— , Do I know you? (2)
— Type: This is the continuation of my previous Michael fic, as requested by an avid reader! @amilliongoodfish
— Genre(s): Romance and Angst
— Pairing: Michael Jackson in his mature era with a foreigner!reader.
— Contains: SMUT. DADDY KINKKK!! Heavy making out, Fingering, Oral (M!receiving) Penetration (P in V), Unprotected sex, Doggy style, Missionary.
SUMMARY: Meeting a guy at a high-end bar, especially after a recent breakup, already seemed suspicious. But what you didn’t know was that the guy you met is a damn SUPER star! What could possibly ever go wrong..? Right?
(A/N: I’m so sorry if this took so long to complete! I was incredibly busy, and I can’t even begin to describe how busy I actually am. + I wrote this with nails on, so please excuse the upcoming typos! Anyway, I hope you all will enjoy this final part of my fan-fiction, which is set during Michael Jackson’s mature era!)
You woke up disoriented. Not panicked. Just… confused in the slow, heavy way people are after too much wine and too little sleep.
Soft morning light spilled across unfamiliar ceilings while the distant sound of rain still lingered faintly against glass somewhere nearby. For a few terrifying seconds, you couldn’t remember where you were. Then you felt warmth beside you.
Your eyes widened instantly. “What the fuck..?” Those words left your lips with a hitch in your breath.
The stranger from the bar slept beside you atop expensive charcoal-colored sheets, one arm draped loosely across his stomach while the other rested near your waist like he’d fallen asleep reaching for you sometime during the night. Up close in daylight, he somehow looked softer. Less intimidating.
Dark curls spread messily against the pillow. Long lashes resting against his cheeks. His face looked younger asleep, stripped of that composed confidence he carried so naturally when awake. Beautiful. Scarily beautiful.
You were at a loss for what to do. Should you flee in terror or feign civility and then disappear from him?
Then his eyes slowly opened, immediately finding yours. A slow smile touched his mouth. “There you are.”
Your stomach flipped embarrassingly hard. Your voice felt like it was being suffocated as you managed to say, “Good morning.”
“Mmm.” His voice sounded rough with sleep now. Lower than usual. “You were starin’ again.”
You pulled the blanket higher instinctively. “I wasn’t!”
“Alright then.” Even half asleep, he flirted like breathing.
You tried to sit up carefully, but the room tilted slightly from the wine. A quiet groan escaped you before you could stop it. The stranger laughed softly beside you. “Easy.”
“This is your fault.”
“My fault?” He propped himself up slightly against the pillows. “You drank half the bottle.”
“You kept refilling my glass.”
“You kept lettin’ me.” Unfortunately true. You rubbed your eyes tiredly before finally glancing around properly.
The bedroom matched the rest of the penthouse. Elegant, expensive, and strangely lonely. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the cloudy city skyline while soft jazz still drifted quietly from another room.
You looked back toward him cautiously. “…Did we..?”
He smiled immediately, clearly entertained. “No.”
Your shoulders relaxed before you could stop them. That seemed to amuse him even more. “You looked disappointed for a second there.”
“I did not.” An exclamation from you.
“Mhm.”
Heat crawled up your neck. The truth was, after the kissing last night, things had nearly gone further. The tension between you had become unbearable — slow touches turning warmer, kisses lingering longer, his hands learning your waist like he already knew it. But somewhere between the wine and exhaustion, the night softened instead.
You ended up talking. Actually talking. Curled up together on his massive couch while the city slept outside the windows. You told him stories about home.
About learning English through movies and music. About your mother crying at the airport before you moved away. About how lonely America felt sometimes even when surrounded by millions of people.
And surprisingly, he listened. Really listened. Not politely. Not distractedly. Intently, like every word mattered. In return, he told you almost nothing about himself. At least nothing directly. Just fragments of some stuff. That he hated sleeping alone. That his other life made trust complicated. That sometimes he drove around the city at night just to feel normal for an hour.
