People dancing, singing, swaying their hips to the music everywhere you looked. Bottles of tempting liquor and cigarette butts coated the floor more so than the confetti that had once rained from the ceiling.
Everyone was enjoying themselves — grinding back onto a stranger they wouldn’t remember in the morning, wincing as a shot burnt down their throat, or belting the lyrics to a well-known song. All cooped up in their own personal satisfaction in the thriving club.
Not Michael.
His attention was demanded by people all day everyday, especially since his new release album Thriller, he was the name on everyone’s lips. Constantly needed, constantly wanted — commanded to speak or dance or put on a show.
But, right now the only show he cared about was the one you were putting on.
All of his attention failed to place on anyone surrounding him. Their faux, fame-hungry interest in his personal life went on deaf ears despite the booming music that sent shockwaves through his body — it was on you.
Watching from a private VIP booth, separated from the rest of the public club-goers, his eyes locked on the way your body moved with practiced precision with the music. Moving like every song took over your body, every beat co-ordinating your hips like a puppet-master — hands gliding over your frame in slow, subtly teasing movements that had his bottom lip suckled between his teeth.
You were ethereal — motions so practiced he was certain you were crafted straight from a musician and a dancer, a talent handed to you from birth. Alas, not — your tactical dancing crafted from pure adoration for music.
Lucky your boyfriend was a singer then, huh?
You’d been dating Michael for a few months and not once had he seen you so enchanting. Sure, when he played you his demo’s you’d groove, not caring who saw — something that always made him smile. You had a definite talent for dance rooted deep in your bones that Michael admired — often playing his songs for you just to see you move.
But, this. This was different.
The way you were moving, like fresh waves gliding against the soft of the sand, like light enveloping over the shadows of skin, cascading over sun-kissed flesh in bright colours — it had him stuck. Stuck watching through the dark of his aviators, head lolled to the side ever so slightly, as if bending his vision to deepen his entranced glare.
He loved letting you do your thing when you went out — you were his girl, loud and proud, but you were also your own individual. Someone who could have fun without being told no — he loved that about you. How you weren’t intimidated by a man, especially someone of his popularity, and allowed yourself to still be you and have your fun despite who you affiliated with.
“Y’girl’s got moves, brother.” Even the sound of Quincy Jones’ voice, his beloved producer to his biggest album to date, couldn’t pull him from his transfixion.
Michael hummed in response, index finger laid gently on his bottom lip, thumb resting on the underside of his chin, eyes never leaving your frame as your hands raked through the length of your hair, brushing it from your shoulders to reveal the bare of your back, on show promiscuously by your open-backed top.
It didn’t help that the leather shorts that clad your plump behind left little to the imagination — the curve of your ass barely visible to a passerby, but the full focus of Michael’s vision. That specific attribute that adorned your perfect body Michael loved so much — one he’d grip every chance he got, needing the plush skin in his large palms as you rode his cock, revelling in the recoil that every thrust he bucked up into your sopping cunt gave to your roundness.
And that plumpness that he adored so much was poked out behind you, one hand on your knee, the other in the air, fingers curling around the tune that blessed your ears, hips swivelling from side to side methodically.
“You got real lucky, Mike.” Quincy added, a laugh breathed out of him as they both watched you.
“Sure did.” Michael finally spoke, voice low and soft, like he always did, despite the sensual activity he was indulging in by watching you dance so fluidly.
“Who taught her to dance like that? Dangerous thing.”
Michael smiled, “She jus’ a natural.” Suddenly feeling smug at the fact that he had you all to himself — the sensual dancer, Michael Jackson’s girl, he was a cocky little bastard right now.
“Well, shit.” Quincy breathed, “Can see why you wrote all those lovey-dovey songs now, boy.” Quincy’s loud laugh hit Michael’s ears, not once moving to react, “Next album’s gonna go crazy if she keeps that up. Better get ya in the studio quick before someone snatches her up.”
Michael stayed silent — the thought of anyone threatening to take you away from him had him tensing up. A thought that forced his jaw into a tight clench.
You only stopped your sensuality at the sound of a whistle — head turning behind you to see Quincy Jones beckoning you over, four fingers curling in the air. You huffed, body warm, before making your way over to the booth situated at the back of the room — smiling at the security who guarded the entrance. They already knew exactly who you were.
“Tell your man to answer me.” Quincy teased, smiling next to your man in question, “Y’got him mute with those moves, girl.”
You laughed, wiping a bead of sweat that trickled down your temple, “Feelin’ quiet tonight, baby?”
Michael, attempting to suppress it but failing miserably at the sight of you up close and the sound of your pretty voice, let the corner of his mouth twitch up into a smirk.
“Maybe.” His voice slow, “Just enjoyin’ what I’m watching.”
“And what’s that?”
“You.”
The sexual tension that arose sent a shockwave of silence within everyone in the small booth — side glances exchanged as they ogled at the way you eyed one another with desire unable to miss.
“Alright, fella’s, let’s leave the lovebirds be.” Quincy chuckled, sending a wink Michael’s way, before ushering everyone out of the booth.
And then there were two.
Just you, hot and teetering on spent, the dancing tiring your glistening body, and Michael, a pompous smirk on his face, large arm now resting on the ledge of the booth behind him.
“Enjoy the show, honey?” You were teasing, and Michael knew it. He could sense it in the way you spoke, your voice low and dark, tempting him, with a manicured hand on your hip.
“Close the curtain, please.” He called, voice loud enough for the security to hear. Your heart skipped a beat at the subtle insinuation of what was yet to come — swallowing thickly at the sound of the large curtains shutting you into the room.
At first, nobody moved. Just staring — his sunglasses clad eyes fixated on your own. Watching. Fixating. Tempting.
