his own exhaustion, but the temptation of your touch, combined with the desperate tone in your voice, was starting to wear down his defenses. He loved how much you wanted him. He loved that even when he was completely drained, you still craved his touch above everything else. His eyes searched your face, taking in the dilated pupils, and the absolute raw hunger written in every line of your expression. He let out a long, shaky sigh, his head tilting back to look at the ceiling before closing his eyes.

"Oh, sweetheart," he groaned, bringing his head back down to look down at you. "You really know how to play with fire, don't you?"

"I'm burning up, Michael. Put it out."

He looked down at you with hooded eyes, a slow, dangerous smile creeping onto his lips. It wasn't his usual sweet, boyish grin. This was the smile of a man who knew exactly what kind of power he held over you, a man who was about to take his sweet, precious time.

"You're a bad girl," he muttered. "So needy. Using my weakness against me when I'm too tired to fight back. Can't even let a man rest."

"I ain't hear you say no," you teased, your heart racing. "Please, Michael? Just touch me. I'll do whatever you want, just don't leave me dry tonight."

Michael closed his eyes for a brief second, inhaling deeply, before opening them again. The exhaustion was still there, but now it was mixed with a heavy, simmering heat. He looked down at your lips, his gaze darkening.

"Alright," he whispered, his voice incredibly thick. "Alright, sweetheart. But we're doing this my way. And you have to promise to do exactly what I tell you."

"Always, baby," you breathed, a thrill running down your spine.

Michael took your hand and led you slowly up the stairs. The house was dead silent, the only sound being the soft pad of your bare feet and his loafers on the carpeted steps. When you reached the master bedroom, the massive space was cool and dark, lit only by the moonlight streaming through the large doors that led to the balcony.

Michael didn't turn on any lights. He preferred the darkness, the intimacy of the shadows.

He walked over to the massive king sized bed, kicking off his loafers before sitting down on the edge of the mattress. He leaned back against the headboard, his long legs stretching out in front of him. He looked up at you, standing at the foot of the bed.

"Come here," he commanded softly.

You walked over, your heart hammering against your ribs, really trying not to smile at how happy you were to be getting someee. You stopped right between his outstretched legs, looking down at him.

Michael reached up, his long, slender fingers catching the tie of your satin robe. With a slow pull, he undone the knot. The silk parted, pooling around your elbows and revealing the lace slip you were wearing underneath.

Michael’s eyes swept down your body, taking in every single curve, the rich warmth of your skin, the way your chest rose and fell with your shallow breathing. He let out a soft, appreciative hum, his hands sliding up your thighs, his palms warm and slightly calloused from years of dancing.

"You look so beautiful," he whispered, his hands smoothing over your hips, resting on your waist. "So beautiful. My sweet girl."

"Michael, please," you whimpered, the heat between your legs blooming instantly at his touch. "I'm already so wet for you."

"Shh," he murmured, his fingers gently digging into your hips, anchoring you. "Don't rush me. I told you, we're going slow. If I'm doing this, I'm taking my time."

He pulled you closer, guiding you to climb onto the bed. "Sit on my lap, facing away from me," he instructed, his voice all low and steady.

You did as you were told, turning around and straddling his thighs, your back pressing against his chest. The feeling of his broad chest against your back, his warm breath tickling the back of your neck, made you shiver.

Michael wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you tightly against him. He buried his face in your neck, inhaling deeply, kissing the soft spot right beneath your ear.

"You feel so good," he murmured. "So soft. So warm," he whispered, moving his head up, his lips brushing against your temple. "And you smell so good. What is that?"

"Cocoa butter. The one you like," you mumbled, your hands finding his thigh, tracing down to his knee. "Now stop stallin', Michael."

He let out a tired but rich laugh that vibrated against your chest. "Alright, alright. Impatient little thing."

His hands slowly slid down from your waist, moving over the smooth fabric of your slip, down to where your thighs met. You parted your legs slightly, giving him access, but Michael wasn't in a hurry. He kept his palms flat against your outer thighs, gently rubbing them in slow, circular motions.

"Michael..." you groaned, shifting your weight, trying to press your pussy against his hand.

