I’m going to say this once and never again. If you don’t agree with me, you’re more than welcome to unfollow and block me. I’m also not a chicken and will be tagging exactly who I’m talking about because this is honestly ridiculous.
I’m going to preface this by saying this isn’t to cause drama or get likes. My account is garnering plenty of engagement from my writing and my personal posts already. This is merely for educational purposes and to shed light on an issue that’s infested the internet for years. This is also NOT just about the MJ fandom but I’m using it as an example because it’s happened here. Again, if you don’t agree with me, unfollow or block me!
I recently followed an account under the impression that they were a black owned blog. Their layout, use of AAVE and black oriented reaction pictures made me believe that I found another black writer to support. But I learned that the owner is a white women.
I want to follow more black writers here to uplift them in a space that is heavily biased against black fans. Situations surrounding belittling black writers in the MJ community have been rampant for a while now so I take it upon myself to support and follow fellow black writers who represent me and many black MJ fans who have felt underrepresented in the fandom.
Back to the issue. Finding out that this account is a white woman behind the scenes upset me quite a bit. I genuinely believed she was one of us and was combating the racial problem within the fandom. That being said, I’d like to point out why this is more than just a ‘I feel scammed’ situation and more about digital dishonesty.
Digital blackface is a massive issues in online communities across the internet. It’s a conversation that has been ongoing for years now, even before I was on the internet. Many people outside of the black diaspora have downplayed it as a problem, stating that free speech shouldn’t be considered black fishing or harmful towards black communities. However, I would like to point out that Digital Blackface is more than just using ‘black media’ to express yourself, it directly impacts how the world views black peoples as a whole.
Accounts on Tumblr and other platforms have popped up pretending to be black people since conception of social media. They use Ebonics and black reaction pictures/gifs as a means of communication which often time leads to real black-owned accounts believing that they are interacting with black people. In hindsight, one would merely say “well it’s not their fault you thought they were black,” and that is exactly the problem.
As I said before, I follow black blogs to uplift my people. The internet is riddled with racism directly impacting black communities. We get called the hard r, monkeys, ghetto, nasty, undesirable etc and platforms don’t bat an eye. Racism towards us is so normalised that it’s bled into every internet fandom. So you see why black people online gravitate towards each other? Because we want a safe space for ourselves. We want to appreciate each other, dote on each other, love, respect and support each other’s art.
How do black folk know that an account is black owned? We use Ebonics, black media and black phrases that only we would know. So you can imagine how disheartening it is to find out that an account using such media would be a white woman behind it.
Nonblack POC or white person reading this might not understand the gravity of this situation but I implore you to read up on it and take time to fully understand why it’s upsetting.
Terms like ‘the saxophones are getting louder” “goofy ahh” “I’m crine” “unc” “Deadass” are AAVE/Ebonics. Finding them on TikTok and incorporating them into your online vocabulary when you’re not apart of that community is a form of digital blackface and cultural appropriation. It’s not Gen Z slang or TikTok slang and it’s not a funny audio just for vibes. It’s BLSCK AMERICAN language.
I’m not BA and I do use Ebonics here and there but I avoid incorporating it into my speech when I don’t understand how to use it properly. And I don’t use much of it because, again, I’m NOT black American. Black Americans have been kind enough to even let black people outside of the United States use their language and I don’t even want them to think that I’m being irresponsible with that privilege.
Now in regards to this situation. I don’t want to hear things like “Michael was for everyone.” Although that was true, you would be really stupid to believe that Michael didn’t understand that black people were/are the most marginalised and racially abused people on the planet. This man grew up in undoubtedly the most racially divided time in USA history. He even spoke out about the industry steals from “especially black artists”. He was aware that black art is abused for white financial and political gain. Black media (whether it be music or simply reaction photos) is art.
So why position yourself in a way that make you appear to us as a black woman @michaelmuse ? Your entire aesthetic is based in a way that draws in a black audience. You use black faces as reaction pics and Ebonics but you draw the line at reblogging black fanfics when you know that this site favours reblogs over comments and likes.
Your previous username (ebonymuse) in itself is indicative of the issue I’m discussing here. ‘Ebony’ is a term primarily used to describe black people. Urban dictionary defines it as “the essence of dark skin that is enriched and plentiful with melanin. greatness. beauty”. It’s even a common term used to define a porn category for to black people. Now the term itself is constantly being critiqued for bordering on being a fetish term, however, you see how it’s for black people? Dark skin people to be exact?
So why is a white woman with white ass skin using that term in their username? I’m a black woman with albinism and even I wouldn’t use that term. Why? Because it isn’t not for my pasty self.
I’ve read some of your fics and this has nothing to do with me wanting diversity or inclusion from you, nor is it to hate on your work. You do use Ebonics in your work so I’m sure you knew that your fics would attract black readers to your blog. Your behaviour (whether you did it intentionally or not) was deceptive and potentially harmful to my community. You need to educate yourself on the contents of this conversation to fully understand how bad this situation actually is. There’s no way you’ve been on the internet and didn’t know that black Americans have been begging nonblack (especially white) folk to stop using their media as your own or as ‘a silly tend’ or to be relatable.
I’ve seen a few black British blogs come to your defence and I’m bewildered to see them pandering for a white woman about something that affects black people as a whole. I myself am not Black American but I will stand by them when their culture and language is diluted and turned into a ‘trend’ for everyone else to steal and appropriate. It’s wrong and it impacts us all. White people (even other POC) don’t separate us. They see one fake black account say stupid things and assume that’s how all of us feel/act. I understand that the UK is differently set up but your low racial self esteem is affecting us all. You let white Brits walk all over you and your culture and you just laugh along like it’s funny. This is why racism there will never end. You let white footballer wear braids, let white folk use AAVE and flat out call your Afros messy and you think it’s not that serious. Stand up. Immediately.
You guys really need to do better. Stop misconstruing Michael’s words to get away with disrespecting black people. You’re becoming just as bad as those who racially attacked him.
My two cents: if you’re making your entire blog pan to black fans by using ebonics, black reaction pics, and making your username EBONYmuse, there’s no way you don’t know what you were doin. Clearly you had enough people fooled for a while. This is digital blackface to a T, and i’m so sick of y’all doin this shit.
I'm so fucking sick of people in this fandom specifically white people yeah I said it you guys come in our spaces and pretend to be such michael fans when you guys only like a certain version of him after his skin condition and not the black version of him, and then you guys use our Ebonics and language and constantly racist and being a pussy and being anonymous when you send this shit i've had to Unfollow so many people that have turned out to be racist and trying to claim michael as their own even though he's a black man so Black people such as myself have a special connection with him that other races will never understand and it's not for you to understand and I know I'm not arguing with anybody about it I said what I said and you guys pretending to be black writers and use horrible stereotypes definitely sick of me and I have serious white fatigue and whoever doesn't fucking like it I dare you to fucking DM me because I have time now, go ahead and check that
— SUMMARY: Michael is always so shy whenever you two are intimate, so you work him up so you can hear him pleasure himself while you “sleep.”
— WARNINGS: sub!mike, masturbation (m), whining, voyeurism, getting caught, humiliation kink, somnophilia, use of daddy to tease, use of mama, smut with not much plot (who cheered), not proofread (yet!)
— WC: 2.2k
— A/N: Loosely ib this tweet. Took me forever to get around to this because i wanted it to be perfect, but i got wine drunk and wrote this in one sitting lol..
“C’mere ‘n kiss me, pretty boy.”
You knew that was gonna get him going, and that’s exactly why you said it.
Michael practically flew to the bed after shutting off your shared bedroom’s light and almost throwing his reading glasses on his nightstand. A small part of you wanted to roll your eyes at the subconscious action; he never wanted the lights on, and all you wanted to do was see his pretty face contorted in pleasure while he fucked you into the sheets. The only light coming through the room was from the TV on your dresser, silently humming in the background.
“Mmm, you smell so good,” he whispered to you shyly in between pecks.
You knew. You took extra time with your skincare and shower tonight, purposefully applying lotions and body oils that you noticed made him crazy.
Making a conscious decision not to give him any sort of relief, you changed your position from being on your side to straddling his thighs, careful not to to grind the prominent bulge growing underneath his endearing money-print pajamas. He wasn’t wearing underwear, perfect.
He pulled away, eyeing you with heavy lids. He was so easy for you and you took advantage of that fact any time you could.
“This lil’ number…You look perfect. Like a doll.” He bit his lip and adjusted your strap as his gaze traveled down the length of the red slip dress you were wearing. His favorite color.
Cupping the back of your neck with his hand, he pulled you in for another kiss, this one hungrier than the last.
His tongue immediately darted into your mouth the moment your lips parted, wasting no time for a buildup. He was starving.
You pulled away as far as you could with his strong grip on your neck.
“Someone’s a little eager. You hungry, daddy?” you teased, drawing out ‘daddy’ the way you did when you wanted to push his buttons. It worked. He made a little tortured sound at the back of his throat and cleared it to hide it.
Irritated with his bashfulness, you started slowly grinding against his thighs, stopping just short of his surely leaking sex.
“‘Cause I am,” you added.
He fluttered his eyes, not leaving them closed nor open, torn between shutting them in anticipated pleasure or watching the dreamlike scene in front of him.
“Stop hidin’. I wanna see those pretty eyes. Please, baby?” you asked him sweetly. The two of you loved this little game you had; you pretended he was daddy, and you asked him please, and you told him thank you, but you were always in control. Something about the act of asking for ‘permission’ and taking the ‘control’ from Michael added to the fun.
His eyeballs flew open immediately, almost comically bulging. Leaning down teasingly slow, you connected your lips once again, and his large hand, still at the nape of your neck, held you impossibly close. With your tongues swirling and your core still grinding painfully close to his, he was swimming in need. It only worsened when you started moaning into his mouth like a cat in heat. He wanted to whine out so badly, but the idea of you hearing how pathetic he was getting stopped him.
His free hand snaked its way to your waist and attempted to pull you closer, to break that infinitesimal gap between you. Not wanting to give in, you slapped it away harshly and placed your hand on his neck, daring to squeeze.
“Oh, god. You’re gonna drive me insane, baby. Please,” he almost whined. He attempted to dive back in for another kiss to conceal how flustered he was. You pressed your other hand to his chest and pushed him into the pillows.
“Whatcha pleadin’ for?” you questioned seductively, tightening the grip around his neck ever so slightly.
“C’mon, you gonna make me say it?” He looked at you, offended.
“Use your words, love. I’m not a mind reader y’know.” You felt on top of the world.
Michael was soaking through his pajama pants now; you could feel a wet spot on its fabric. With this in mind, you faked a yawn, setting your plan into action.
He still said nothing.
“Mmm, well I’m tired. Gonna go to sleep, ‘kay?” You adjusted your hands and position on top of him so fast, it seemed almost impossible that you were close to making him cum untouched.
“W-wait, we didn’t even get to do…I want…” he trailed off.
“Hm?” You pretended to be confused, feeling him adjust himself beneath you.
“I…ah-” Your body pressed against his hard on, as you pretended to innocently give him a hug, “N-nothing. G’night, angel. I love you.”
You pressed a kiss to his chin, shifting your hips against his again, and whispered, “I love you, Mikey. Gonna dream of you.”
He slightly titled his body over to let you roll off of him, and tucked you under the blankets tenderly, trying his hardest to ignore the unattended lust growing inside of him.
Michael decided to try and pay attention to the old black & white comedy on television, but every few minutes, he’d take a look at you and his dick would throb hungrily. You were wearing nothing under your slip dress, and your bare ass and sticky folds were peeking through the edge of the blanket on top of you.