You never asked who he was after realizing he clearly wanted to avoid the topic. And strangely enough, you stopped caring. Now, in morning light, he watched you carefully from the bed beside him. “You’re thinkin’ again,” he murmured.
“You say that every five minutes.”
“Because you do it every five minutes.” You rolled your eyes, though weakly.
He smiled lazily before sitting up fully, stretching slightly. The movement pulled his shirt tighter across his shoulders and immediately forced your eyes away again. He noticed. Of course he noticed. “Cute,” he murmured.
“Shut up.” A scoff from you.
“You get embarrassed real easy.”
“You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” he said smoothly, “you stayed.” That shut you up instantly because he was absolutely right. You did stay. Not because of the penthouse. Not because he was beautiful.
Because sometime during the night, he stopped feeling like a stranger, and that realization felt far more threatening than the flirting.
A quiet silence settled between you both before he finally stood from the bed. You tried very hard not to stare again. Failed completely. He disappeared briefly into another room before returning with two glasses of water. “Drink,” he softly asked you to.
You accepted it gratefully. “Thanks.”
“Mhm.” He remained standing near the windows afterward, looking out over the cloudy skyline while absentmindedly rolling silver rings along his fingers. For the first time since meeting him, he seemed… Distant. Not cold. Just somewhere else mentally.
“Hey,” you said quietly, pulling the blanket a little tighter around yourself, “I should probably go.”
His fingers stopped moving against the silver rings instantly. For a second, he didn’t answer. The skyline reflected across the windows behind him, gray morning clouds hanging low over the city while jazz continued playing softly somewhere deeper in the penthouse. Then finally: “Yeah,” he murmured.
But something about the way he said it made your chest tighten. Not in relief, it felt like a resignation.
You slowly climbed out of the bed, suddenly hyperaware of how intimate everything felt in daylight now. Your shoes near the couch. Your coat draped over one of his chairs. Two half-empty wine glasses abandoned near the windows from last night.
A trail of something that didn’t happen, of something neither of you fully understood yet.
The stranger remained quiet while you gathered your things. Too quiet. And somehow that felt worse than the flirting. You glanced toward him carefully. “You okay?”
A faint smile appeared, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.“Mhm.”
You hesitated before slipping your coat on. “You got distant all of a sudden.”
His jaw shifted slightly. “It’s nothin’.”
“That’s also a lie.”
That finally pulled a real reaction from him — a soft exhale through his nose, almost amused despite himself. “You always this stubborn?”
“Only when people avoid answering me.” You felt annoyed at him. He was the one stubborn here.
For a moment he just looked at you. Then his gaze drifted downward briefly before he shook his head.
“You should go before this gets complicated.”
Your heartbeat stumbled slightly. For some unknown reason, it had hurt more than anticipated. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He leaned one shoulder against the window slowly, arms crossing now like he was bracing himself for something. “It means…” His voice lowered. “Last night was easy.”
“Easy?” Your tone was bitter. The word stung more than it should have. Your expression must’ve changed because his own softened immediately.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“It’s whatever.” Silence stretched between you.
Outside, rain-water streaked softly down the glass while the city below continued moving like nothing had changed.
But something had changed. You could feel it.
The stranger rubbed tiredly at his jaw before finally speaking again.
“You came in here not knowin’ anything about me,” he said quietly. “You talked to me like I was normal.” You followed upw ith: “You are normal.”
That made him laugh softly under his breath. “No, sweetheart.” His eyes lifted toward yours again. “I’m really not.” The sadness behind that sentence hit you harder than expected.
You crossed your arms loosely. “You think I care about the fame thing you always mention ?”
“You should.”
“Why?”
His gaze flickered away from yours. “Because eventually people around me stop belongin’ to themselves.”
Your chest tightened. “You really believe that?”
“I know that.” There it was again. That loneliness. Heavy. Practiced. Familiar. Suddenly the penthouse made sense again. The expensive quiet. The empty rooms. The way he watched people like he expected them to leave eventually.