“C’mere, pretty.” The sound of his ring-clad fingers tapping against the meat of his thigh hit your ears, beckoning you to his lap.
You obeyed — heels clicking against the floor as you strutted over to him, placing yourself neatly in the comfort of his lap. Michael loved you like this — sitting all pretty on him, your ass pressed perfectly onto his crotch. Your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck, letting your legs dangle off the edge of his leg.
“Liked what’cha saw then, baby?” Your voice sickly sweet as you grinned up at him, eyes full of desperation for praise — your smile a subtle tease.
“Yeah, angel, sure did.” He spoke, a palm grazing over the soft of your thigh, the other pressed against the small of your back, “Looked so pretty out there dancin’.”
Your cheeks flushed red at the compliment, leaning over to press a loving kiss to his cheek, nose nudging his famous aviators. A soft gasp left your plump lips as his hand trailed further up your leg, dangerously close to where you throbbed due to his enticing touches.
“How ‘bout you show me what else you can look pretty doin’?”
Your heart hammered in your chest at the insinuation as his fingers grazed over your clothed cunt through your shorts — a needy whine ripping from your throat at the teasing sensation. Eager to please, you nodded quickly — gnawing on your lip as you awaited his command.
“Get on y’knees f’me, doll.”
You complied willingly without protest — falling to your knees between his spreading legs. The cold of the floor sent a chilling sensation throughout your burning body — still unable to cool the inflamed desire that thumped inside you.
Michael’s hand reached down to cup your flushed cheek — his vast hand covering majority of your face, thumb stroking the supple skin. His fingers trailed down your face, reaching your pouting lips, tugging your bottom one down with the pad of his thumb — before retracting his hand all together and leaning back comfortably in the chair.
“Get to work then, sweetheart,” He commanded, “Show me just how pretty y’can get.”
With a hum of appreciation at the endearing pet-name, your trembling hands flew to his trousers — the clink of his belt hitting the floor forced your thighs together in anticipation. Michael, cooperatively, lifted his hips just enough for you to shuffle his tight slacks and boxers, a painful restraint, down his legs, pooling at his ankles.
His cock, a pretty mauve colour, slapped against his clothed abdomen, a quiet hiss leaving his throat as the rush of air hit the warmth of him. Your eager hands wasted no time — spitting a lewd glob into your palm and enclosing around the shaft, revelling in the way Michael hummed in contentment.
Your nimble hands, looking awfully small in comparison to his thickness, worked him up and down — pumping him slowly, tightening your grip each time you’d slide to his cockend. Only when your thumb swiped the bead of pre-cum that oozed from his tip did Michael groan, peering over his sunglasses at you.
“Quit teasin’, doll.” His hand slid around your face, encasing the nape of your neck in his grasp, forcing your face closer to his twitching cock, “Open up, sweetheart.”
As your lips parted, Michael pushed the fat of tip between them — groaning lowly as you suckled around it, instantly swirling your tongue around the leaking end. The taste of his bitter, yet equally tasty, pre had you whining around him — the rumble sending shivers down his spine at the sensation. The feeling so great that it involuntarily forced his hips to buck — dick slotted down your throat so fast a gag ripped from you.
Still the gentlemen, Michael went to drag you from his length, prioritising your comfort — but, you stopped him. Hands gripping the fat of his thighs to signal him to leave you be, hands falling at his sides as he fell deeper into your mercy — a louder moan falling past his lips as you bobbed your head up and down him.
Michael knew he was blessed when you deliberately gagged around him — burying your nose into the dark curls of his pubic hair, basking in the way his head thumped against the back of the booth, hand cupping your cheek, holding you in place as he throbbed in your throat.
When you’d pull off, saliva connecting your plush lips to his drooling cock, coughing and spluttering as you caught your breath, did it really hit Michael how insanely pretty you really were.
He’d always known it, but watching you encase your lips around his tip, suckling it like a delicious lollipop, spit glistening on your chin, doe-eyes peering up at him as tears streamed down your beautiful face — he was certain he’d fallen in love all over again.
“That’s it,” He coaxed, hands following your fluid movements as he held your face, swallowing thickly as you slowly took more and more of him down your greedy throat, “Suckin’ my dick so pretty, dollface.”
And when you wrapped your delicate hand around the base of him, accompanied by hollowing your cheeks around the girth of him, did he really loose it. Hips bucking up without a care in the world, completely at your mercy as you worked your magic around him — curses and praises mumbled above you.
“Shit, angel, gonna cum.” He warned, “Wanna paint that pretty face white.”
He tugged you off him quickly, a frantic hand encasing around his manhood, pumping himself quickly, chasing the high as he sucked his lip between his teeth, eyebrows furrowed tightly together — focused on the way you slid your tongue out, lapping at the tip, awaiting his sweet release.
“Shut ya’ eyes baby.”
And when your eyes fluttered shut, you hummed in delight at the first spurt of his release landed straight on your twitching tongue, the tang of his cum settling on the muscle. Michael cursed loudly, eyes fixated, like they had been all night, on your gorgeous face as he pumped himself languidly — utterly aroused at the way his cum splattered over your cheeks, chin, and tongue, even so far as reaching above your eyebrow. Completely coating you in his milky white seed — now slowly dripping down your face as your eyes fluttered open.
Michael peered down at you, soaked with his release, large eyes peering up at him through your eyes like he hung the stars for you, a loving smile spreading across your face as you swallowed the remains of his seed that landed on your tongue.
“Most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.” He praised, shaking his head in disbelief at how he managed to pull a girl so captivating.
His fingers reached forwards, swiping up the stray dollop of cum that adorned your eyebrow, collecting the essence on digits, before presenting them before your spit-stained lips, “Don’t wanna miss any, right, doll?”