After about 10 minutes, you made a show of taking loud, even breaths in an attempt to prove that you’d fallen asleep. You started softly sighing and whimpering ever so slightly- the way you knew you always did in your sleep- only this time more suggestively.
Around minute 14, you’d almost given up on the whole act, realizing Michael was probably too shy to even think about touching himself next to you, even if you were asleep. You were wrong.
He couldn’t take it. He tried. Really, truly tried, but he was hurting, and it’s not like he’d have to tell you.
Hesitantly, after lifting the blanket off of your backside to reveal your naked body to him some more, he quietly drooled into his hand and dipped it into his pants. His fingers lingered on his pelvis, trailing teasing paths around the area just like you would. The thought of your hand there made him lose himself too quickly, and his wet and sticky hand found his sore dick and tugged graciously from base to tip.
The absolute…pervertedness of his actions only somehow turned him on more. The fact that you could wake up to take a sip of water, or you could turn over to him wanting to cuddle…It all added to the desire.
A secret part of him wanted to be caught. To be humiliated by you seeing the worked up state you coaxed him into.
The waistband of his pajama pants became a barrier, a nuisance of an obstacle stopping him from experiencing the extent of pleasure that he wanted to. If he was gonna do this, he might as well go all the way, right?
So, he slid them off with his legs, not enough care in his mind to see if the movement made you stir in your sleep.
He jerked himself with an easier motion now: up and twist, and down and tug, and up and twist. Over and over and over. The exact way you did with both of your pretty hands.
“Mmph,” he whimpered. Silently, but it was still louder than he’d usually let you hear.
Your heart pounded brutally. He was really doing it.
Being greedy, you stirred a bit in your ‘sleep,’ positioning yourself in between being on your back and on your side, in his direction. You let out a theatrical sleep moan, and Michael froze.
He looked you over for a bit, focusing on your face to make sure you weren’t looking. Then, his horny gaze flitted to what was in between your thighs, wide open and fully on display for him. He continued.
She’s still so wet for me, he thought to himself.
The truth was, you were unfortunately getting wetter and wetter just by hearing him while you were turned around.
Facing him without watching was proving to be a challenge though, because he started making noise, and lots of it.
“God- yes. Please…please…” he begged. He was still looking at you through lidded eyes and tugging his dick at a relentlessly slow pace, imagining you teasing him and making him beg for it.
You squeezed your thighs together a little too harshly, feeling the pressure on your clit at the action.
He looked at you more intensely then, still pumping himself, but taken by surprise at the loud slap of your legs closing.
“No…” he whispered to himself. He wanted you to stay spread.
He reached his free hand over and separated your legs again, taking in just how close you’d gotten to him while you tossed and turned. The scent of your body oil hit the back of his throat at the same time he twisted his wrist at his tip, and he moaned. A full, throaty moan of erotic pleasure and need, and he didn’t even care.
Still having half a mind not to wake you, he ghosted his fingers over one of your inner thighs. He needed to touch you. To ground himself. That only made it worse, though, because he felt your arousal half dried on your thigh.
“O-oh. Angel, please...L-love it when…” He was speaking nonsense now, just saying any thought that came into his head. He’s never been this loud masturbating even completely alone.
His pumping grew faster, and you could hear the lewd sounds of his precum and spit squelching around his patterned dick. You wanted to look so badly.
“P…lease, I-i’ll be good. Please, please…” he babbled.
What’s he thinkin’ about? you wondered to yourself.
He was trying to edge himself. Just like you did. He was gripping his base harder and speeding up his jerking just the way you would whenever you were working him to an orgasm, only to snatch it away from him.
His hand snaked closer to your pussy, and he collected the arousal. He was craving this. He stuffed his fingers into his mouth, and his eyes fluttered shut at the taste.
“Ngh, so good, b-baby,” he moaned around his fingers, complimenting his mind’s imagination of you. He was being unabashedly loud now, the desire to be caught fucking his own fist like a needy loser ever growing.
The feeling of your body heat next to him while he did this was only adding fuel to the fire rising to his abdomen. He was so close. Droplets of his precum were landing on his pelvis in bursts.
“So close- ngh- ahh- I need-” He yanked his hand away immediately — he almost orgasmed.
“Dammit…” he protested to nobody. Removing his fingers from his drooling mouth, he looked at you and started pumping his crying sex slowly again.
“S-so pretty…” He scooted closer to you, his shoulder grazing yours, and placed his hand right back on top of your sticky pussy.
“‘M sorry, mama. Th-this is so dirty..” he apologized as if you could hear him. It was more to spare his own guilt, though. Your eyes fluttered slightly, and he traced one long finger across your clit, making you mewl silently. At the sight and sound of you getting worked up in your ‘sleep,’ he grew even more desperate than before. The pace he had set for himself quickened, and he flattened his hand against your folds. He wasn’t moving it, he just wanted to feel you.
Up, twist, down, yank, up, twist, down, tug.
His pace was almost unforgiving, his hand was moving so fast he couldn’t even believe he was doing it himself. The atmosphere felt electric. His precum was settling between the webs of his fingers, he was fully twitching against your side, and his eyes never left the sight of his huge hand blanketing your core.
“F-fu…I’m…AGH-” His body jolted upwards and his scream caught in the back of his throat. The pressure of Michael’s release felt like a water balloon hitting asphalt; a violent shatter. His toes curled in a way that would surely make them cramp later, he gripped your inner thigh, and his hips stuttered and spasmed as he milked himself dry. He moaned and whimpered and cried and thanked your relaxed figure.
Your heart was hammering, and you squinted just so you could see him in this state. He was beautiful. His hair was stuck to his forehead and flat against the back of his head. Cum was splattered against his abdomen, thighs, and pelvis. His mouth was shaped in an ‘O’, and his eyebrows were knotted so tight, it looked like it should hurt. You were awestruck.
He finally fell limp after what felt like the longest orgasm known to mankind, and he slid his hand off of you and scooted away a bit. His mind was unfogging just enough to care about your personal space and beauty sleep now.
Breathing finally even, he stretched his hands up and took a deep breath, feeling unbelievably satisfied and guilty.
Your eyes were fully open now, staring the side of his head down, and he hadn’t noticed. Reaching over silently, you swiped a droplet of cum off of his stomach and sucked your finger, moaning around it loudly. His heart nearly fell to his toes when he looked at you, guilt written all over his face.
“Thanks for the show, daddy. You sing beautifully.”
— SUMMARY: Michael felt rejected and decided to make you feel the same way. Little did he know, he was making it worse for himself.
— WARNINGS: sub!mike, bratty mike, sexual tension, lowkey angst with a hint of smut atp, lots of arguing, whole house petty, michael is genuinely sick and twisted i’m so sorry, fake (?) cheating, both trying to make each other jealous, they say mean things but they love each other guys, humiliation kink, insecurity, use of ma’am, use of traffic light system, handjob, free use kink, unprotected p in v, creampie, no aftercare, this is a long one. not proofread (yet!)
— WC: 8.5k (don’t say damn..)
— A/N: That third photo screams bratty mike and you can’t tell me otherwise idc. Also, I’m sure you can guess who exactly the model is. I refuse to say her full name, but ifykyk.
Yeah, this boy went and lost his damn mind.
Michael had been pushing your buttons that whole day. It’s not like you didn’t enjoy his presence or crave his affection, but seriously?
First, came him interrupting your sleep.
He woke you up at 5:42am on Saturday morning. His curly head was in between your legs and he was eating you like you were his long awaited breakfast. Any other day? Fine. Even exceptional, but you had a long week behind you, and a busy one ahead of you. He knew that. You wanted to sleep, and being awoken only two hours into it was not helping. You firmly, but gently, shoved his head away and gave him a stern “Enough.”
Then, came his sulking.
When you finally woke up at 9:08am, groggy and irritated, you decided to try and wind down by cooking for the two of you. He still hadn’t built up the courage to touch you again. He always came up and gave you soft kisses to your neck while you flipped pancakes. He was in his head though, after laying in your shared bed feeling rejected when you sharply ordered him to leave you alone. All he wanted to do was make his favorite girl feel happy and give you some kind of reward for working so hard this week. He didn’t mean to get so lost in the maze of your core that he’d wake you up.
So, because of his own embarrassment, he’d been sighing dramatically and setting things down on tables and counters just slightly too loud. To anyone else, it’d seem normal, but you knew Michael. He was begging for your attention. After he decided not to accompany you while you cooked like he usually did, though, you weren’t gonna cave in and give it him.
The last straw, though? The phone calls.
Long after eating together in suffocating silence – both of you too stubborn to break it – the two of you drifted off to your separate workspaces in your shared home. You were getting things in order for the upcoming Tuesday. Michael was being awarded the Guinness World Record for the best-selling album of all time for Thriller. That meant you needed to make sure you were caught up with work and that you had time to relax before accompanying your star-studded boyfriend to the highly publicized event.
Michael, on the other hand, was doing a whole bunch of nothing. Not because he didn’t need to, but because he couldn’t. He tried writing, he tried finishing up painted portraits for some of his industry peers, he even popped Peter Pan into the room’s tiny VCR, but even that couldn’t catch his attention.
Surely she’ll say somethin’ to me, right? He thought to himself after the movie was about halfway through.
But, you hadn’t. You didn’t even say anything to him for not joining you in the kitchen; something he stubbornly did just to get you to finally acknowledge him. So, he decided to a phone call. He didn’t have much to talk about, he just wanted to be petty.
“Hey, Q!” he said obnoxiously loud, loud enough for you to hear through your closed office door.
You were elbows deep into your work when you heard your boyfriend’s laughter drift through the vents of your office. You couldn’t tell what exactly what he was talking about, but you were sure it was his producer, Quincy Jones, on the other line. He would be joining the two of you to the ceremony, and he must’ve been ironing out details like you were.
Cute, you thought to yourself.
Then, it got ugly real, real fast. At some point, you finally had to walk down the hallway into his room and ask him to lower his voice.
“I’m makin’ some business calls. Could you just be a bit quieter please?” you’d asked him politely.
“Mmm, she speaks!” he joked, and you heard Quincy laugh over the phone’s receiver as well. Had he told him about your mood today? You shrugged it off as he covered the phone and responded, “Yeah, I’ll tone it down some,” and went back to his conversation like your interruption was as unimportant as an infomercial. The interaction left you a bit unnerved, but you’d check him about it later.
You were only able to make it to your second phone call when you heard the hooting and hollering from his office yet again. You tried to ignore it, you really did, but you were sleep deprived, annoyed, and embarrassed because you knew he’d been talking about you. You mumbled out a quick goodbye to your coworker and slammed your phone down, already halfway through your door. You started storming down the hallway once more.
“I thought I asked you to be quiet,” you said as his door flew open, hands on your hips. Michael ignored you and kept speaking on the phone.
“Yeah, and I was thinkin’ of changin’ some of our plans for that event…No- yeah, Tuesday’s,” he continued on.
“Hello?” you questioned him, waving your hands in his face. He covered the receiver and looked up to you briefly.
“One sec,” he responded shortly.
“Yeah. So, I was thinkin’ we invite Brooke. Yeah, she was my date-” he annoyingly emphasized this, “to the last event as well, before I went public with my girl.”
“Michael, hang up,” you spat out, any patience you had left long gone. He still ignored you.
“Yeah, not sure if she’ll like that. Brooke will be a good time, though. I’ll let her know…Mhm, yeah I’ll call you up later.” He finally hung up that stupid phone.
“What’s goin’ on?” he asked you innocently. You were heated.
“Are you actually serious? You can be a lil pissy about me not wanting you to eat me out, that’s fine. I’ll let it slide for the first couple of hours. It’s been damn near twelve, Michael. I have important shit to handle, for you and your important event. I asked you politely to be quiet and I even let it slide when you continued not to be.” You stared at him wildly, gasping for air after saying everything in one breath.