"Stop moving," he whispered against your ear, his voice firm but gentle. "Just relax. Let me handle it."

You let out a breathy sigh, forcing your muscles to relax, leaning your head back against his shoulder.

Slowly, agonizingly so, Michael’s right hand slipped inward. His long fingers brushed against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, light as a feather. You trembled, your fingers gripping the bedsheets beside you. He trailed his fingers up, closer and closer to the lace of your underwear, but just when you thought he was going to touch you, he retreated, sliding his hand back down to your knee.

"Michael, stop teasing me," you whined. "You playin' too much. Just touch it."

Michael let out a soft chuckle against your neck. "You've been waiting a month, a few more minutes isn't going to kill you."

He repeated the motion, his fingers tracing patterns on your inner thighs, slowly acclimating your body to his touch, building the anticipation until you were literally panting, your hips involuntarily twitching.

Finally, his hand slipped underneath the lace material.

When his bare fingertips made contact with your swollen, soaking wet center, you let out a loud gasp, your back arching off his chest.

"Oh, fuck..." you breathed, your eyes closing tight. "Michael..."

"Mmh, look at that. Look at you," his voice incredibly soft, almost reverent. He felt how warm and slick you were, his fingertips instantly becoming coated in your juices. "You're soaking wet for me, girl. You really were needy, weren't you?"

"Yes," you confessed, your fingers gripping his bicep, your voice cracking. "Yes, baby. I been wanting you so bad."

Michael didn't immediately start stroking you. Instead, he just rested his palm against your mound, letting you feel the heavy, warm weight of his hand. He began to apply a slow, steady pressure, moving his palm up and down, grinding your sensitive flesh against himself. Michael might have been too tired to move his body, but his hands had a mind of their own.

And though friction was intense, it wasn't enough. You wanted his fingers in you.

"Please, Mike. Put 'em in. Just a little bit," you begged, turning your head slightly to try and catch his lips.

Michael turned his head to meet yours, pressing a deep, slow, open mouthed kiss to your lips. He tasted like sweet mint. He kissed you thoroughly, his tongue lazy and heavy, mirroring the slow rhythm of his hand down below.

While he kissed you, his middle finger slowly slipped inside of your pussy.

You let out a muffled moan into his mouth, your walls clenching tightly around his finger. They were so long, and the intrusion felt incredibly deep and full.

Michael pulled back from the kiss, his eyes heavy, watching your face in the dim moonlight. He saw the pleasure written across your features, your lips parted, your brow slightly furrowed as you tried to cope with the sensation.

"You're so tight," he whispered, his finger remaining completely still inside you. "So warm."

"Move it, baby," you pleaded, your hips giving a desperate little twitch. "Please, move it."

"Shh, easy," he murmured. "Let me stretch you out first."

He slowly curled his finger inside you, hooking it slightly against your front wall. The sudden friction against your g-spot made your eyes roll back, a loud broken moan escaping your throat. "Oh, shit- ! Michael...Michael!"

"I got you," he whispered, his voice incredibly deep and steady.

He slowly slid a second finger, his index finger, inside alongside the first. The fit was incredibly snug, making you stretch around him. He began a slow, rhythmic in and out motion. It wasn't fast, and it wasn't rough.

He began to move his fingers, but it was agonizingly slow. He would slide it almost all the way out, letting you feel the slick friction of his exit, only to push it back in with a slow thrust that was incredibly deep. With every stroke, his fingers coated themselves in your slickness, the wet, squelching sound filling the quiet bedroom, making your face burn with a mixture of embarrassment and arousal.

Over and over, he kept the pace tortuously slow. He was making sure you felt every millimeter of his fingers sliding inside you.

You were losing your mind. Your body wanted him to move fast, wanted to ride his hand to get that quick, explosive release, but every time you tried to speed up the pace, tried to really buck your hips and fuck yourself on this man's hand like a bitch in heat, Michael’s hand on your hip would tighten, holding you firmly in place.

"No, no," he cautioned, his deep voice vibrating against your back. "Don't rush, baby. Just feel how good it is."

"It's too slow, Michael," you cried out, a tear of frustration and pleasure escaping the corner of your eye. "You torturing me."