You shook your head as you wrapped your lips around his fingers, hands encasing around his wrist as you hummed at the taste of him — tongue swirling around his digits, sucking them clean. Michael repeated this with each area of your face that was coated with his cum — swiping each place and shoving his fingers into your eager mouth, letting you savour the taste of him.
Michael sat back, softening cock hanging free, as he watched you — smirking at the way you licked your lips, openly enjoying the flavours of him.
It was only when a strangled cry left his mouth, hips twitching violently as you wrapped your slutty mouth around the drooling head of his cock once more — lapping up the dribble of cum that rolled down him, did he realise you were fucking ravenous for his cock.
Michael pulled you off with a pop, chest heaving at the sudden overstimulation, face scrunching in surprise.
People dancing, singing, swaying their hips to the music everywhere you looked. Bottles of tempting liquor and cigarette butts coated the floor more so than the confetti that had once rained from the ceiling.
Everyone was enjoying themselves — grinding back onto a stranger they wouldn’t remember in the morning, wincing as a shot burnt down their throat, or belting the lyrics to a well-known song. All cooped up in their own personal satisfaction in the thriving club.
Not Michael.
His attention was demanded by people all day everyday, especially since his new release album Thriller, he was the name on everyone’s lips. Constantly needed, constantly wanted — commanded to speak or dance or put on a show.
But, right now the only show he cared about was the one you were putting on.
All of his attention failed to place on anyone surrounding him. Their faux, fame-hungry interest in his personal life went on deaf ears despite the booming music that sent shockwaves through his body — it was on you.
Watching from a private VIP booth, separated from the rest of the public club-goers, his eyes locked on the way your body moved with practiced precision with the music. Moving like every song took over your body, every beat co-ordinating your hips like a puppet-master — hands gliding over your frame in slow, subtly teasing movements that had his bottom lip suckled between his teeth.
You were ethereal — motions so practiced he was certain you were crafted straight from a musician and a dancer, a talent handed to you from birth. Alas, not — your tactical dancing crafted from pure adoration for music.
Lucky your boyfriend was a singer then, huh?
You’d been dating Michael for a few months and not once had he seen you so enchanting. Sure, when he played you his demo’s you’d groove, not caring who saw — something that always made him smile. You had a definite talent for dance rooted deep in your bones that Michael admired — often playing his songs for you just to see you move.
But, this. This was different.
The way you were moving, like fresh waves gliding against the soft of the sand, like light enveloping over the shadows of skin, cascading over sun-kissed flesh in bright colours — it had him stuck. Stuck watching through the dark of his aviators, head lolled to the side ever so slightly, as if bending his vision to deepen his entranced glare.
He loved letting you do your thing when you went out — you were his girl, loud and proud, but you were also your own individual. Someone who could have fun without being told no — he loved that about you. How you weren’t intimidated by a man, especially someone of his popularity, and allowed yourself to still be you and have your fun despite who you affiliated with.
“Y’girl’s got moves, brother.” Even the sound of Quincy Jones’ voice, his beloved producer to his biggest album to date, couldn’t pull him from his transfixion.
Michael hummed in response, index finger laid gently on his bottom lip, thumb resting on the underside of his chin, eyes never leaving your frame as your hands raked through the length of your hair, brushing it from your shoulders to reveal the bare of your back, on show promiscuously by your open-backed top.
It didn’t help that the leather shorts that clad your plump behind left little to the imagination — the curve of your ass barely visible to a passerby, but the full focus of Michael’s vision. That specific attribute that adorned your perfect body Michael loved so much — one he’d grip every chance he got, needing the plush skin in his large palms as you rode his cock, revelling in the recoil that every thrust he bucked up into your sopping cunt gave to your roundness.
And that plumpness that he adored so much was poked out behind you, one hand on your knee, the other in the air, fingers curling around the tune that blessed your ears, hips swivelling from side to side methodically.
“You got real lucky, Mike.” Quincy added, a laugh breathed out of him as they both watched you.
“Sure did.” Michael finally spoke, voice low and soft, like he always did, despite the sensual activity he was indulging in by watching you dance so fluidly.
“Who taught her to dance like that? Dangerous thing.”
Michael smiled, “She jus’ a natural.” Suddenly feeling smug at the fact that he had you all to himself — the sensual dancer, Michael Jackson’s girl, he was a cocky little bastard right now.
“Well, shit.” Quincy breathed, “Can see why you wrote all those lovey-dovey songs now, boy.” Quincy’s loud laugh hit Michael’s ears, not once moving to react, “Next album’s gonna go crazy if she keeps that up. Better get ya in the studio quick before someone snatches her up.”
Michael stayed silent — the thought of anyone threatening to take you away from him had him tensing up. A thought that forced his jaw into a tight clench.
You only stopped your sensuality at the sound of a whistle — head turning behind you to see Quincy Jones beckoning you over, four fingers curling in the air. You huffed, body warm, before making your way over to the booth situated at the back of the room — smiling at the security who guarded the entrance. They already knew exactly who you were.
“Tell your man to answer me.” Quincy teased, smiling next to your man in question, “Y’got him mute with those moves, girl.”
You laughed, wiping a bead of sweat that trickled down your temple, “Feelin’ quiet tonight, baby?”
Michael, attempting to suppress it but failing miserably at the sight of you up close and the sound of your pretty voice, let the corner of his mouth twitch up into a smirk.
“Maybe.” His voice slow, “Just enjoyin’ what I’m watching.”
“And what’s that?”
“You.”
The sexual tension that arose sent a shockwave of silence within everyone in the small booth — side glances exchanged as they ogled at the way you eyed one another with desire unable to miss.