Your voice softened. “Did somebody hurt you that bad?”
Something vulnerable crossed his face so quickly you almost missed it, then the mask returned. “Comes with the territory.”
You stared at him for a long moment. And slowly, painfully, you realized what this really was. Not rejection. Fear.
That realization changed everything. You stepped closer carefully. He immediately straightened slightly as if instinctively preparing for distance instead. But you didn’t pull away. “You know what I think?” you asked quietly.
His eyes stayed fixed on yours. “What?”
“I think you’re very used to people wanting things from you.” His expression stilled. “And I think,” you continued softly, “you don’t know what to do when somebody doesn’t.” The silence afterward felt enormous. He looked almost caught off guard. Like nobody had ever said that aloud before.
You stopped directly in front of him now, close enough to see exhaustion hidden beneath his composure. “You keep waiting for me to suddenly act differently now that I know who you are,” you murmured. “But I don’t.” His breathing slowed. “You should.”
“I shouldn’t.”
Your hand lifted before you could second-guess it, fingers brushing lightly against his wrist. The reaction was immediate. Not dramatic. Just subtle enough to matter. His eyes closed briefly for half a second like the gentleness itself hurt.
And suddenly you understood something terrifying: This man wasn’t starved for attention. He was starved for sincerity. “You scare me a little,” you admitted softly. A quiet laugh escaped him. “Only a little?”
“You’re too charming. That’s scary.”
“There she is,” he murmured, voice warm again. “Was wonderin’ where your attitude went.” Relief loosened something tight in your chest.
His hand turned slowly beneath yours until his fingers intertwined with them naturally, like he’d been wanting to do it for minutes now. “You really should go,” he said again.
But this time it sounded different. Less like a dismissal. More like he wanted some form of reassurance.
You looked up at him carefully. “…Do you want me to?” That question ruined him a little. You saw it happen in real time.
The composure cracked quietly around the edges as his thumb brushed slowly across your knuckles. “No,” he admitted. Honest. Finally honest. The air shifted between you instantly. Slower now. Softer than last night’s tension. But infinitely more intimate.
“There you go.” A gentle smile graced your lips as you gazed at him. Your pulse fluttered as he stepped closer, free hand lifting carefully to brush loose hair behind your ear. His fingertips lingered there against your skin. “You make things complicated real fast,” he murmured.
“You brought me home.”
“You stayed.” The rawness in his voice was not overlooked. Your breath caught again. Even now he spoke like temptation itself.
You looked up at him beneath lowered lashes while his gaze drifted slowly over your face, lingering on your mouth again. Not rushed. Never rushed.
The tension curled tighter and tighter until it became unbearable.
Then he kissed you. Softer than last night. Slower. Like he really meant it this time.
Your fingers instinctively curled against the front of his shirt while his hand settled carefully at your waist, pulling you just slightly closer against him. Warmth spread through your chest immediately. Not out of desperation, not rebound loneliness, something frighteningly tender.
The kiss deepened gradually, unhurried and intoxicating, his thumb brushing slow circles against your waist while your breathing tangled together between kisses.
And when he finally pulled back, forehead resting lightly against yours, both of you slightly breathless, “There you are,” he whispered softly.
“What?”
“That look.” His lips brushed yours once more. “Like you finally stopped thinkin’ about him.” Your chest ached unexpectedly.
Because he was right.
Somewhere between the wine, the conversation, and the way this man held you like something precious instead of temporary, The heartbreak had finally loosened its grip.
Michael kissed you harder after that.
Not enough to lose control completely — but enough that the restraint in him finally started slipping around the edges.
Your back pressed fully against the cool window now while his body settled closer between your legs, warmth radiating through every layer separating you both. One of his hands remained firm at your waist while the other slid upward slowly, fingertips brushing beneath your shirt with deliberate patience. Every touch felt intentional. Like he enjoyed discovering what reactions he could pull from you.