“I’m off the phone now. You can continue,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders and he started dialing another number.
“Not even an apology? Yeah, forget it. I’ll sleep in my office tonight, too,” you said in a fit of anger as you stormed back to your workspace.
Who the hell did this boy think he was? You spent at least 10 minutes pacing back and forth enough to wear a hole into your carpet. You couldn’t even concentrate on your work anymore, unspoken words settled on the tip of your tongue. You wanted to tell him to grow up, to kiss you, to fuck himself.
Without thinking, your legs started down that short but treacherous path of your hallway. You were about to knock when you realized he’d actually gotten quiet this time. Curious, you touched your hand to the doorknob before freezing. You heard him giggling at some feminine voice coming in through his phone.
“Yeah, and if anything, we can just say that you’re my date. Y’know, to soften the blow. ‘M sure she’ll be fine with-” You flew into the room once more, seething.
“Oh, so you’re fine with pretending to date another girl? All over some head, Michael? You done lost your damn mind. Hang up, now. Or I will.”
“Wai-” he started.
You yanked the phone from his grip by its cord and hung up his call.
“You gon’ explain yourself?” you asked him impatiently.
“You’re bein’ mean, Brooke’s a safe date. Nothin’ to it,” he said, too nonchalantly.
“I’m being mea- Michael. Do you know how fucking exhausted I am? I’m sitting here wrapping shit up for you, to show up for you, for an award you’re winning, and you can’t keep your needy ass hands off of me to sleep for more than two fucking hours. I’ve been patient and calm with you and you decided to start acting like a fucking neglected puppy by pouting and being annoyingly loud and calling up a random ass model to be your ‘backup date.’ What the fuck is your goal, here? Because I can promise you I wasn’t you to touch me even less than I did earlier,” you ranted.
“She’s not a random model, she’s my close friend,” he responded calmly.
You just about lost it.
“That’s all you fuckin’ took from that? You know what? She so close to you, gon’ head and have her come along! Let her take all the important pictures with you too! And leave me the fuck alone for the night.”
The rest of the night, neither of you spoke to each other, save for him coming into your office quietly to say goodnight and check to see if you were actually set on sleeping on the sofa in there. You were. He gave you a kiss to your forehead as you pretended to be asleep, and softly closed its door.
The next day was super tense. You accompanied him to his childhood home in Encino for a get together his family was having. The two of you tried to appear as though everything was fine, holding onto each other, choosing the other as your teammate for board games, and even sharing the core of washing dishes. At one point, though, La Toya, his older sister, pulled you to the side and questioned you.
“Why are the two of you actin’ so weird? Y’all have your first fight?” she asked in soft voice.
“We’re fine, Toya. He’s still just nervous with me around the family, I guess,” you lied. You’d been together for over three years by now, so the fib made no sense, but she believed you anyway.
The night at home was spent identically to the previous one. Your back was in pain from sleeping on the small office couch, though, so you slept in bed this time.
“I love you,” he whispered as you settled into bed next to him.
“I love you too,” you responded hastily.
“Can we cuddle?” he asked hesitantly.
“Do you think you deserve a cuddle?” you asked him back. He sat in silence as you got your answer and drifted off to sleep.
Monday morning rolled along, and you were sick of the tension. After you finished showering and getting dressed for work, you headed to the kitchen to make Michael and yourself some breakfast as an olive branch. You expected to see him lazing in his favorite chair at the kitchen island, reading the paper. What you weren’t expecting was the handwritten note sitting in his place.
At a fitting with Q. See you when you’re home. — Applehead
Your stomach sunk and you decided to miss the most important meal of the day.
Michael knew he was wrong. He knew he was wrong to be loud when you were working. He knew he was wrong to offer another girl to be his date while his girl was standing right front of him. He knew it was wrong to write a note and not end it with an I love you. But, he couldn’t stop something deep in him for loving the tension this was creating, and for that, he knew he was even more wrong.
His fitting went by in what seemed like a blur, due to his brain being preoccupied. He would start feeling guilty for his then immediately get butterflies in his stomach the thought you open up and angry with him. Every officer ring he heard in dressing room would send some into knots, hoping it was you, but it wasn’t, and then he’d be ashamed again.
Brooke, his model friend, had turned up near the end for her own dress fitting for tomorrow night, and her presence distracted him just enough to appear normal again. They chatted about nonsense, and he stayed outside her door until she finished her fitting, offering to grab lunch with her at yours and his favorite lunch spot near home afterwards.
What a stupid idea.
You’d gotten off of work early because your duties at work weren’t needed. Your employees picked up extra work to keep ahead while you were taking time off for your boyfriend, and although you were grateful, you were upset because you had next to nothing to do. You stayed longer than you should’ve, and once you realized you were just wasting time, you headed out and decided to comfort yourself with lunch from your favorite place.
As soon as you walked into the restaurant, though, your heart flipped. Because standing in line in front of you was one of Michael’s security guards, ordering two meals. One of them was your boyfriend’s usual, and the other was unknown.
“Hi, Maurice! Is he here?” you asked him almost cheerily, he referring to Michael. You figured it was for Michael and Bill, and considered riding home with them and having Maurice take your car for you so you could catch up with Michael.
“Yep, he’s in the car out back. I can place your order too, if you’d like?” he offered politely.
“Yes, thank you! I’ll take my usual as well. Can you drive my car home for me, too?” you asked him, handing him your keys.
“No worries, hun. I’ll see you later.”
You snuck around the building and walked over to the car’s usual hiding place with an extra bounce in your step. You were ready to put the petty distance behind you and cuddle with your boyfriend again.
You opened the door without warning, and were met with a sourness so potent, you nearly hurled over and puked. She was there. And your boyfriend was sitting a little too close to her looking a little too comfortable.
“The fuck?” was all you could say.
“H-hi, baby. She’s just-”
“Brooke. Maurice will be here in a few minutes with my car. Tell him I said he could drive you home. Have a lovely day,” you interrupted him calmly. There was a pause. You raised your brow ever so slightly, and she exited this car with a quick apology. You slid in and took her place–your place– next to him, without a word.
“It’s not what you think. She just had her fitting after mine a-and I offered her lunch-”
“At our favorite spot,” you interrupted again, still too calmly.
“…Yes, but it’s just cuz I was cravin’ it-”
“And you didn’t leave a message to let me know she’d be with you. Nor did you think to let me know you were getting it so you could get some for me for later. Interesting.”
You could hear him stop breathing.
“And what was the fitting for, Michael? So she could be your date for tomorrow?”
“Wait. No, no you said-”
“You’re clueless. Bill, drive us home, please,” you asked evenly as you rolled the SUV’s partition halfway down. The fact that it was even up in the first place…You didn’t want to get into this in front of Bill, the situation already leaving you embarrassed. Fuck the food.
Unfortunately for Michael, your demeanor only egged him on. Because, yes. He knew that taking Brooke to your place wasn’t okay, and he knew offering her a ride home in his private car was disrespectful. He hadn’t expected you to be there, but that made it worse. You were so close to snapping, and he was so close to begging for it.
The car hadn’t even been fully brought to a stop before you were opening the door and yelling out a quick, “Thanks, Bill!” You intentionally let the door close in Michael’s face.
Michael couldn’t fight the shit-eating smirk that plastered across his face as he bid Bill a goodbye, the older man looking at him in pure confusion.
When he slowly slugged through the front door and walked the timid path to the dining room, savoring the tension, his breath was nearly taken away at the sight of you. You were fuming, your posture was unforgiving, hands clasped on the table like you were preparing to reprimand him, and you were beautiful.
“Sit down.”
His feet reacted before his mind could, and he sat in the chair directly across from you, waiting.
“Do you think this is a game to me?” you asked him in a tone so cool, his bones chilled.
“I’m not playin’ any game. I just thought it would be alright with you.”
Lie.
“Why would I be okay with knowing you’re still gettin’ her fitted for dresses and takin’ her to our favorite spot. Or with seein’ her in our car?”
“She’s my friend. I didn’t wanna uninvite her last minute.”
Lie.
“But you can invite her last minute? M’kay. And what exactly is she gonna be there for? To make me look like some side piece? To stroke your ego?”
To make you jealous, he wanted to say.
“To keep up appearances. She’s always been my date to these sorta things. I don’t wanna discard her,” he responded instead.
“You’re okay with discarding me in the process though? Do you see how fucked up that is? I’m your girlfriend. Or is this your way of getting rid of me?” you asked him, your anger cracking through your calm facade.
“She’s still coming. The press is expecting her. They’re expecting both of you. Q’s gonna be with us too, so it’ll look like a group thing,” he tried to amend.
“Then I guess I’ll be Q’s date, and you can prance around with the pretty white model all night,” you added with a shrug, pushing your chair out and walking away.
“You’re being a little excessive, don’t you think?” he asked with panic laced into each word. He hadn’t expected you to turn it onto him, and you could tell. If he’d be petty, so would you.
“I’m just doing what you’re doing. I’ll be in my office on the phone planning my date with Quincy. Make sure to give us some privacy,” you said with a wink.
He was livid.
If there was anything about Michael that he kept pretty well hidden, it was his jealousy. He was insecure, especially with all the eyes on him constantly, so jealousy was a given. He was constantly comparing himself to the greatest of the greats, trying his hardest to live up to or even surpass them. He had self-esteem issues that stemmed from his first moment of sentience. But this? You proudly announcing that you were going to take his producer, someone he considered a close friend as your date to his event? It wrecked him. And maybe he deserved it, but that didn’t mean he was taking this lying down.
So, he decided to take it up a notch.
The day of the event was hectic. The two of you had taken your flight from LA to New York ona red eye and were completely exhausted. You had only two hours to check in to your hotel and get some sleep before tending to your busy schedules . You were expected to meet at his stylists’ studio to get your hair and makeup done before they put you into your outfits for the evening.
Immediately upon arrival, Brooke was sitting in a chair getting her hair primped and curled, much to your own annoyance.
“Hey, you two! Me being Michael’s date won’t be awkward, right? He told me you were okay with it, but I promise I can back out if it makes things weird,” she asked with an anticipation that read that she wanted you to say it was all good.
“Well, he said I was okay with it!” you replied, trying to conceal the sarcasm. “Besides, I’m Quincy’s date tonight. It’s all good.”
She beamed a little too excitedly for your liking.
You didn’t really have the time nor energy to pay her mind, so you tried to allow the chaos of the dressing room to consume your attention. You tried.
Michael, on the other hand, took it upon himself to make you as jealous as he felt. He spent the entire time allowing the model to occupy his personal space. He laughed loudly at jokes that weren’t funny at all, brushed invisible hair out of her eyes, and drank iced coffee from her straw. He didn’t even like coffee. Yet, you still wouldn’t pay him any mind.
You were too busy actually reveling in seeing the bustling inner workings of the entertainment industry. You were successful, sure, but you would never in a million years get to this status on your own. You managed to even start enjoying yourself when Quincy came along and started giving you advice on show business. At one point, he took you to the side to give you a deeper talk not meant for all those ears.
“I understand he can be a lil’…stubborn. But you have to understand, he don’t know how to handle bein’ the most famous person in the world at only 25 years old. And imagine trying to navigate your first real relationship through it all. Now, I’m not sayin’ what he’s doin’ is okay, but give him some grace,” Quincy lectured.
“Q, I am. But it’s like he’s testin’ me. Like he’s testin’ my love, our relationship. He’s doin’ all this affectionate shi- stuff with her like i’m not sitting right there, I don’t understand why.” You almost sounded defeated.