“Alright, fella’s, let’s leave the lovebirds be.” Quincy chuckled, sending a wink Michael’s way, before ushering everyone out of the booth.
And then there were two.
Just you, hot and teetering on spent, the dancing tiring your glistening body, and Michael, a pompous smirk on his face, large arm now resting on the ledge of the booth behind him.
“Enjoy the show, honey?” You were teasing, and Michael knew it. He could sense it in the way you spoke, your voice low and dark, tempting him, with a manicured hand on your hip.
“Close the curtain, please.” He called, voice loud enough for the security to hear. Your heart skipped a beat at the subtle insinuation of what was yet to come — swallowing thickly at the sound of the large curtains shutting you into the room.
At first, nobody moved. Just staring — his sunglasses clad eyes fixated on your own. Watching. Fixating. Tempting.
“C’mere, pretty.” The sound of his ring-clad fingers tapping against the meat of his thigh hit your ears, beckoning you to his lap.
You obeyed — heels clicking against the floor as you strutted over to him, placing yourself neatly in the comfort of his lap. Michael loved you like this — sitting all pretty on him, your ass pressed perfectly onto his crotch. Your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck, letting your legs dangle off the edge of his leg.
“Liked what’cha saw then, baby?” Your voice sickly sweet as you grinned up at him, eyes full of desperation for praise — your smile a subtle tease.
“Yeah, angel, sure did.” He spoke, a palm grazing over the soft of your thigh, the other pressed against the small of your back, “Looked so pretty out there dancin’.”
Your cheeks flushed red at the compliment, leaning over to press a loving kiss to his cheek, nose nudging his famous aviators. A soft gasp left your plump lips as his hand trailed further up your leg, dangerously close to where you throbbed due to his enticing touches.
“How ‘bout you show me what else you can look pretty doin’?”
Your heart hammered in your chest at the insinuation as his fingers grazed over your clothed cunt through your shorts — a needy whine ripping from your throat at the teasing sensation. Eager to please, you nodded quickly — gnawing on your lip as you awaited his command.
“Get on y’knees f’me, doll.”
You complied willingly without protest — falling to your knees between his spreading legs. The cold of the floor sent a chilling sensation throughout your burning body — still unable to cool the inflamed desire that thumped inside you.
Michael’s hand reached down to cup your flushed cheek — his vast hand covering majority of your face, thumb stroking the supple skin. His fingers trailed down your face, reaching your pouting lips, tugging your bottom one down with the pad of his thumb — before retracting his hand all together and leaning back comfortably in the chair.
“Get to work then, sweetheart,” He commanded, “Show me just how pretty y’can get.”
With a hum of appreciation at the endearing pet-name, your trembling hands flew to his trousers — the clink of his belt hitting the floor forced your thighs together in anticipation. Michael, cooperatively, lifted his hips just enough for you to shuffle his tight slacks and boxers, a painful restraint, down his legs, pooling at his ankles.
His cock, a pretty mauve colour, slapped against his clothed abdomen, a quiet hiss leaving his throat as the rush of air hit the warmth of him. Your eager hands wasted no time — spitting a lewd glob into your palm and enclosing around the shaft, revelling in the way Michael hummed in contentment.
Your nimble hands, looking awfully small in comparison to his thickness, worked him up and down — pumping him slowly, tightening your grip each time you’d slide to his cockend. Only when your thumb swiped the bead of pre-cum that oozed from his tip did Michael groan, peering over his sunglasses at you.
“Quit teasin’, doll.” His hand slid around your face, encasing the nape of your neck in his grasp, forcing your face closer to his twitching cock, “Open up, sweetheart.”
As your lips parted, Michael pushed the fat of tip between them — groaning lowly as you suckled around it, instantly swirling your tongue around the leaking end. The taste of his bitter, yet equally tasty, pre had you whining around him — the rumble sending shivers down his spine at the sensation. The feeling so great that it involuntarily forced his hips to buck — dick slotted down your throat so fast a gag ripped from you.
Still the gentlemen, Michael went to drag you from his length, prioritising your comfort — but, you stopped him. Hands gripping the fat of his thighs to signal him to leave you be, hands falling at his sides as he fell deeper into your mercy — a louder moan falling past his lips as you bobbed your head up and down him.
Michael knew he was blessed when you deliberately gagged around him — burying your nose into the dark curls of his pubic hair, basking in the way his head thumped against the back of the booth, hand cupping your cheek, holding you in place as he throbbed in your throat.
When you’d pull off, saliva connecting your plush lips to his drooling cock, coughing and spluttering as you caught your breath, did it really hit Michael how insanely pretty you really were.
He’d always known it, but watching you encase your lips around his tip, suckling it like a delicious lollipop, spit glistening on your chin, doe-eyes peering up at him as tears streamed down your beautiful face — he was certain he’d fallen in love all over again.
“That’s it,” He coaxed, hands following your fluid movements as he held your face, swallowing thickly as you slowly took more and more of him down your greedy throat, “Suckin’ my dick so pretty, dollface.”
And when you wrapped your delicate hand around the base of him, accompanied by hollowing your cheeks around the girth of him, did he really loose it. Hips bucking up without a care in the world, completely at your mercy as you worked your magic around him — curses and praises mumbled above you.
“Shit, angel, gonna cum.” He warned, “Wanna paint that pretty face white.”
He tugged you off him quickly, a frantic hand encasing around his manhood, pumping himself quickly, chasing the high as he sucked his lip between his teeth, eyebrows furrowed tightly together — focused on the way you slid your tongue out, lapping at the tip, awaiting his sweet release.
“Shut ya’ eyes baby.”