And unfortunately for your dignity, there were many. A shaky breath escaped you when his mouth moved from your lips to your jaw, lingering there slowly before trailing lower toward your neck. Michael paused immediately when he felt your moan jump beneath his lips.
A quiet hum of satisfaction left him. “There,” he murmured softly against your skin. “That sound again.” Your fingers tightened in his curls instinctively. He exhaled sharply at that. The reaction startled both of you.
You felt it immediately — the way his composure cracked for half a second, the way his grip at your waist tightened slightly before relaxing again.
His forehead rested briefly against your shoulder afterward like he was collecting himself. “You keep doin’ that on purpose, doll?” he asked quietly.
“I didn’t know you liked it.”
A soft laugh escaped him, lower now. “Intriguinganswer.”
Heat pooled low in your stomach as he lifted his head again, eyes darker than before while he looked down at you.
The tension between you had stopped feeling playful entirely now. It became slow. Intimate in a way that made your chest ache.
Michael’s fingers traced carefully along your thigh before pulling you slightly closer against him again, enough for you to feel how affected he was too. Your breath caught immediately.
His eyes fluttered shut for a brief second at the sound you made. “So fuckin’ pretty,” he murmured under his breath.
The confidence was still there, but thinner now. More honest. You looked up at him carefully, heart pounding.
For all the teasing and smooth flirting, he still touched you carefully — like he was trying not to overwhelm you. Every kiss slowed whenever your breathing changed. Every touch gave you room to pull away. That gentleness nearly ruined you more than anything else.
Your hands slid down the front of his shirt slowly, feeling the warmth beneath the fabric, and Michael watched your face the entire time like he couldn’t stop.
“You okay?” he asked softly. The fact that he asked while looking at you like that nearly made your brain short-circuit.
You nodded weakly. “Yeah.”
His thumb brushed lightly across your cheek.
“You’re real pretty like this.”
Your face burned immediately. “You say things at the worst possible times.”
“Mhm.” His mouth curved against your neck again. “Seems like the perfect time to me.”
A quiet laugh escaped you before turning into something shakier when he kissed just below your ear slowly, lingering there long enough to make your knees weaken slightly.
Michael noticed that too. Of course he did. “You trust me?” he asked quietly. The question caught you off guard. Not because of what he asked. Because of how softly he asked it.
You looked at him carefully before answering. “…Yeah.”
Something vulnerable flickered across his expression again.
Then he kissed you once more — slower now, deeper, one hand sliding gently into your hair while the other kept you steady against him like he didn’t want you thinking about anything except him anymore. And honestly? You didn’t.
“Come on, girl.” Michael says as he pats on the side of your thighs to signal that you should wrap your legs around his waist so that he can carry you. Of course, you obliged.
The scent of sandalwood and expensive leather clung to the air of the massive penthouse bedroom, mixing with the sharp, electric tang of mutual desperation. Michael didn't let her reach the light switch. He pressed her back against the heavy mahogany door, his mouth crashing onto hers with a hunger that bordered on violent.
"I cannot get you out of my head," he murmured against her lips, his voice a low, velvety rasp that vibrated through her chest. "The way you looked at me... like I was just a man. Not a ghost, not a statue. Just a man."
She gasped, her fingers digging into the fine fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer until there was no air left between them. "Maybe because you are. And right now, you're the only thing that feels real."
Michael pulled back just an inch, his pupils blown wide. He knelt before her, his movements fluid and deliberate. With a deft flick of his wrist, he undone the fastening of her dress, letting the fabric pool around her ankles. She stood shivering, not from cold, but from the raw electricity humming through her skin.
He groaned, a deep sound of surrender, and hoisted her up. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, her thighs gripping his hips as he carried her toward the center of the room. He dropped her onto the sprawling king-sized bed, the silk sheets cool against her skin for only a second before his body followed, pinning her down. "You're shaking," he whispered, his eyes searching hers, dark and swirling with a cocktail of tenderness and raw lust.