“Listen, he’s used to everyone listenin’ to what he says. He’s around yes men more than he’s ever been around people who will tell it to him straight. You’re the one true person who doesn’t tiptoe around what you need to say to him. And he’s obviously sensitive. He didn’t tell me much, he really only wrote things out on notes for some lyrics, but being told no by you confused him. He was grateful for it, but a part of him felt rejected.” He sighed, realizing the conversation went a little too deep for the time.
“But that’s a conversation the two of you need to have. Now, I’m entertainin’ y’all’s game tonight, but don’t bring me in the middle of this type of stuff no more. Or Brooke. I’ma get on him about that too.”
You embraced his larger torso, your posture filled with gratitude for the words he offered you. The two of you returned to the busier area hand in hand, and you gave him a peck to his glistening forehead as you made your way to the snack table. You felt a few sets of eyes on you.
Michael and the model had seen the whole thing. His mood visibly shifted from playful, to full on anger, to unreadable within seconds. Those were his lips.
In that moment, he fought with himself to not use the ones attached to his own face disrespectfully as well.
Maybe she’d finally put me in my place, a voice in the very back of his mind croaked into his cranium.
The energy inside the black SUV the 7 of you — Michael, Quincy, Brooke, 3 security guards, and yourself — rode together was noticeably stiff.
Quincy and the model kept up most of the conversation, trying to get you and Michael to chime in here and there. You felt guilty for how awkward the two of you were making things seem, so you tried ribbing with your boyfriend. He basically iced you out.
The flashes upon arrival were enough to allow yourself to tune out the noise in your head. Your small group was ushered in quickly, accompanied by your security, and the secret backstage pathway gave you something to focus on.
Michael gave a heartfelt and beautiful speech to commemorate his record win, and he actually saved a piece in it to honor you. Your entirely being visibly relaxed and filled with unadulterated adoration.
As he finished up his message, he called for Quincy to join him on the stage as well. You gave Q a hug and tried to kiss him on the cheek— the quick and awkward action ended in the peck landing in between his jaw and neck— and applauded cheerfully. As Quincy hugged Michael, you could see his face flash with a fleeting expression of discomfort that he quickly covered up.
When you all converged backstage, floating on the high of seeing a loved one be honored with such a notable prize, the room buzzed with a glittery noise of excited chatter. You kept trying to break away from conversations so that you could be by your boyfriend’s side, but he was engrossed in conversations left and right.
People were asking you about why he’d brought Brooke as his date if you were there, why her outfit matched his more than your own did, why you were letting him take photos with her kissing him. The last question snapped you out of your dissociation, as you followed the questioner’s eyes and saw the scene a few feet away from you.
He was gripping her by the waist and kissing her a little too closely to her jaw, throwing you a smirk as he caught your eyes. You swore you turned physically green with jealousy.
There was something you used to do whenever Michael would cross lines early on in your relationship. He was new to dating seriously, and you were new to being taken seriously, so you had to explain to him what was or wasn’t right to do in them, especially since he was used to taking whatever affection came his way as a star.
After one of his more particularly excessive displays of insecurity and jealousy, you came up with a method to keep Michael and yourself…grounded. You’d hold fingers up on your hand— or hands—, depending on how many seconds of leeway you were giving him before your mood soured, and you would put one down every second, essentially counting down how much time he had left.
In the beginning, you’d give him ten, allowing him time to get used to the action. Your default after the familiarity was five. You hadn’t needed to go lower than that, ever. He’d usually get the hint at the mets sight of your hand raised.
Right now, discreetly to everyone else’s eyes, but very visibly to his, you raised three fingers. He smirked and hugged her closer to him. You put one down. He briefly parted from your gaze as your second finger went down, to make eye contact with a camera. He faced you again, pointed to his cheek, and she gave him a kiss there. You put your last finger down, and watched with burning fury as he laughed heartily.
You politely trudged through the group of onlookers and perched your lips to Michael’s ear.
“It’s time to go.” The decisiveness in your low whisper sent a shiver down his spine that he covered up with a fake cough.
“All right, guys! Thank you again so much for being apart of my success, but I must leave now. I have a long flight ahead of me tomorrow!” he announced with enthusiasm. True enthusiasm. And with a lie — your flight wasn’t until Thursday.
He gave out hugs and handshakes, told Brooke to hold onto Quincy’s arm, and the four of you, protected by security, left the venue. You rode in separate vehicles this time; you with Michael, Brooke with two security guards, and Q with his own personal driver.
You said not a word to Michael as your vehicle trekked through large crowds and traffic. His arm was caged between one of your hands with a tight grip, and he shifted uncomfortable in his seat 22 times thoughout the ride.
As the two of you made your way to your room— walking through the vacant hotel that his team made sure would be completely unoccupied for your stay— you could hear nothing but the aggressive clunk of your chunky heels against the pristine marble floor.
You entered your suite first, already having your keycard prepared for entry, and sat down on one of the lounge chairs. Michael approached you hesitantly, but still very much excited.
“Explain yourself.”
Your voice was so direct, it even scared you a bit.
“I have nothin’ to explain. Why’d you wanna go?” he asked, feigning confusion.
“I’m not asking. Explain yourself,” you repeated. Your patience was wearing thin, and your body was already getting hot. You decided to remove your shoes, jewelry, and dress, ignoring the way Michael’s eyes shamelessly trailed over the way your tight boyshorts and camisole hugged your body.
“I don’t need to explain myself to anyone.” He invaded your personal space, and the scent of his cologne made you dizzy.
“Who do you think you’re talkin’ to like that? And who the hell do you think you are? Kissin’ up on some girl for photos when I’m right there, neglected. Ignoring me when I give you my warning count. What, you don’t respect me no more?” you spewed at him, pushing your pointed, manicured finger into his chest with every word.
“She’s not some girl,” he replied with defiance laced into his tone.
You wanted him out.
“Oh, I forgot! Your date. Your real girlfriend. Go head ‘n call her up then! Go stay with her at her hotel! I’m done with the fucking games. Was this your goal? You wanted me to snap? Well, there you go. I’m DONE.” you yelled in a fit of anger.
“Me? You kissed Quincy! Multiple times! You were holdin’ his hand and you kissed him on the neck in front of everyone!” he yelled back.
“First of all, you were the one acting like a damn crybaby all weekend. You started the bullshit with the loud phone calls and asking a supermodel to be your date instead of me! Then you took her to our lunch place! On top of that, you had the girl nearly in your lap in our car, without even knowing I’d see, and then you continued to bring her as a date! I was giving Q a platonic kiss on the cheek, as I’d do to anyone I see as super close to me. And the ‘neck kiss’ was a fuckin’ accident! We moved too quick, and I missed his cheek! But thanks for letting me know you considered the ones you gave Brooke as more than platonic,” you said as you got more up in his face.
“Don’t start shit and not know how to finish it, Michael. It’s pathetic.”
He looked at you in a mix of bewilderment and lust. Pathetic, he echoed in his mind and clasped his hands in front of his groin very conspicuously.
“This is fuckin’ turnin’ you on? Seriously? ‘N you have nothin’ to say? I’m hurt and you’re tryna cover up a boner. Wow.” You pushed past him and picked your belongings off the floor.
His eyes followed your body as you retreated from him, and he licked his lips at the sight of you bent over.
Facing him once more, you crossed your arms against your chest, and his gaze eyed the way your breasts visibly at the contact.
“Go.” He blinked at you, his brain seemingly unable to comprehend the command.
“Michael. Leave. Now. Go be with your dream girl,” you said as you grabbed onto his slender arm, needing him to your suite’s door.
His feet followed yours until his brain caught up, and then he planted them harshly onto the floor. You yanked and he didn’t budge.
“No.” His voice came out with such intensity, you nearly doubled over.
“I’m not asking you. Get the fuck out, Michael. I don’t want you near me right now.” You were shoving him out now, having dropped his arm and stomping behind him before you could stop yourself. “You don’t respect me.” Push. “You don’t take me seriously.” Push. “You probably fucking hate me.” Push.
Michael started to feel guilty. Had he really made you feel like that? He just wanted to work you up a bit, but this wasn’t what he meant.
“No, what?” His voice shook with regret.
You stopped and leaned your forehead against his back, taking in a huge breath.
“Then fucking explain yourself!” you demanded, lifting your head up to look at him as he turned around to face you.
“I don’t- I…” He took a deep breath. “Everyone looks to me for answers. They see me as a leader, as their authority, as a deity of sorts. As flattering as it is, I don’t want that! I want to be led sometimes. I want someone to take control of me. ‘N I love when you do! But I want more. I’m selfish. I’m greedy. I want to push your buttons and test your control with me. I dream about you making me do things for your pleasure. I crave for you to put me in my place and make me beg for you because I want to feel like I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve you.”
He grabbed onto your hands in an act of surrender and continued.
“Everything I did was wrong, I know that. That was the point. I felt rejected that mornin’ because you told me to stop. Then I wanted to make you feel bad because I felt bad. And I kept goin’ because-” He audibly gulped. “B-because…” He let go of your hands and slid them down your bare thighs, cupping the backs of them as he drooped down to his knees. His fingers left goosebumps on your legs in their wake.
“Punish me. Please. I deserve it. ‘N I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. I do respect you, and I do take you seriously.” He pressed a kiss to your left knee. “‘N I could never, ever hate you. You mean more to me than anything, by light years.” He was looking up at you from his position at your feet, eyes full of sorrow, sensuality, and pure love. You finally spoke.
“Get up.”
“N-no. Please, I don’t wanna go. *mwah*” He started kissing any skin he could reach; the tops of your feet, your shins, your thighs.
“I’m sorry. I don’t love her. I don’t love anyone that way but you!”
“I said get up.” Your voice was still surprisingly even, considering how many emotions were flooding through you in the moment.
“Baby-” You grabbed him by his sequined collar and yanked him with more strength than you meant to.
“Don’t make me say it again,” you nearly whispered.
He was on his feet in an instant, his head nearly colliding with yours at the swift movement. You let go of his collar and walked over to your suitcase, searching for something. You found the item and walked over to him with a leather belt in your hands.
Setting it down on the trunk at the end of one of the two beds in the room, you climbed onto the furniture, feeling the mattress sink beneath you. Your legs dangled over the side of the bed and you kicked them back and forth menacingly.
“You’re sorry? Show me, then. ‘Cause I don’t see it. All I see in front of me is a boy so selfish that he’d rather be a brat and hurt his own girlfriend’s feelings than say he wanted to be used.” Your tone was harsh, but you didn’t care. He wanted a punishment? He was getting it your way.
“Yes, I’m a selfish brat. H-how should I apologize? What do you want me to do?” he asked cautiously, eyeing the belt in front of you.
“Figure it out.” Your voice came out flat.
His face contorted into one of panic and need. He didn’t know what to do, but he needed this. He needed you. For the second time that night, he sunk to his knees, but this time, he started crawling towards you like a dehydrated man in the desert seeking water.
The absolute hunger in his eyes very slightly chipped at your resolve. You’d never felt more wanted in your life, and it was just by the unfiltered look in his eyes, which never left yours.
You could see him plan out his next move before he acted. He removed his shoes, socks, and stood up and took off his jeans, looking at you silently for permission before he even unzipped them. He then removed the sequined coat, and he was left in a plain t-shirt and boxers.
He met you back on his knees, and resumed kissing you from the feet up, like before. Every peck that met your hot skin was followed by an, “I’m sorry” or, “You’re perfect” or, “I adore you.”
His actions quickly became frantic. You weren’t responding at all, and he was getting nervous.
“Am I doing good?” he asked, basically begging you to say yes.
“Eh,” was your quick witted response. You were riding the high of the once cocky superstar now begging you to take control of him and accept his apology for being bad.