And when your eyes fluttered shut, you hummed in delight at the first spurt of his release landed straight on your twitching tongue, the tang of his cum settling on the muscle. Michael cursed loudly, eyes fixated, like they had been all night, on your gorgeous face as he pumped himself languidly — utterly aroused at the way his cum splattered over your cheeks, chin, and tongue, even so far as reaching above your eyebrow. Completely coating you in his milky white seed — now slowly dripping down your face as your eyes fluttered open.
Michael peered down at you, soaked with his release, large eyes peering up at him through your eyes like he hung the stars for you, a loving smile spreading across your face as you swallowed the remains of his seed that landed on your tongue.
“Most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.” He praised, shaking his head in disbelief at how he managed to pull a girl so captivating.
His fingers reached forwards, swiping up the stray dollop of cum that adorned your eyebrow, collecting the essence on digits, before presenting them before your spit-stained lips, “Don’t wanna miss any, right, doll?”
You shook your head as you wrapped your lips around his fingers, hands encasing around his wrist as you hummed at the taste of him — tongue swirling around his digits, sucking them clean. Michael repeated this with each area of your face that was coated with his cum — swiping each place and shoving his fingers into your eager mouth, letting you savour the taste of him.
Michael sat back, softening cock hanging free, as he watched you — smirking at the way you licked your lips, openly enjoying the flavours of him.
It was only when a strangled cry left his mouth, hips twitching violently as you wrapped your slutty mouth around the drooling head of his cock once more — lapping up the dribble of cum that rolled down him, did he realise you were fucking ravenous for his cock.
Michael pulled you off with a pop, chest heaving at the sudden overstimulation, face scrunching in surprise.
hi. i would be fucking michael every night. like its not even a game. its not funny. its serious. and there wouldn't be a time where i would have not been pregnant. whole family would have just been ultra niggafied.
but those michael jackson fics where the reader belongs to someone else but gets caught in a web of forbidden lust and passion do it for me every time!!! those mj brother in law, bfs best friend, sisters bf tropes go crazy y’all idk… because how could anyone ever resist THE michael jackson i get it girl.
masterlist 𓈒▐ 𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮. after a particularly rough rehearsal that has michael exhausted, you show him exactly how much you appreciate him. ▐ bad era!michael being a total sub! we cheer! → handjob, lil bit of choking, wet and messy kisses, some dry humping?, cum eating, praise and degradation kink, desperate!michael ₊⊹
You sensed Michael's presence soon before you heard him.
The soft click of the door, as if he thinks he'll wake you up from deep slumber, then a sigh, equally innocent and sweet, even though deeply exhausted. Michael taking off his shoes and shrugging his jacket off, the soft clicks of his chunky belt echoing through the otherwise quiet house.
The sound of his keys hitting the wooden surface of the cabinet down the hall, then the heavy footsteps, his feet barely lifting off the floor as he took the stairs with one thing on his mind:
You.
He was looking forward to the moment he would see you again the whole day. It was a sweet motivation that pushed through the demanding rehearsals, keeping him in your head as the dancers made yet another mistake in the choreo they've been practicing for two months now. Maybe he was too harsh on himself and the people working for him, or maybe he was just stressed. Stressed by the lack of your company, your touch, grounding and comforting in a way that had his mind calm and relaxed. Stressed by the fact that tour was starting soon, and nothing was even close to perfection yet.
Nothing but the calmness of the house and your sweet presence that lights his heart up.
The bedroom door clicked softly, and Michael's ears perked up as he saw you, comfortable and spread out on your shared bed, eyes meeting his before he could say a thing. You smiled, soft and warm, your nose crinkling in the most perfect way as you did so, eyes wide and attentive as you took in his exhausted posture.
The room was dark, lit only by the soft glow of the moon peeking through the curtains and the TV playing some shitty, old school show you didn't care about one bit. The moonlight hit your face in the most perfect way, highlighting the color of your eyes and hair, spread around your head like a halo.
Michael's knees buckled as he took you in, grinning despite exhaustion, his arms spreading out and claiming the space without even trying.
"Hi, superstar," You grinned, getting up from the bed to greet him with a hug that meant more than any fame or fortune in the world. Your small arms wrapped around his back, face squishing into his chest to breathe him in, letting his scent cloud your mind.
"I hate you calling me that," He chuckled softly, cradling your head in his hand, bringing you closer until there was no space left between your bodies. Michael hid his nose in your hair, taking in the sweet scent of your shampoo and something different — something so ultimately you, it brought him comfort immediately. "I missed you so much."
"I missed you too, Mikey." You breathe out, gently petting his back. "How're the rehearsals going?"
Michael shrugged, kissing the top of your head, suddenly aware of the tension in his shoulders and back. God, he could use a massage right now.
"Some dancers have trouble remembering the steps. You know, it's... normal. It should be. But it just keeps on annoying me, y'know? I need everything to be perfect by the time tour starts, and instead everything is falling apart right in front of me." He said, slow and shameful, not quite used to being this honest and open, not in that way.
You slowly pulled away from his chest, lips pouted in that specific way that insinuated you were thinking deep about what he had said. You took his hand slowly from where it was rubbing the small of your back through the red t-shirt you were wearing (stolen from Michael's side of the closet). His eyes followed your joined hands, watching as you kissed his knuckles, soft and warm, instantly calming his bubbling nerves and sweating hands.
"Mike, you need to take thing easy." You tilted your head, head turned towards the bed as you slowly led him to climb onto the warm sheets, the mattress moaning under your joined weights.
"I don't ever take things easy."
"That's why I need you to calm down. Take a deep breath. Relax. I know you crave perfection, but baby, things take time. They're eventually gonna get it, it's gonna be fine." You said softly, not trying to disregard his feelings, just being as supportive as you can.
Michael's lips pursed as he leaned back against the headboard, thinking about what you said with careful consideration. He met your eyes with a boyish, gentle smile, patting his lap softly.