"I'm loving you," he corrected softly, his finger finally finding your highly sensitive clit.

He didn't rub it. He was just pressed down gently, holding his finger there while his fingers on his other hand continued its slow, deep curls inside of you.

The combination of the deep, slow penetration and the steady, heavy pressure on your clit sent a massive wave of electricity straight to your core. Your legs began to shake, your inner muscles contracting violently around his finger.

"That's it," Michael murmured, feeling the pre orgasmic ripples of your body. "You like that, don't you?"

"Yes, yes, right there, Mike," you gasped, your voice completely wrecked. "Right there."

He kept his movements steady, his long fingers working inside you with a masterful, lazy rhythm that was driving you over the edge. He didn't have to strain himself; he just lay there, watching your face in the dim light, enjoying the way he could make you unravel with just a fraction of his effort.

"I'm not going to let you come yet," he whispered, his voice dripping with a playful, dominant malice.

And just like that, he eased up. He pulled his fingers almost completely out, his fingers lightly brushing away from your sweet spot, leaving you hovering right on the edge of a cliff, completely suspended.

You let out a frustrated, heartbroken groan. You grabbed his thighs, turning to look up at his handsome, smug face. He looked so incredibly handsome, his features all soft and full of love.

"Michael, why you doing me like this?" you whined, completely exasperated. "You know I'm right there. Don't play with me like this, baby, I'm begging you."

Michael down at you, his eyes incredibly soft but holding a deep, intense hunger. He reached over, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb wiping away the stray tear of frustration.

"Because I want it to last," he whispered honestly. "If I let you come right now, you're going to fall asleep, and I won't get to feel you like this for another long time. I want to enjoy you, sweetheart. I want to see how much you can take."

You looked into his eyes, seeing the genuine, deep affection mixed with the primal desire to possess you, to dominate your pleasure. The frustration faded instantly, replaced by a deep submission.

"Okay," you whispered. "Okay. Do what you want. Just don't stop."

Michael smiled, a beautiful smile. "I won't stop."

He reached down, his hands catching your thighs and spreading them wider, draping your legs over his own. He adjusted himself slightly, leaning back a bit more so he had a clear view of your pussy.

He dipped two fingers into your slick pool of moisture, coating them completely before he slowly pushed both fingers deep inside you, a sharp gasp escaping your lips.

"Ohhh- hnnmm," you whimpered, your hands moving down to grip the sheets for dear life.

Michael began to pump his fingers inside you, but he kept the pace slow, steady, and incredibly deep. He was curling his fingers upward, hitting that sweet spot inside you over and over again with a wet, rhythmic squelch that echoed.

His other hand reached up, his thumb gently circling your clit, match the slow rhythm of his fingers. Every slide of his fingers made you lose your breath. You closed your eyes, your head rolling back against his shoulder, your hips rolling against his hand as you let out low moans.

You were completely at his mercy. Every touch was calculated, designed to build the tension in your lower belly until it was almost unbearable.

"Michael...please...I can't..." you cried out softly, your hands clutching the satin sheets, your toes curling. The pleasure was rolling through you in waves, so overwhelming because you had waited so damn long for it.

"Yes you can," he whispered, his voice a soothing, hypnotic tone. "Just ride the wave, baby. Let it build. I've got you."

He kept you on that agonizing edge for what felt like hours, but was likely only fifteen minutes of sensory torture. He would build you up until your thighs were shaking uncontrollably, asking you to "Look at me, baby," with a hypnotic tone, his finger applying a perfect, steady pressure to your clit while his other fingers stroked deep inside you, and then he would slow down even more, whispering sweet, encouraging words into your ear, kissing your neck, your ear, your lips, until your body settled just enough for him to start the build up all over again.

By the time he finally decided to let you go, you were completely spent, your body vibrating with a tension so tight it felt like a coiled spring. "You love it when I touch you like this?" he asked, his voice a low, commanding purr.

"I love it...I love you, Mike...I'm about to..." you sobbed softly, not even able to finish your sentences, your fingers digging into his thighs, likely leaving light red marks that you couldn't see because of his pants. "I need to come. Please, baby. Let me come."