“‘M sorry. Please, can you spread your legs a bit? Wanna show you…”
You obliged, secretly craving for some sort of relief. You were pent up.
“Thank you.” He continued kissing up and between your thighs, licking them and whimpering like a wounded animal. He was getting closer and closer to your now pulsing heat, and an idea you had earlier sprinted to the direction of your mind as soon as his tongue darted to your clothed core.
“No. Take off your boxers ‘n get on the bed.”
Dazed, he followed your command and stripped himself of his undergarments, feeling slightly embarrassed by how visibly hard he was now.
“Get close to the top of it, take off your shirt, and put your arms up.”
He looked at you shocked, hesitating.
“Do I need to repeat myself?” you challenged with a raise of your brow.
“No, ma’am. ‘M sorry,” was his response as he obliged.
“That’s what I thought.”
You retrieved the belt from the trunk and slapped it intimidatingly against your palm as you paced in front of the bed. Michael’s arms were suspended above him on a myriad of pillows.
With steps as light as a ballerina’s, you walked up to the side of the bed he was on and leaned over his slender frame.
“Do you wanna touch me?” you asked lightly, a coyness drizzling from the question.
“Yes, of course. Th-that’s all I wanna do right now,” he responded immediately, like he wanted to give you the right answer. He did. You straddled his torso, making sure not to let your lower body touch his burning one at all, and began wrapping the belt around his wrists.
“Good. You can’t.” The disappointment that flooded his face was only more encouragement for you. You were on a power trip now.
“Please? Pretty please, I’ll do anythin’,” he pleaded.
“I know you will. You’re gonna do everything I say, understand? Then I’ll decide if you even deserve to touch me,” you quipped, tilting his face up to meet your eyes with your index finger. He was pouting.
“Okay.” His eyes trailed straight down to the inside of your tank top, and his eyes practically bulged out of their sockets.
“You look very pretty, by the way. Love this top on you,” he complimented in the most seductive tone you’d ever heard him use. You ignored how his voice made your heart skip two beats and mumbled out a “Hmm, thank you.”
You took your manicured nails and scratched down his chest just enough to welt them temporarily.
“A-ahh!” he yelped in pain— you felt his dick twitch —and pleasure.
“Aww, what’s the matter baby?” you fake coddled him.
“That…it hurt,” Michael responded in a way that sounded like he was trying to convince himself of the fact.
“But you liked it though.” You looked at him pretending to be dumbfounded.
“Yes,” he breathed out, as if you’d asked him a question.
Leaning towards his face, you tilted your head in a way that signaled you were going to kiss him. He tilted his own head and closed his eyes in anticipation, only to be met with a sharp nibble to his neck.
“P-please!” He had no idea what he was pleading for.
His wavering tone concerned you just a bit.
“What’s your color?” you asked him seriously.
“Green. Bright green. Really, really green..” He was having the time of his life, believe it or not.
“‘Kay. Lemme know if it’s too much. I care about you, even when I can’t fuckin’ stand you,” you reassured him.
Placing your hand on his neck, you began administering bites to his collarbones, feeling egged on every time he cried out.
“Mmm. I-i’m sorry. Please, I need you,” he began chanting over and over. You ignored him each time.
You noticed his eyes close in pleasure, and that just simply would not do for you. You choked him hard.
“Pay attention to me. I never gave you permission to look away,” you nearly yelled at him. You loosened your grip when his eyes started to unfocus.
Fighting down a fit of coughs, he apologized with a strained and weak, “I’m sorry, angel.”
As you started crawling down his body, you felt something wet and hard graze your ass cheek, and Michael genuinely screeched.
“Ahhh! M-my god…” Michael whined desperately.
You reached down and grabbed his neglected dick, and wiped the precum from the slit on his tip, bringing it up to your mouth and tasting it.
“Mmm, is that for me?” you teased.
“Y-es. All for you.” He was visibly trying his hardest to obey you and wait for your commands, but at the feeling of your warm finger in his flesh, and the sight of you tasting him just because you could, he wanted nothing more than for you to fuck him into oblivion.
“It better be.” You reached down to his erect shaft and gripped him very slightly, your palm almost ghosting over it. You decided on a tortuously slow stroke, from balls to tip, as you looked him deep in the eyes.
“Aww, you look so needy, baby. You want me to move faster, huh? Stroke you harder? Bet you can’t even form a coherent thought. Poor thing,” you said condescendingly.
“‘M not needy, a-and I can think- ahh,” he protested.
“Yes you are. Look how hard you’re trying to not move into my hand. I’m barely even touching you, baby. Why you sweatin’?”
You knew he pretended to hate it, but he grew attached to how it sounded coming from you in particular.
You groped harder and stroked just a bit faster.
“Unless you don’t like this? Which is it?” you demanded. You loved playing this mind game.
“U-um. I do li- ah!- like it..” he whined.
Stroking even faster, you demanded once again,
“So you’re needy. Say it.”
“I’m needy!” he wailed when you slowed down for his delayed response.
You squeezed his dick harshly.
“And don’t you fucking lie about it again,” you ordered.
You wanted to do more, you really did, but the sight of him completely naked and surrendered to your will while he looked at you as if your existence was the answer to his life… You needed him, bad. But he still hadn’t earned your forgiveness.
Letting go of his leaking boner and straddling his thigh, you quietly pleaded with yourself to not give off just how horny you were, as well.
“Sit up and watch me,” you instructed, grateful that your tone didn’t expose the desire growing between your legs.
He immediately obliged, and whined as soon as you began grinding.
“Y-yes, please use me. Oh, God!” he cried out, breathless. “You’re so pretty, oh my- I love you.”
“F-fuck, baby. You like when I use you this much, hmm? You look so good like this.” You could feel his thigh flex and its tendon hit your clit in just the right way. “A-aah! Fuuuuuck. Y-you’re so pathetic, just laying under me fully naked w-while I have clothes on. Just watching me and not even being able to t-touch me.”
“Yes. I’m so pathetic,” he mewled.
You gripped onto his neck to steady yourself better and rode his thigh faster and harder, the pent-up tension making your orgasm approach faster than you were ready for.
“And you’re f-fucking clueless. Can’t see when a supermodel is so openly hitting on you in front of your own girlfriend.” You choked him briefly at the memory.
“S-so clueless. Just stupid. I only exist for…I only exist for your pleasure.” He’s always wanted to say that, but feared it would’ve been too much of a turn off. You seemed to enjoy it though, since you started humping his leg so hard that he was sure you’d be bruised.
“The fuck you do,” was the last coherent thing you said for the next few moments.
You mumbled something that didn’t make sense, and crushed your lips to his. He nearly cried at the contact.
Your moans were spilling into his mouth much faster now, his sign that you were going to come undone on his thigh…after using him. He could cum with you at the thought.
“F-me…have to…” tumbled from your mouth. You were losing yourself.
“Baby? What do you need from me? I’ll do anything for you,” he responded, concerned.
“Wanna fuck, Mikey. F-fuck.” You showed yourself to a stop. Your thighs were trembling while you balanced yourself on the mattress on your knees as you took your top and boyshorts off.
“‘M so wet. Need you so bad,” you whined. You missed him. You wasted no time stalking him and sinking down into his shaft. He stretched you wide, even more so since it’d been a bit since you were intimate.
“Ohmygod ohmygod plea- Want you closer please!” Michael nearly sobbed. You laid flat against his chest, your breasts swished between your bodies.
“P-put your arms around me. Hug me close,” you instructed. The gangly man lowered his arms, still bound by the wrists, and squeezed you close like you were a piece of coal that could turn into a diamond. You guys would share skin in this moment, if you could. You looked up at him, your anger long subsided.
“I love you so much,” you declared passionately. He looked like he was going to cry.
“I love you, too. Can I please kiss you?” he inquired. You puckered your lips and he met them with fervor.
You began riding his dick at a controlled pace. Every grind brought him straight to your g-spot from this angle, and you wanted to last long enough to let him cum with you. You weren’t going to let him cum if he didn’t in time with you, but you wanted to forgive him.
Getting lost in the pleasure of the kiss and the friction to your cervix, he began meeting your grinds with gentle thrusts. Michael picked up the aggression once you’d dropped your head back onto his chest and ground him harder than before, a pool of drool sliding toward his nipple.
The room sounded like a porn studio. It was a mess of slapping skin and moans and cries out to higher powers. The bed was creaking beneath you so loudly, you both internally feared that it break. If the hotel was occupied by anybody one floor above or below you, they’d have heard it all.
“Michael. God. You’re s-so deep. Could ride your perfect dick forever… And you moan like a- song. Your voice is so pretty. You’re so pretty…” you cooed. You could feel that ball of tension build up inside of you again, and every push to your g-spot felt like it would be the one to unravel it.
“You’re pretty. Mmm, if you keep t-talking like that I’m gonna cum, angel,” he warned.
“I want you to, baby. You did so good for me. So good. F-fuck. I…My god, I can feel you everywhere. Wanna feel you cum in me. I’m yours, claim me. Please, I need it.” You’ve never said please like that to him a day in your life, but you were desperate. You wanted the proof of your mutual connection and relationship in any part of your body it could reach.
“I’ll give it to you. Gon-na cum inside because you’re mine. Please, cum with- ahh! I’m gonna…” he rambled.
Your hand was sandwiched between your bodies as you rubbed your clit and rocked your hips into his, chasing your high. Your vision was getting spotty, and you could hear his heart pounding hard enough to break his ribs through his chest. He was fully fucking up into you from below, but you didn’t even have half a mind to stop him.
“Baby, please…” he whined. The sheer yearning in his voice completely undid you. Squeezing his torso with all of your strength, you ground your clit against his pelvis and let his dick slide in and out of you as your orgasm suffocated you. You moaned and drooled and cried all over Michael’s chest, and you felt a warm, sticky substance paint the inside of your walls just moments after. He screamed out your name like it was a magical spell.
You maneuvered his sex out of you, and both of you watched as your shared cum mingled onto the hotel blanket below you. He bit his lip.
You were holding onto each other for dear life. The orgasms meant much more than just getting one off, they were shared apologies and washed away regrets. It took a moment for you to realize he was sniffling, too.
“I love you. I adore and cherish you. I’ll never do that again. You mean more than everything to me. Nothin’ I did was warranted, and I know now to be less selfish,” he apologized, his voice hoarse.
“I forgive you. I apologize for my part as well. Thank you for…taking all of that. Even though I was goin’ easy, still.”
“That was you goin’ easy? I’m terrified for your enemies,” he joked.
“Oh, yes. My cold shoulder is very threatening,” you ribbed. “Oh! Lift your arms up, baby. Lemme untie you.” You’d completely forgotten about his restraint. “And you didn’t complain once. Good job.”
“Thank you…” he replied shyly as you freed his wrists. “Honestly? I thought you were gonna hit me with it- the belt. That would be very…Can we try that one time?” he questioned.
Your body reacted almost immediately to the idea.
“Michael, don’t tempt me. I’ll make you go for a round two right now.”
“You can make me do whatever you want…You own me,” he challenged.
You never backed down from a challenge. Regaining your strength, you prepared yourselves to explore each others’ limits for the second time that night.
The harsh words, petty actions, and hurt feelings from the past weekend were all amended. You were each others’ only and true loves, just fighting to stay together in a world that was actively trying to turn everyone against him and tear you down. But, Michael never wanted anything more but for his entire being to be consumed by you.
To think this all started because Michael wanted to eat you like the last supper.
You mean to tell me some of y’all see these photos and think mature era mike was a mean dommy daddy…? Because idk y’all...This looks like a man who would literally tear up and beg you to just let him watch you SHOWER.
you and michael have been best friends since early childhood. you knew every secret about one another, every familial problem, and anything the two of you went through—you went through together. you fell in love, but when you don’t know when you’ll see someone again—it makes you rethink everything the both of you ever shared.
“𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑒𝑙𝑠𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑑𝑜?”
𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 ➛ angst to fluff, best friends confessions, sexual content. (semi-protected p in v penetration), riding, whining, sub!mike, explicit language, crying during sex, virgin!mike, virgin!reader, aftercare. proofread but please ignore mistakes if you see them, lol
“𝑖 𝑑𝑜𝑛’𝑡 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤, 𝑖 𝑑𝑜𝑛’𝑡 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑖’𝑙𝑙 𝑐𝑟𝑦.”
𝑎 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑙𝑦 ➛ hi gorgeous people! i got a lot of love and sweet comments on my last fic, so i present another one from me, to you! based on one of my favorite (and saddest) jodeci songs, and it really fit otw era mike to me. enjoy!
also, let me know if you guys want me to create a taglist! comment if you wanna be added to it, so you never miss anything i post!
YEAR 1975
“Michael, cut it out.” You started. Michael had the tendency to poke at your shoulder when he knew you weren’t paying attention, and it was one of those moments. Your eyes were locked on the handwritten english paper you had yet to complete in front of you. Your topic was a three page essay on the civil war–and you had about five sentences jotted down on the college ruled page. Needless to say, you never paid attention in history, it was all so boring to you. You had bigger dreams–you wanted to become a famous designer somewhere deep in the cities of New York, and away from here. All this civil war stuff didn’t matter in the end to you.
“Can you entertain me now? That paper’ll be there later.” Michael groaned, throwing his head back in annoyance. One thing you learned early on about your best friend was how short his attention span was–and how easily irritated he got when things didn’t go his way. Even if that meant having to put all the things you’re doing to the side, just to find something for him to do.
“Michael, if I don’t finish this paper by tomorrow, my teacher is gonna’ give me that ‘in school suspension’ stuff–and y’know how my momma gets.” You demanded, pointing your deep burgundy painted fingernail into his chest. “I came over so you could help me, not distract me.”
Michael sat up straight in his spot beside you, fixing his wrinkled shirt. “Alright, alright, fine. But you gotta’ promise me you’ll let me take you on that walk later.” He smiled, leaning in closer to you and your binder, scanning over the few things you did write. “Nd’ for starters, you spelled ‘civil’ wrong, goofy. You put an ‘e’ at the end.” His laugh echoed at the realization, and you playfully shoved him after aggressively erasing your mistake.
“Shut up and help me, Mikey!” You giggled, staring in his eyes for the shortest second. You shook off the feeling, and put pen to paper once again.
7:15 P.M.
You and Michael walked the trail of his home, your flats leaving a quiet click after every step you took. The two of you just ate dinner with his family, and Michael kept pushing to take you outside in the fresh air. He just wanted to get you away from the stress of your homework— and you were happy to have finished your paper, but there was this lingering pain in your stomach–and it was aching you when you couldn’t figure out why it came so abruptly. You shrugged off the feeling, pulling your satchel farther up your arm.
“Are you excited about graduating?” Michael asked suddenly, breaking the silence between the two of you. You stood there in all of your awkwardness, finally snapping out of it Michael brushed a loose strand of hair out of your face. You coughed it off.
“I mean yeah. Ahem. Yeah, I guess.” You answered dryly. “Just ready to get out is all–M’ just ready to be able to do anything I want to–once I’m out my momma’s house,of course.” You sarcastically added.
“You still into makin’ dresses and all that stuff?” Michael asked, walking the both of you to a bench to get a little extra time before you had to go home.
“It’s called sewing, Mikey. And yes I am,” you started, opening your satchel and grabbing a couple loose pieces of paper out of your pink binder, the pages covered in sketches and ideas that you were ready to whip up in real time. You laid them out on your lap to display them to him, and he took a couple to get a closer look. The contact of the back of his soft hands gave you a slight chill, but you were known for brushing off any feeling of the sort. In your opinion, the two of you had always been the clingy type. His brothers teased the both of you since you were little–talking about how close you two were, always hugging each other, staring for just a second too long, laying together in silence when no one else was around. You were the only thing that kept Michael grounded from all the messiness that followed behind him with being in the music industry at such an early age. He’s opened up to you about things even his siblings didn’t know about, and they saw him every single day. In your eyes you always saw him as a baby deer in need of guidance and protection, while also being his number one fan in everything he accomplished.
“You’re crazy talented. It don’t make no sense.” He smiled, admiring the handmade work in front of him. “Maybe one day you can design my outfit when I’m big and famous.”
You laughed it off, then looked back at Michael’s face. He was dead serious.
“Michael, you’re not serious.”
“I am indeed, yes ma’am.”
You lightly slapped your palm against your forehead, but in actuality you were trying your hardest not to blush. Michael always treated you like a trophy, always lifting you up when your classmates or potential boyfriends would let you down. He always knew what to say to you.
“I gotta head home soon, Mikey.” You tell him, gathering your papers to clip back into your binder. You would go over all of these later, and maybe you’d conjure up a little something you’d wanna see Michael in when he’s “rich and famous” one day.
“Can we talk, for just a sec’?” Michael asks you softly, grabbing at your fingertips to sit you back down. You oblige, nodding your head for him to continue. You loved looking into his eyes—when you were younger it seemed like his pupils were the biggest thing on his head. His expression wasn’t how it usually was though, his eyes were filled with dread. That familiar feeling started to arise into your gut.
Michael grabbed both of your hands, and stared into your eyes. You fluttered your mascara coated eyelashes at him, waiting on him to say something.
“Joseph has us goin’ back on tour soon, nd’ I dunno’ for how long.”
There it was. That gut feeling. Michael had to leave you again, and you didn’t know the next time you’d see him. You knew that this was what came with business, but Michael was really all you had, besides your mother. He was your escape–he helped shut your mind off when things got way too loud.
You were stunned, and overall heartbroken.
You took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, the tears in your eyes slowly started to build up, and you stupidly let one slip. Michael immediately noticed it, and held on to your hands just a little bit tighter.
“Angel, please don’t cry.” Michael soothed, bringing his bigger hands to wipe the falling tears from down your skin.
Angel. The nickname he called you once you broke down and opened up to him for the first time when you were at the ripe age of ten. He called you that because he believed you were “sent from Heaven” to be in his life, telling you that you were handpicked from the sky by God himself.
“I just… I hate that you have t’ keep leavin’ me, Mikey.” You admitted between sniffles, using the back of your cashmere sweater to wipe the remaining tears and snot remnants off of your face.
Michael rubbed circles on the back of your palms. Doing all he could to soothe you.
“I hate leavin’ you too, y’know I do. C’mere.” Michael also admits, opening his arms to you to let you lean into his chest. You could feel his heart beating, a sound you were used to when the both of you would lay across his bed, talking about nothing. You’d always casually lay your head on his chest, and drift off to sleep, while he sang ‘Ben’ to you for the thousandth time.
“W-what about my graduation…?” You started, your voice barely above a low whisper. “Are y’gonna be able to make it?”
Silence.
“I dunno if I’ll make it, angel.”
Your lip quivered, and your face felt hot. Your tears were starting up again. This was the biggest disappointment of your life. Of course you were more than happy for Michael—all of this gave him more opportunities to better his own solo career in the future, which was all he talked about. But that feeling of one of the most important people in your not being there for such a big moment… it stung worse than a million bee stings.
Michael didn’t say a word, he brought you in closer, tracing stars on your back. That was the signature you two shared. You’d draw stars on each other’s backs when one of you was going through a tough time, and it always seemed to calm the other person down.
The stars weren’t helping this, though.
“Look at me for a sec, let me wipe your tears.”
You sat up off of Michael’s chest, and looked into those doe eyes.
“I’m in love with you. I always have been, always will be. You hear?”
‘I’m in love with you.’ Words you thought you’d never hear from the boy sitting before you. It was a given that you two were close, but loving someone and being in love with someone was completely different.
You’ve felt the same for years.
Always avoiding taking things too far with any other boys who came your way, because you always had Michael in the back of your mind. Michael was popular with the girls your age, but he always turned them down because in his heart, he knew you were the one for him.
You opened your mouth to tell him you didn’t feel the same, though you knew that wasn’t true. He knew it wasn’t true.
“I’m in love with you too, Mikey.”
You looked into each other’s eyes, and shared a deep, meaningful kiss. It sealed the deal. That was the unspoken rule.
“You promise y ain’t gon’ kiss nobody else after me?” He jokes, holding his pinky finger out.
“Promise. As long as you keep in touch, nd’ tell me all about everything.” You say, holding your pinky out.
“I promise, angel.”
You locked your pinky fingers and pecked once more, but you knew it was time to prepare yourself for the loneliness you shortly had to endure. You were going to miss Michael so bad that it drove you nuts—but his dread was a whole lot deeper. He didn’t know how to live without you, and shortly he’d have to learn how to. Again.
He walked you to the gate of his estate, Bill waiting by the car to take you home.
Michael informed you that the tour was going to start up in a couple of days, so you shared one last hug before having to leave him—and never knowing when you’ll see him again.
He opened the car door for you and gave you a hug, taking in one last whiff of your peach perfume. His body went limp into yours, and it was almost like you could feel his sadness. He interlocked his hands and rested his head on your shoulder while he hugged you, but when he pulled away, he was crying.
“Honey, don’t cry… you’re gonna make me cry again.” You giggle, taking your thumbs to swipe the tears from his face. You kissed his cheek and climbed in the back seat of the car, Bill starting the engine.
He smiled at you, getting a good look at you to cherish your beauty before you had to say goodbye.
“I love you, Michael.”
“I love you more than life, angel.”
He kissed your lips for the last time, and closed the car door.
You looked out of the back window, watching the love of your life wave his hand goodbye, tears still slowly streaming from his face. You blew him a kiss, and had no clue that this would be the last time you saw him for a long, long time.
4 YEARS LATER, 1979.
HEADLINES : MICHAEL JACKSON RELEASES FIFTH STUDIO ALBUM THROUGH EPIC RECORDS, OFF THE WALL.
“Marianna, you’re good to take your thirty.” You told your employee firmly, but lovingly. Four years later, and you were fresh out of college, working with your mother at her boutique. Your mother promoted you to the store manager pretty early on, so that meant you dealt with the conflict, the chaos, and everything in between. You hated having so much pressure on you all the time, but with your mother barely in the shop, all expectations fell on you.
You were happy to be doing something you loved, though. You felt free being done with school and pursuing your passion, but you couldn’t help but feel your heart sting every time you saw his name in the paper. Not only did he miss your high school graduation, the person you thought would come through for you one last time, didn’t even call when you graduated college. And you know he saw it, because your name and picture was on the news for getting top of your class.
Your body froze every time you heard his voice on the radio.
‘Four whole years’, you thought to yourself.
Four years, and nothing but radio silence from him.
A couple years ago, you and Michael made a pact. I mean, you kissed, and that had to have meant something. The promise you two made to each other, making sure to keep in touch no matter how busy you were–whether rain or shine, there were no exceptions.
You kept up your part. You called and called nonstop, even on the days you were swamped with school work. He never picked up on the other line, and even after that–you couldn’t bring yourself to hate him. You just wished that he would’ve kept his promise, because no one in this world brought you the same peace like he did.
But it was clear he didn’t think that way anymore.
You used to assume the fame got to him like it did everyone else in the industry– but that wasn’t how your Michael was. Sure, he loved being recognized for his talents and charisma, but he would never, ever let any kind of fame or money get into that brain of his. He knew better than to let it consume him, because Michael’s biggest fear was becoming his father.