"Sit here? Pretty please."
Michael had this innocence in his gaze, and you knew immediately he felt vulnerable in his heart. You took him in: the disheveled hair on the top of his head, loose strands breaking free from his ponytail and falling onto his forehead and eyes. The way his hands reached out to you, like a little kid looking for comfort. The red shirt that sat perfectly on his torso, first few buttons unlocked, droplets of build-up sweat glistening on his chest and neck.
He looked so exhausted, but oh, so beautiful.
You climbed onto his lap, and Michael's arms wrapped around your waist before you had a chance to fully settle. His chest expanded as your legs bracketed his, your smaller body melting into his much bigger one naturally.
"Besides...," You continued, a hint of tease in your voice as you settled in the moment, gentle hands pushing the stray strands of hair away from his face. "No one could ever dance as good as you do."
Michael laughed, the tiniest of tension dripping from his shoulders as he squeezed your waist. He missed this. The warmth coming from your whole body, the comforting touch on his face that kept reminding him of home, those sweet lips of yours that had the ability to make him blush like a teenager.
"That's a bit overboard."
"No, it's not."
"Yes, it is."
"Michael, you're the most talented person in the whole world. And I mean it." You narrowed your eyes at him.
He sighed at the praise, melting underneath the weight of your body, his own going slack as your slow, steady hands played with his hair. You curled a piece around your finger, tugging on it ever so gently, causing Michael's hands to twitch on your waist. He not so secretly loved when you did this.
All of the praises he got from his peers and colleagues could never bring him this much joy. This, here, with you, felt real: no fake sympathy, respect that meant nothing behind the closed doors, bows and applauses that didn't matter at the end of the day. This, you, was authentic, real, a connection that was worth more than any fame or respect in the world. He knew that.
"I love you. You're working too hard," You whispered, quieter now, and Michael's long fingers tightened on your waist just a fraction. "I'm so proud of you, baby."
"You're so beautiful. Like an angel. Always taking my breath away," You continued, your fingers tracing the sharp edge of Michael's jaw, then moving up his nose, careful, a small smile playing on your lips as Michael's body twitched underneath you, unconsciously seeking more of the attention. The praises travelled through his whole body, a deeply settled insecurity regarding his appearance slowly melting away as he took in your awed expression.
"Keep— keep talking. Please." He swallowed, leaning into your touch, his face inches away from yours now, embarrassment flooding his body as he felt his cock twitch in his pants.
You felt it, too. Suddenly very aware of your core pressed tightly against his crotch, something you ignored in the moment of fondness but prominent now. You tutted as Michael's arms tightened around your back, breath shallow and eyes clouded with devotion and something deeper beyond the surface — desire.
"You like it when I talk about how pretty you are?" He nodded, desperate, his face rubbing against your palm lovingly. "You are, Mikey. Everything about you is perfect. Like a work of art, only for me to admire, to love, to cherish. I love your eyes. How you look at me like I'm the only one that matters, even in a room full of people. This pretty little nose...," You pecked the tip of it, earning a nervous giggle from Michael. His cheeks turned rosy as you kissed the soft skin there, giving him all of your undivided attention to prove your point. "Those lips. Drive me insane. This beautiful smile, yeah, this one—"
You starting laughing as Michael's lips pressed tightly against yours, heightening your arousal that slowly started to spread across your body as you praised him. His cock jumped in his pants at the sound of your voice, your smile against his lips, that beautiful melody that's your laugh echoing through the room.
Michael whimpered into the kiss, quiet and unfiltered, his hips flexing underneath you as he tugged on your — his — shirt covering your body, already craving the feel of your bare skin against his.
You used your tongue to part Michael's lips, and he obeyed immediately, moaning into your mouth as you licked your way into his, completely taking control over the kiss. You knew Michael needed this, needed the adrenaline that comes with being desired. His brows furrowed as he sinks further into the sheets, hips rising off the mattress to search for the warmth of your sweet cunt on his achingly hard cock.
"I need you, baby—" He sighed into your mouth, and you sucked on his tongue, humming lowly while your hips began to move on their own, the buildup of your desire leaving you grinding down onto his cock. You could feel the outline of him through his pants, big and aching and ready for whatever you'd give him, ready to burst from a simple touch. "O-oh, angel girl—"
"Feels good?" You moan, leaving a wet spot on Michael's pants where you connected over and over again, not pulling away from a second. You fought with the urge to close your eyes, instead tugging on Michael's hair to get him to look at you, at the effect he had on you. "Of course it does. My good boy, always so obedient. What do you think your fans would say if they saw you like this— oh— completely at my mercy? What would they say, Mikey?"
You grinded harder, your hips working in tandem with Michael's, your bodies singing in a beautiful harmony without even trying. Your own words turned you on beyond belief, and they seemed to have the same effect on Michael.
"'m your good boy," He whispered, low and pathetic, his hands shaking with restraint as they rested on your thighs, squeezing and fondling the skin there. "Wanna be good for ya, that's all I want to do, baby—"
"What do you want?" You asked, sharp and firm, your voice dropping lower as your hands travelled down Michael's torso, playing with the buttons of his shirt and undoing them, one by one, slower than Michael would like it. The fabric felt like a barrier, a burden on his skin that was aching to be pressed against yours, but he let you take things slow, instead focusing on playing with the hem of your own shirt.
"Ah, ah, ah," You tutted, hand rising up to rest against Michael's throat, not quite squeezing, just resting there, feeling his pulse against your small palm. He let out a pained sound, half-whisper, half-sob, his hands dropping to his sides and tangling into the sheets. "No touching. Yeah, good boy. You like it when I choke you a little?"