"I'm not scared," she breathed, arching her back as his hand slid up her thigh, pushing the fabric of her dress upward. "I'm starving, Michael."
He let out a sharp, jagged breath. He stripped his clothes away with an urgency that spoke of years of suppressed longing, and when he returned to her, the sight of him: lean, muscular, and pulsing with need, made her breath hitch. He didn't waste time. His hand dove between her legs, his fingers finding the soaked heat of her pussy.
"God, you're dripping for me," he groaned, his fingers sliding deep inside her with a sudden, decisive thrust.
"Fuck, right there, babe, " she cried out, her head tossing back against the pillows.
The sound of squelching moisture filled the quiet room as he worked two fingers inside her, curling them upward to find the sensitive knot of her clit. He flicked his thumb against her nub with rhythmic precision, the friction creating a wet, shlicking sound that echoed the frantic beating of her heart. She was a mess of contradictions—heartbroken and healing, terrified and emboldened—but as he drove his fingers deeper, stretching her, the only thing that mattered was the friction.
"Look at me, girl," he commanded, his voice dropping an octave. "I want to see you when you break."
He withdrew his fingers, the wet pop of his exit making her whimper. “You want this dick?” His voice was smug, it genuinely annoyed you but made your pussy wetter than it already is.
"You are breathtaking," he murmured, his gaze traveling slowly from her breasts down to the damp curls between her thighs.
She reached for his belt, her fingers trembling. She worked the buckle loose and slid the zipper down, freeing his cock. It sprang forth, thick and pulsing, a bead of clear pre-cum glistening at the tip. Her breath hitched, the sight of him making her pussy throb with a sudden, heavy ache.
She sank to her knees, her hair spilling over her shoulders. She wrapped her fingers around the base of his dick, feeling the heat of him radiating against her palm. She leaned in, her tongue darting out to lick the salty tip before she took him fully into her mouth.
Michael let out a sharp, guttural groan, his fingers digging into her shoulders. She focused on the sensation, the way his cock filled her throat, the taste of him, and the rhythmic sound of her own suction. She sucked harder, swirling her tongue around the ridge of the glans, listening to the wet, shlicking sounds of her mouth working over him.
"God, you're... you're incredible," Michael gasped, his hips beginning to twitch instinctively.
He didn't let her finish him there. He gripped her arms and hauled her up, tossing her back onto the silk sheets. The impact bounced her slightly, and before she could catch her breath, he was over her, his weight a welcome pressure. He slid his hand down, his fingers finding her clit, which was already swollen and hypersensitive.
He began to rub her in a fast, circular motion, while two fingers slid deep into her soaking wet pussy. The sound of it was visceral—a loud, squelching noise as he churned through her juices.
"You're so wet for me, doll," he groaned, his voice losing its melodic edge and becoming something raw and primal. "Tell me you want it. Tell me you want me inside you."
"Please," she whimpered, arching her back, her hips lifting off the bed to meet his hand. "Now, Michael. Please."
He shifted, positioning himself between her thighs. He guided his cock to her opening and thrust forward in one heavy, decisive motion. She screamed, the sensation of being filled so completely sending a shockwave of pleasure through her spine. He bottomed out, his pelvis slapping against hers with a meaty thud.
They moved in a frantic, missionary rhythm, the silk sheets twisting around their sweating limbs. Michael’s thrusts were deep and relentless, each one driving the air from her lungs. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, wanting to feel every inch of him hitting her cervix.
"I've got you," he panted, his chest heaving against her breasts. "I've got you."
The intimacy was overwhelming, but the hunger hadn't been sated. Michael gripped her hips and flipped her over with a sudden burst of strength, shoving her onto her hands and knees. She gasped, her breasts swinging as she braced herself.
He moved over her, the head of his cock, slick with pre-cum, brushing against her entrance. He didn't slide in slowly. He drove himself forward in one powerful, bruising surge, burying his entire dick inside her.