Michael looked down at you, his own breathing heavy now, his face flushed with heat. He saw how completely undone you were, how entirely devoted you were to his touch in this moment.

"Alright, baby," he whispered, his voice incredibly tender. "Come for me. Right now."

He suddenly sped up his movements, his fingers thrusting deeply and rapidly inside of you, while his thumb rubbed your clit in fast, intense circles.

The sudden shift in pace was too much. Your body instantly locked up.

A loud, soul shattering cry tore from your throat as your vision went completely white. Your walls clamped down on his fingers in tight, rhythmic spasms, squeezing him with incredible force. You arched your back, before your entire body began shaking violently as the intense, delayed orgasm crashed over you in waves, going on and on, seemingly never ending because of how long he had held you back. Your hips bucked against his hand, your chest heaving as you rode it out.

Michael held you tightly against him, his fingers staying deep inside you, feeling every single contraction of your climax. He buried his face in your neck, letting out a low, satisfied groan of his own as though he were the one nutting, completely intoxicated by your pleasure. He let you shake, kissing away the happy tears that gathered at the corners of your eyes.

"Yes, baby," he whispered against your skin, his voice all thick and warm. "That's it. Let it out. Give it all to me."

You collapsed against his chest, your muscles completely jelly, your heart pounding like a drum. You were panting heavily, sweat lightly shining your forehead, letting the contractions gently squeeze him until the worst of the tremors faded into a lazy, warm afterglow.

Slowly, carefully, Michael slipped his fingers out of you. He reached over to the nightstand, grabbing a soft hand towel to clean himself and you, his movements incredibly tender and caring.

Once you were both cleaned up, he pulled you back into his arms. You collapsed against his chest, completely spent, your forehead resting right over his heart. You could hear it beating- a steady, comforting thump thump, thump thump.

"You alright now, needy girl?" he teased softly, his chest rumbling against your cheek.

You released a soft, satisfied hum, wrapping one leg over his thigh, tangling your bodies together. "I'm perfect. Thank you, baby."

"Anytime," he murmured, his voice incredibly heavy now, his eyes already fluttering shut. "Now...let your man get some sleep."

"Go to sleep, Mike," you whispered, kissing his warm chest.

Within minutes, his breathing slowed into a deep, even rhythm. You lay there in the quiet of the bedroom, warm, fully satisfied, and completely loved, listening to the soft sound of his breathing as the neon green clock ticked away into the morning.

© 2026 Strangerexee. All rights reserved or wtv.

[theladyinmikeyslife]

he’s just so cute, handsome, pretty, precious, sexy and beautiful all in one. amongst many other wonderful adjectives I could have used to describe him. I really just wanna hug him. like, so badly. 🫩🫩

[jacksonslyriq]

[etrnalmuse]

#needhim

[etrnalmuse]

imagine if michael sang pretty girl by jon b whewwww

[etrnalmuse]

i love you black mj fanfic writers

[multifandomposts-blog]

I will never stop talking about this or reminding all the amazing Black writers in this fandom just how talented, creative, and appreciated you are. 🫶🏾

Please keep doing what you're doing. Your stories matter, your voices matter, and this fandom is better because you're here.

Note: I discover new writers in this fandom all the time, so I know I definitely haven't found every amazing Black writer out there yet. If you didn't get tagged, this absolutely applies to you too.

And if you know a Black writer I missed, tag them! I'd love to check out their work and give them some love.

Lastly, to any Black writer who's been doubting whether they should write that story or post that fic: do it. Someone out there is waiting for a story that only you can tell.

@melanatedeuph0ria @kitty-trash @fullofmelaninsarcasmandepression @youluvyanni @babythugga @jerdadakks @brownsugarletters @blkkbratt @pvt-luv @plumppies @angelfacediary @1andonlytashae @veavixen @wild-rotten @ghostlytimelessrebel @aureliareadsss @plan3tch1ld @glxtterberrytree @jermajestysbaby @callmeoncette @kissmyglxck

[miseducationofmicheal]

Michael Jackson At The Grammys In, 1993

[etrnalmuse]

i love you black mj fanfic writers