So when you found out about his solo album, for a couple days you started spiraling.
This was something the two of you had talked about for years, and all Michael ever talked about was branching out and finding something else to do that didn’t involve his family–and you never failed to listen. You wanted Michael to go solo, because his voice was something like the salt needing to be spread on an icy road, and no matter how much you encouraged him, he always turned the idea down because of his fears.
You cried–a lot. In a way you were proud of him for finally facing his fears and starting a new journey in his career, but on the other hand you were not only disappointed, but grieving someone who wasn’t even dead at the same time. You missed his touch, bad. His small gestures always felt so innocent and sweet–and that was your favorite thing. You enjoyed when his hands rested a little too long on top of yours, and how whenever you were too tired–he’d handwash your hair in the bathtub for you. Sometimes you lose hope, and in the back on your mind, you truly believe that man won’t come back to you–ever.
You saw yourself as a placeholder for the moment, and no matter how much you didn’t want to accept it, you had to. Michael was living a totally different life than you were–touring in almost every country, having such a wonderful and impactful talent–while you were still stuck. And the one that made you feel seen and heard, wasn’t seeing or hearing you. You felt played, because Michael never broke his promises with you–ever. You always got in your head about the situation, thinking he met another girl–but deep down, you knew he was too shy to branch out of his comfort zone.
You were his comfort zone.
You paced around the boutique, holding a handful of untailored dresses for your client to try on, when the exhausting ringing of the phone blared in your ears. It was going off all day–women calling to make appointments, customers complaining and badgering you because of the prices, and pesky little children who prank called every number they found in the phonebook. You rushed and ran to a rack to put the dresses down, and hated yourself for sending your employee on break too early.
You fixed your shirt, took a breath, and picked up the phone.
“Hello, and thank you for callin’ ‘Hurst Boutique’, how can I be of assistance today?”
“It’s you.” The caller on the other line whispered. You couldn't make out their voice, but your stomach was uneasy.
“I’m sorry? Who is this? Look, we’re really busy, so I don’t have time for–”
“It’s me… Michael.”
Your mouth went dry, and all of a sudden, you were at a loss for words. You were in shock that after all this time, the first phone call he’d make to you would be at your job, four years later. You felt your eye twitch out of anger, and a burst of rage entered your system.
“Wow,” You scoffed, sitting down in the office chair in front of you. “You got some nerve, Michael.”
“Pardon?”
“I said you got some nerve. You haven’t spoken to me in four years, for God sake.” You started, your leg now shaking uncontrollably. “Then you call my job? You're batshit crazy, Michael.”
“Please, you don’t have to curse. I-I’m sorry.” Michael pleaded, his voice cracking because of the pressure you put him under.
“You’re sorry, huh?”
“Very.”
“Not good enough.”
You got your last word and hung up the phone. You grabbed your dresses off of the rack behind you and walked to your clients room to do your job. You would be lying if you said you didn’t miss hearing his voice again, but damn, did he hurt your heart. He was insane, thinking a simple apology was going to make up for the four years of no contact, and as much as you wanted to go off on him and argue on the phone all day–that was still your ‘little baby deer’. But now, you have to learn how to protect yourself, even from the one who’s supposed to protect you in the first place.
You had to get yourself together—you were at work. Your chest was aching, but letting people see that is the last thing you’d ever do. You walked your client through her tailoring, and tried to wrap up your day and head to your apartment.
You did all of your closing tasks, cleaning up the floor filled with strings and loose fabric, making sure the already tailored and ready clothes were good to send off to their owners tomorrow, and shutting everything down.
You were in the break room gathering your purse and keys, making sure to shut off the lights.
“Crazy day today, huh.” Marianna giggled, grabbing her purse to follow behind you.
“Tell me about it.” You replied, recalling the moment your childhood best friend stupidly tried to reach out to you. You suddenly realized you forgot to turn off the lights in your office, and turned on your heels.
The bell to your shop rang, signaling that someone opened the front door. You rolled your eyes, because anyone walking in clearly chose to ignore the closed sign. You shut off the lights, only to find a very stunned Marianna, and low and behold.
Michael Joseph Jackson.
“What the fuck.” Were the only words to escape your mouth. He was here, in front of you–staring at you with those doe eyes. Marianna’s mouth hung open, and she almost burst into tears seeing the popstar in real time.
“Holy shit! I-I’m such a big fan! Can I please, please have your autograph?” Marianna screamed, desperately looking for a piece of paper for him to write his signature on.
Michael snapped out of his trance, and grabbed the pen and paper from her.
“S’ no problem at all, h-here.” He said shyly, handing back the slip of paper to the shorter woman, and she ran out of the front door squealing like a little school girl.
“She’s funny.” Michael started.
You were pissed. Not only did he call you like it hasn’t been over years, he comes into your place of work like nothing happened between the two of you. Your sadness turned into anger, and anger turned into tears. You stared at Michael and his bodyguard behind him, and bursted into tears before him.
You stormed outside, slinging your purse on your shoulder. Your tears burned your skin so bad–you just wanted to get home. You heard the door’s bell chime, and heard footsteps chasing after you.
“Wait, please! I just–I just wanna talk to you, angel. Please!” He yelled. The streets were empty, so no one even heard his voice, but this only encouraged you to walk faster.
He didn’t deserve to call you that nickname anymore, and it hurt that it came to this.
Michael began to run, giving Bill a run for his money having to chase after him. He caught up to you, grabbing your shoulder, and your purse made contact with his chest. You didn’t mean to hit him, and he stumbled a bit. He held his stomach, and your instinct was to go in to comfort him.
You dropped your purse, and helped him stand up straight.
“Sorry.” You apologized, dusting off his shirt.
“No, no I deserved that.” He chuckled, grabbing your hand to come back inside your boutique. “Can’t leave without lockin’ the door, silly.” He reminded you, trying to soften the blow about popping up on you like this.
“Yeah, I guess.” You responded dryly, leading the way back into your shop. He let the door close behind him, and you went and locked the door. He sat in one of the chairs, and took a deep breath.
“I just wanna start with an ‘I’m sorry’”, Michael began, fiddling with his fingertips, and picking at a broken nail. “Is there anywhere we can go to talk?” His voice was still soft after these last couple of years, and it made it really hard to say no to him.
“Michael, I’ll give you five minutes. I gotta get home. You demanded, pointing your finger at him.
“That’s all I need, just let me explain. We can even go to your house, if it makes you feel better.”
You thought about it, and something was telling your body to pull away and tell him to get out, but when Michael pleaded, he pleaded. He had his hands together in a praying motion, begging you to hear him out.
“Fine.”
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER
You opened the door of your apartment, your older cat meowing in the distance. You turned on the lights, with Michael and Bill following behind you. Bill sat on your living room couch, and was so tired from running Michael around– that he was dozing off on your sofa. Your cat curled up next to him, purring as she rested her head on his thigh. You led Michael to your room, and sat your purse down.
“Talk, before I change my mind.” You demanded, sending a slight shiver down Michael’s spine. You were never this hostile with him, but under the circumstances, he knew that you had to be. His act was stupid and not like him at all, you were his best friend–and someone he loved more than anything.
“I know you’re mad that I haven’t reached out,” he started, testing the waters and grabbing your hand. You let him, and he used his thumb to rub circles on your knuckles. You looked down at his hand–it was even bigger than it used to be a couple years ago, and your hand seemed half the size of his.
“I was scared, and I’ll admit that I ran from you,” He admits, his voice getting a lot quieter than it was before. “I haven’t had time for anything, and with the tour, I was scared I wouldn’t be able to give you the attention you needed. I thought about you all the time, day and night.”
You examined his face. His cheeks were flushed, and his eyebrows were drooping. He actually looked like he was sad–and that every word he said was true.
“I didn’t wanna give up on us, angel. I just knew I couldn’t take care of you like you deserved.” He looked up at you with his prominent eyes, and you watched as tears formed in his sockets. You stared at him, and fully took his hand. You could hear his breathing stop for a second, his gaze locked onto you with no shame.
A teardrop fell. You knew he was being serious, because they continued to fall. You hadn’t even gotten the chance to retaliate, and the man was already crumbling in your presence. The only thing you could think about in the moment was how he was crying in front of you, and all you saw was the boy you once loved before.
“You’re really sorry?” You asked, taking your thumbs to swipe the tears away.
“I’m so, so sorry, angel. I’ll do anything to make it up to, I swear.” Michael pleaded.
“Anything?” You asked.
“Absolutely anything, yes ma’am.”
“Beg for my forgiveness, then.”
“P-pardon?” He stutters, scratching the back of his neck out of nervousness.
“Get on your knees, Michael. Beg me to give you another chance.” Your voice was firm, and it scared Michael like this.You weren’t like this back then, you honestly did whatever he said. This unlocked something Michael never knew he had in him.
And he dropped to his knees.
“L-like this?” He questioned, looking up at you with his tender eyes. He brought his hands together in a praying position, and began to plead. “Forgive me, honey. I was wrong.”
“More.”
“But,” Michael began.
“Do it for me, Michael. I don’t wanna have t’ ask you again.” You pressed him, lifting his chin up to look at you.
He smirked ever so slightly, and it was like something inside of him lit up. He took your hand from his chin, and planted kisses along the back of your palm. He stared at you while he did it, until he eventually came face to face with you.
“Forgive me, baby. C’mon, angel, please.” He whispered into your ear, leaning into your neck, leaving soft, wet kisses along your collarbone. “Let me show you how sorry I am, beautiful.”
This behavior was unusual for Michael, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy it. It gave your heart this sort of rush, and you could feel your heat pulsing between your legs. He grabbed the back of your neck to deepen his kisses, and you began to lose the plot. You were thinking about where he learned to kiss like this, but knowing him–it was just natural.
“Michael…” You gasped out, when tongue kissed you–hard. It felt like the muscles in your mouth were boxing, and Michael was winning. He walked you to your bed, gently catching your back to lay you down. You grabbed his jaw, practically pushing his face into yours. You spread your legs a little, allowing him to get between them. You felt how big he was through his slacks, and it made your pussy throb at the contact.
“Whatever you need me to do honey, I’ll do it.” He moans out. You're pulling on his shirt at this point, and even though you knew deep down he wasn’t the most confident, he sure was tonight. Luckily for the two of you, Bill passed out on your sofa while he was petting your kitten, and he couldn’t hear a thing.
“Get back on your knees, Michael. I never told you to get up.” You say, pushing him off of your body. You already missed the contact between the two of you–but he needed to give you a proper apology.
You stood up before him, and he fell to his knees again. He was staring at your legs in the shorts you were wearing, the smooth skin calling his name. He glanced at you, and you looked visibly turned on—yet sexually frustrated at the same time.
“Can I take these off, love?” Michael asks politely, but you didn’t answer. “Please?”
That’s all it took. You nodded, and he unbuttoned the buttons of your jean shorts, and unzipped them. He slowly slid them down your body, noticing the damp spot let in the seat of your panties. You had on these cute cotton ones, with a small, dainty bow on the front.
You got shy on him when he started to kiss your upper leg, slowly reaching your heat. Once he got to your panties, he bit down on the side of your panties, and pulled them down with his teeth.
Your panties pooled at your legs, and your pussy started to drip. He watched the wetness escaping to your thighs, and planted a kiss right on a wet spot.
“It tastes so sweet, angel.” He praised, licking at your thighs. He playfully bit at one of them at one point, earning a thump to his forehead.
“Baby… c’mon don’t tease.” You moaned, tugging at his hair.
“This is how I beg. You want me to beg, right?” He was such a fucking tease. You hated how he had you crumbling, when you were the one supposed to be in control.
“Yes—mm. Beg, Michael.” Your breath hitched.