"Fuck!" she screamed, the sound muffled by his mouth as he kissed her deeply, their tongues dancing in a frantic exchange of saliva.
The sensation was overwhelming. He was thick and hot, filling every void she had felt since her world collapsed. He began to move, his thrusts heavy and deliberate. The bed groaned beneath them, the heavy frame shifting with every impact. Each time he slammed home, the sound of their pelvises colliding a wet, slapping noise filled the room.
"You feel so tight," Michael hissed, his forehead pressed against hers, sweat dripping from his brow onto her cheeks. "I can feel you gripping me, squeezing me... you're perfect. That fuckin’ pussy is to die for."
"Don't stop," she pleaded, her voice a broken whisper. "Please, Michael, just... more."
He shifted his grip, grabbing her wrists and pinning them above her head, his movements becoming more frantic, more primal. He was no longer the polished man from the bar; he was a storm of skin and muscle. He pulled out nearly all the way, leaving only the tip inside her, before slamming back in with enough force to make the headboard crack against the wall.
"I want you to feel everything," he groaned, his hips blurring in a rhythmic assault. "Every inch of me."
He flipped her over suddenly, pushing her onto her hands and knees. The position opened her up completely, exposing the flushed, swollen skin of her backside. He didn't hesitate, sliding back into her from behind. The angle was steeper, hitting her cervix with every thrust.
"Oh god! Michael!" she wailed, her fingers clawing at the silk sheets.
He reached forward, grabbing her hips with bruising strength, his fingers digging into her flesh to hold her steady. He began to pump into her with a savage intensity, his balls slapping loudly against her wet heat with every drive. The sound was rhythmic and vulgar, a symphony of lust that drowned out the rest of the world.
"You're mine tonight," he growled into her ear, his teeth grazing her lobe. "Forget him. Forget everything but this."
The tension in the room reached a breaking point. The bed, unable to withstand the violent momentum and the weight of their combined passion, gave a sudden, sickening crack. With one final, explosive thrust, the central slat snapped. The mattress dipped violently, sending them crashing down into the frame with a loud thud.
Neither of them stopped. The collapse only seemed to fuel the fire. They tangled together in the wreckage of the bed, their bodies slick with sweat and lubrication. He flipped her back onto her back, his legs intertwining with hers, his chest heaving against her breasts.
He didn't wait. He entered her from behind again, the angle allowing him to penetrate even deeper. The sound of their bodies colliding—the slap of his balls against her wet skin—filled the room. He reached forward, grabbing her hair gently to pull her head back, exposing the line of her throat.
"Look at me in the mirror," he commanded, his voice strained.
She glanced at the mirrored ceiling, seeing the image of a powerful man claiming her, their bodies intertwined in a blur of tan and cream. The friction was building, a tightening coil of tension in her lower belly. Michael’s pace accelerated, his thrusts becoming violent, desperate.
"Don't stop!" She shrieked, her fingers clawing at the pillows.
Michael lets out a moan, his muscles locking as he delivered a final, devastating thrust. He surged deep inside her, his body shaking with the force of his orgasm. She felt the hot, thick jets of his cum pumping into her, filling her up, triggering her own climax. Her pussy clamped down on him in tight, rhythmic spasms, the internal pressure sending her spiraling into a white-hot void of euphoria.
They lay there in the ruins of the expensive furniture, the silence of the penthouse returning, broken only by their synchronized, ragged breathing. He collapsed onto her, his face buried in the crook of her neck, his heart drumming a frantic rhythm against her ribs.
"I think we broke the bed," she whispered, a small, breathless laugh escaping her.
Michael chuckled, a soft, genuine sound that vibrated through her entire being. He pulled back just enough to look at her, his expression one of absolute devotion.
"I'll buy you ten more," he whispered, kissing her forehead. "As long as you stay."
— taglist: @bringitonhomejohnb @floravkhl @heyapoopy @lavnderluv @justtkrayz (i can’t tag them) 🤞🏻