"Yes. Fuck, yes," He groaned, teeth grinding together as you squeezed his throat experimentally, seeing just how far he's willing to take it, and to your surprise, he whined again, surer this time, hips bucking up just a fraction before dropping to the mattress.
"Yeah, you do," You smiled, biting your bottom lip as your hips faltered just a fraction, hips shaking with effort as your high creeped up on you, sudden and unexpected.
And so you stopped.
Michael's loud groan echoed through the room, annoyed, tears brimming in the corners of his eyes. The way he looked at you then sent a shiver down your spine.
Devoted. Completely and utterly under your spell.
Yet still he didn't move. Didn't say a word, didn't rush you, his eye whites showing as he looked at you pitifully, breathing shallow and unsteady.
"What do you want, Mikey? Use that pretty little mouth of yours," You whispered softly, hands moving down his torso to move his shirt out of the way, scratching his skin with your nails with enough pressure to make him hiss.
Your palm experimentally moved over the aching bulge in his pants, feather-like and soft, and it only made Michael's hips buck up into your touch.
"I— I need to feel you— I can't wait anymore," He babbled, words leaving his mouth in a hurry. You rewarded him with a small flick of your hand as it rubbed up and down his length with pressure that was not nearly enough. "Oh God— And I want you to keep talking to me. About how— p-pretty I am— and how proud you are of me— You always take such good care of me, baby, please—"
You smiled, sliding off Michael's lap only to tug on his belt, and he understood immediately what you wanted. His hands shook as they unbuckled the heavy thing, fumbling with the zipper of his pants and pulling them down along with his boxers, not bothering to ask for permission.
His cock sprang free from the confines of his clothing, bobbing in the air freely and then hitting Michael's stomach with a wet sound. He whined — soft, desperate. You could see the effort it took for him to not touch himself, not give into the feeling until you made a move, allowed it.
"So pretty, so, so fucking beautiful," You whispered, taking in the sight in front of you with your bottom lip stuck between your teeth. You didn't lie; every inch of Michael was perfect, starting with his perfectly sculpted face, to his lean body, strong thighs, and the cock that sat between them. He was big, flushed, looking as if a simple touch from you could make him come. It looked painful, and you only cooed at the sight.
"Want me to touch you, angel face? Want to cum so bad, don't you, sweetie?"
"Yes, God, yes," He breathed out, and you wasted no time climbing back into his lap, straddling one of the very thighs that drove you insane. Your pussy rubbed against Michael's soft, brown skin as you sat down, leaning in to peck his lips.
"Please."
The way he said it, soft and sweet, his mouth instinctively chasing after yours, made you smile. You kissed him again, slower this time, your fingers tracing soft circles on the skin of his thigh, dangerously close to his aching, throbbing cock.
"So good for me. You can touch me, baby— Yeah, take what you need," You praised him softly, finally giving him the permission to touch you, feel your skin under his fingertips. Slowly, almost painfully so, your palm reached its destination. Michael's own hands travelled up your body, one hand resting on the small of your back, the other sliding up to hold your hair out of your face while you kissed him. His touch was firm but delicate, claiming your body without taking control, letting you take the initiative without a word of protest.
Your fingers wrapped around his girthy cock with undeniable precision, the one that came from knowing his body way too well. Michael whined into your mouth, his hips bucking up into your palm, a soft cry leaving his mouth right after. He was on edge, and you knew it.
"Such a good boy. You're doing so perfect for me, look at how well you're taking me," You whispered against his lips, your hand beginning to stroke him slowly, your wrist flicking in a way that you knew drove Michael crazy. Your thumb rubbed against his sensitive slit with each movement, and Michael sighed, eyes rolling back into his head.
Your lips disconnected as soon as you began your little demonstrations on his dick, a string of saliva still connecting the two of you long after he pulled away. His head fell back against the headboard, eyes half-lidded, clouded with lust and ultimate devotion.
"So good, ma," He whined, licking his lips as you sped up, just enough to make him dizzy and hot. Michael's body shook underneath you, his hold on you tightening just a fraction, letting you know just how much he enjoyed it.
"I know, baby, you're so hard for me, so fucking big. You're practically drooling, that's what a little attention does to you, huh? Falling apart so prettily for me. You're so pathetic it's cute," You said, voice fond and affectionate even when your words did nothing but humiliate him. Michael's body shook as your hand became a blur, your pace suddenly changed into something charged with animalistic desire — desire to watch him fall apart.
"I'm so close, don't you—"
"I know, angel boy, I'm not stopping, I'm right here—"
"I love you so much, oh God, I love you—"
"What do you need, Mikey?" You flicked your wrist in the right way, watching his face confront in pleasure, your hand beginning to hurt from the rough, demanding pace you've set. You couldn't stop, though, no: not when Michael's hips began to thrust up into your hand and his soft sobs echoed through the room.
"Can you— can you put your hand there— oh— jus' need a little more," He silently begged with his eyes, interlocking your fingers with his and bringing them to his neck. You immediately knew what was going on.
He truly needed for you to choke him in order to reach his peak.
And so you obeyed. You applied a little pressure to his pulse point, squeezing the sides of his throat in the most delicious way, feeling his Adam's apple bob as you did.
You squeezed harder, checking Michael's face for any type of discomfort, but all you could see was utter, devoted pleasure. His eyes rolled back into his head, curls sticking to his sweaty forehead, and his chest glistened in the moonlight, heaving with every, choked up breath he took. The feeling of your hand on his dick was like no other: your grip was as tight as a glove, not as tight as your pussy, but enough to make him lose his mind.
"You like it when I do this, don't you?" You punctuated your words with a tight squeeze to the base of his cock and his throat, pulling his foreskin down to have him as sensitive as possible. Michael whined — a pained, desperate sob from somewhere deep in his chest that made your pussy throb against his leg. "You carry the whole world on your shoulders. You work so hard. Let me take care of you the way you deserve, baby."
"I'm right there," He moaned through another sob that shook his whole body, his hand clawing at the one squeezing his throat. He wasn't trying to push you away, just anchoring himself in the moment, needing to feel the warmth of your skin against his palm. "I'm right there, angel—"
"Yeah, take it. Take it like a good boy, that's right—"
Your hand movements became a blur, palm hitting his lower abdomen with every stroke, every squeeze to his length, bursting and twitching in your palm. He wouldn't need much to unravel, and you knew it.
"C-can you kiss me, baby? Please, I need to—"
You wouldn't let him finish, immediately crashing your lips onto his with force that pushed the air out of his lungs. Michael immediately granted you access to the inside of his mouth, moaning and whimpering, loud and unfiltered, completely consumed by the pleasure surging through his body. The kiss was messy, your saliva mixing and stretching between your willing mouths when you pulled away for a breather. It dropped between you, right onto the tip of his cock, and Michael hissed, his whole body shaking as he neared that familiar peak.
"Come for me, angel boy," You whispered, knowing just how much he loved the nickname, your hand moving from his throat to grab a fistful of his hair, pulling his head back to watch every moment of his pleasure.
"I'm coming, ma, I can't hold it, I'm—"
"Yeah, good boy, such a good fucking boy, give it to me—"
Michael's back arched off the mattress, hips bucking wildly as his own body betrayed him, a gasp that sounded pained leaving his swollen lips. The first spurt of his white, sticky seed made you chuckle, watching him make a mess of himself. Your hand movements never slowed — not for a second, guiding him through the moment, your lips crashing onto his in a mess of saliva and teeth clashing, but neither of you cared. Michael pulled you closer by the hips, his grip almost painfully tight, his cum staining his expensive shirt, your hand and his chest. It was messy, and it was perfect, and it was never ending — a spurt after spurt, each one weaker than the last, but nonetheless intense.
"So good, let it out, just like that, baby," You cooed softly, continuing to stroke him through every aftershock, and Michael cried out, overstimulated to the limit, his whole body trembling underneath you.
"I can't— take no more," He whispered, soft, broken, some fresh tears staining his tears, and he looked so beautiful you wanted nothing more than to devour him whole.
"It's okay, angel face, it's okay."
"I love you. I love you so much, baby, you're doing so good," You stopped your movements altogether, even though his cock still stood tall, some droplets of cum leaking from his tip, and you collected them with the pad of your finger, bringing them to your lips with a moan. Michael sobbed softly, following the movements of your mouth with his teary eyes as you sucked on your finger, licking the remains of his cum theatrically, with intention to drive him insane again.
"Tastes so good, too. Want to try?" You moaned, and Michael's hands tightened on your thighs just a fraction, offering you a shy nod of his head.
You took two of your fingers, then, dragging them through the mess he made on his chest, collecting some of the pearly cum and immediately bringing them to his lips. You padded on Michael's bottom lip, and he obeyed immediately, granting you access. His tongue lolled out, eyes wide and cheeks rosy as your fingers snuck into his mouth, pressing down on his tongue only to watch him squirm and moan.
"Good boy. Don't you taste fucking good?" You tilted your head as Michael's lips wrapped around your digits, his brows furrowing as the tasted himself on you.
Michael both hated and loved how much this aroused him.
You caressed his cheek slowly, lovingly, watching as he came down, finding comfort in the weight of your fingers on his tongue. He eventually came down, his body melting into the mattress as he settled. You slowly withdrawed your digits, bringing Michael closer and letting him rest his head on your chest. Your unsteady heartbeat was the only thing he could focus on.
"I love you," He mumbled lowly, his face rubbing against your t-shirt in a way that immediately made you melt. "I love you, I love you, I love you—"
You laughed, out of breath, kissing the crown of his head lovingly. "And I love you. Feeling better?"
You caressed his hair, letting him wrap his arms around you and bring you impossibly closer.
"Never better."
a/n: i apologise. or not. planning to make him even whinier and more pathetic in the upcoming fics. not sorry for that either.
Okay, just imagine Michael jokingly gets cocky and says he's in charge in the relationship, so you have to prove him wrong. So, you prove it by sucking his dick but not pulling away when he's about to finish, so he has to beg and apologize for being a cocky guy. WHAT CAN I SAY, BABY? I'm hyperventilating. If anyone gets anything out of this, I'll get down on my knees, muak.
I love being a loser girl like yesss!!! omg go stay in your bedroom all day and listen to music, watch movies, read fan fiction, ughh this is the life!!
I've come here to make another whimsical request hahaha
MAYBE, MICHAEL SUB???????? HELLOOOOO, all his eras have a different vibe, I'M STARTING with the thriller/otw/tj era!!!! Please, what a beautiful boy, I want to hug him against my tits while he begs me to touch him, GOOOOD IT' ME, IN OTHER LIFE!!!!. Following *drumroll* BAD, DANGEROUS, HISTORY AND MATURE ERA, FUCKKKKKKK MEEEEE, that's all I'm saying, it can turn you upside down (please) SOOOO, I just want to say that he doesn't fool me, Michael Sub is everything that's damn RIGHT, in any era, his shyness and loving nature give him away !!!! #%@*)!&#(!@^?'$
(I'm seriously considering using Tumblr as a personal diary, just a little bit of intrusive thinking) ilu😭😭😭😭😭
How come there are still no fanfics (smut!!!!) about Michael during his History era??? Specifically with his gold suit??? THE GOLD PANTS??? PLEASE, they would make me so happy hahaha😭😭😭😭
(one day you will be the one who needs help.) iluuuuuu
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