Michael licked a stripe up your clit, and it sent shivers down your entire body. You gripped onto the sheets behind you, and since he had you standing, your legs immediately went limp.
He pushed his tongue further into your heat, and you grabbed his head. You used his head as a sex toy, massaging your pussy with the muscles of his tongue. For someone who never ate any kind of pussy before, he was tearing your shit up.
He was groaning inside of it, slurping every ounce of cum out of your body.
Then he stopped.
“Mikey… why’d you stop, baby?” You groaned, your legs quivering at the disconnection.
“I wanna be inside, my love. Please, baby. Please.” He begged, back on his knees in front of you. He rubbed on your legs, leaving sloppy kisses all the way down to your feet. He was the only man you knew who would treat your body with such love and care, and that was the only reason you were forgiving him right now.
You were scared, though. You hadn’t told Michael that you were still a virgin. You honestly figured he would know what to do, and that he would take over–but truth is, Michael was too. No matter how dirty he talked in your ear, or how sloppy he ate your pussy—he hadn’t had sex with anyone, even after all these years.
“Michael, I got somethin’ to tell you, baby.” You whispered, his eyes looking up at you and standing to approach your face.
“You can always talk to me, angel. Was it too much? I can tone it down a bit, I’m sorry.” He implored, bringing you in close to help comfort you as much as he could. He was so scared of hurting you, and would hate himself if it ever got to that point again.
“No, no… you’re doin’ great, Mikey.” I’m just… I dunno, nervous?” You chuckled, stroking his jaw. He changed so much since you’d seen him a couple of years ago. His jawline was more defined, and you could tell how much he was growing into an adult. He looked so mature— the two of you weren’t teenagers anymore. This was something you two talked about when you were younger, and how “gross” it was, but it was honestly such a beautiful feeling with Michael willing to please you.’
“We don’t have to keep goin’ if you don’t want to, beautiful.” He said, kissing your forehead. He combed through your hair and rubbed circles on your back.
“If it makes you feel better, I haven’t gone all the way before.” Michael said to you, playing with your fingers. It looked like it took everything in him to admit that, and you saw the slight embarrassed expression on his face. You cupped his jaw, and he avoided eye contact with you.
“Me neither.”
The two of you giggled softly, and as the sound of it wore off, it got serious.
“If I’m bein’ honest, I was savin’ myself for you.” Michael confessed.
You thought about all the times you thought about Michael these past couple of years, and no matter how mad he made you, when you watched his performances and saw that face, you couldn’t shake the fact that not only were you still in love with him, you were still very, very attracted to him and his every move. The way he thrusted his hips on stage, the way he danced effortlessly, and sang with so much passion–it made your whole body tingle.
“I’d be lyin’ if I said I wasn’t savin’ myself, too.” You said.
“I’ll try my best to make it worth it then, girl.” Michael sneered, pecking at your lips before fully going in for a deep, loving kiss.
“Do you…keep condoms or anything here?” He asked you, now fully on top of your body, between your legs again.
“No condoms, but–mmm, I’m on the pill.” You moaned out, grabbing at his shoulders.
“We should be good then, right baby?” Michael teased, moving his kisses further down your neck, leaving a small hickey right above your collarbone. Michael was being bold, and you remembered how you still needed to put him in his place.
“Sit against the headboard, Michael.” You demanded, looking into his eyes with pure seduction. HIs eyes were filled with lust, and you saw the tiniest smirk creep on his face.
“Yes ma’am.”
Michael stood up, and slowly let his pants and boxers drop to the floor. He sat against the headboard like you asked, and you slowly took off his plain white t-shirt, exposing his chest. You could tell he was a little nervous about the whole situation, because he wrapped his arms on his chest, hiding himself from you in a way. His body was gorgeous, and you wanted to kiss every single inch of him if you knew it would make him feel better about himself.
You put his hands down and placed a kiss on his cheek, and proceeded to do what you needed to do, and that was to please the both of you.
Your panties were already down from earlier, and the cool air still left shivers on your heat. You arched your back a little, tugging at his blue jeans. You pulled them down along with his boxers, and threw them off your bed and onto your hardwood floor. You straddled him, and he automatically rested his hands on your hips. Before you slid his cock inside, you just wanted to take a chance to admire him. You looked at his face, and smiled. You missed having him around, even if it meant holding a tiny grudge for a while.
You knew it would wear off soon.
You kissed his forehead, and touched his shaft. He shivered immediately, his face scrunching at the contact.
“You okay, Mikey?” You asked, your voice laced with enticement. He tried to keep himself together, but you could see how easily he would be able to collapse under your grasp.
“Mhm.. jus’--it feels good.” Michael murmured, rubbing along the fat of your ass as you teased him. You saw how hard he was, and by the looks of it, you were in for it. Michael was sitting at a mean nine, and having no prior experience, you were nervous as hell. Of course you knew how to pleasure yourself, but that was nothing compared to what he had attached to him.
You gently stroked him, watching as he closed his eyes to focus on the pleasure. His grip on your ass was firmer, and you couldn’t hold back the quiet moan that escaped your mouth when you felt his soft hands rub on it.
“You ready, handsome?” You tittered, your laugh barely above a whisper.
Michael nodded his head, his eyebrows furrowing a little. He was so turned on.
You took a deep breath, lifted your hips, and grabbed at his dick. You slowly inserted the length inside yourself, and the connecting between the two of you felt like heaven. You were slow at putting it inside at first, simply because of the stretch. It was uncomfortable at first, but when Michael held onto you like he did, you had faith in yourself.
“Aghh…mm. Shit, mama.” Michael groaned, slightly thrusting his hips, trying to get every inch of himself inside your body. He wanted to do nothing but be intertwined with you, feeling every centimeter of your walls around his shaft.
You threw your head back at the feeling, and Michael buried his head in your chest. He was so overwhelmed with the sensation of thrusting inside of your body, feeling like he was as close as he could get with you.
You rocked back and forth against him, shuddering at the many, many, foreign inches inside of your pussy. You both were chasing your high, the sound of your skin and ass slapping against his hips–it was sexy, honestly.
“This… nghhh, mm–fuck. You are so… so worth it, girl. Feels s’ good.” He cried out, as he latched his mouth to your left breast. He took his hand and massaged your right one, leaving you a wet, moaning mess.
“Tell me you’re–fuck, sorry again, Michael… Nd’ maybe I’ll let you to cum.” You say, gazing at him. Your eyes were low, and you didn’t need a mirror to know you looked fucked out. Michael was destroying you, but you needed to maintain your power. He whimpered at your demands, and stared at you with those puppy dog eyes that you loved so much.
“I’m so sorry, baby. Shit… baby, I promise. Y’ gonna make me cum talkin’ like that.” He cried out once again, squeezing his eyes shut.
Then you saw them.
The tears started back up in Michael’s eyes. These tears weren’t from sadness though, they were from ecstacy. You felt so good taking him, that it brought him to tears, and you found it to be the cutest thing you’ve ever seen.
“That good, huh, baby?” Your voice was laced with a condescending tone, and you took his hands from off of your hips. You held them tightly, and sped up your pace on his lap. You were holding back on how loud you wanted to be, in fear of letting Michael think you weren’t in control anymore.
His whimpers grew louder and louder, and the sounds made by the two of you gradually got more aggressive. You were bouncing on him at this point, and you both were slowly reaching your climaxes.
“I’ll never… ever leave you again, angel. Oh God, baby…mm. Gonna cum.” He continued to groan in your ear, and he squeezed your hand tighter. You never thought in a million years that you’d be in this position, holding hands with the one you loved while he pummeled you with a cock so long it damn near reached your cervix.
A couple seconds later, you felt your stomach twist into knots. You and Michael went silent, focused on keeping the rhythm so you two could cum together, and it worked better than expected. You were so lucky that you were consistent with your birth control, because Michael made no efforts at pulling out. He let all of him spill inside of you, and the uncontrollable shaking of your legs was enough for him to bring you in and hold you.
TEN MINUTES LATER
“I feel so embarrassed, crying like that,” Michael started, letting out a dry chuckle. It had been a couple minutes since the two of you came, and he held you close to him while he brushed through the locks of your hair. Just like most say, the “after-fuck” glow was real. Michael seemed so much shinier, and his afro was the slightest bit frizzy. Even then, he was breathtaking.
“Why, baby? You couldn’t tell I was into it? It made it better.” You reassured, rubbing on his bare chest.
“The feelin’ was so indescribable, I guess it just brought me to tears,” He admitted, while yawning at the same time. “I jus’ really hope Bill didn’t hear us.”
The two of you laughed, because Bill had been fast asleep for the longest. You could hear his loud, bear-like snores in your living room, which was fine with you. He better have got comfortable, because Michael was staying with you for the night. You didn’t want him leaving your side right now, and deep down you knew he didn’t want to lose sight of you again.
You made sure of it.
“I’m gonna make up for all the time I cost you, love.” Michael tells you, kissing your temple.
“You better.” You said laughing, melting into his arms.
“It’s crazy, because I sent you letters not even knowin’ you moved here. Thought you were gonna be at your mother’s house forever.” He joked, earning a soft punch to his forearm.
You rolled your eyes and got back comfortable, your body slowly going limp.
Then he started.
“Ben, the two of need look no more,”
“We both found what we were lookin’ for…”
You were drifting off to sleep, while you listened to his soft voice sing. It felt like old times again, and having the man you loved so much back in your life, meant you could feel brand new for new good. You knew he had a lot more to make up to you–but this was a start.
، summary𓈒 During the WMA (World Music Awards) in 1996, Diana dirty ass sat in your man’s lap and you obviously caught an attitude about it because Michael ate that shit right up.
، pairing𓈒 michael jackson x hip-hop artist!black reader
، warnings𓈒 Diana dirty ass, no use of y/n, praise, Michael’s obliviousness, oral sex (f receiving obviously), slightly dom!reader for a good lil second.
، notes𓈒 literally love this man downnn but I hate writing moaning dialogues...that shit blows me ngl. And i did proofread, so yeah...Enjoy.
The backstage chaos of the 1996 World Music Awards in Monte Carlo was a dizzying blur of flashing cameras, and towering security guards. The energy in the Salle des Étoiles was suffocatingly thick with the scent of expensive champagne, heavy perfumes, and just pure raw adrenaline.
You were currently leaning back in a plush leather chair in your private dressing room, trying to let your wardrobe team finish the final touches on your look. As one of the top tier hip hop and R&B artists dominating the charts, the pressure tonight was immense. You had a massive, high energy performance scheduled, and the stakes were sky high and you had ended up doing your thing– yada yada yada. Your performance had the entire arena on their feet, Michael Jackson being your number one hype man, cementing exactly why you were the definitive leading lady of the charts. You had already walked up to that podium three times to accept your own trophies, looking absolutely stunning, speaking your mind, and representing for the culture on a global stage.
But honestly? Your mind wasn't even entirely on your set. It was on your man.
Michael was having a historic, earth shattering night. You had watched from the wings earlier as he took the stage for "Earth Song," delivering a performance so visually stunning and spiritually devastating that it left half the venue in tears. And then came the sweep. The man was practically clearing out the trophy room. One by one, he took home five record-breaking awards: World's Best-Selling Male Pop Artist, World's Best-Selling Male R&B Artist, World's Best-Selling American Male Recording Artist, World's Overall Best-Selling Male Recording Artist, and the holy grail— World's Best-Selling Record of All-Time for Thriller. You had been beaming, clapping until your hands were raw, so incredibly proud of him.
Until the seating arrangements played you.
Because of protocol and the intense media glare, you couldn't sit directly next to Michael during the broadcast. Instead, you were positioned just a few rows back, keeping up professional appearances. That gave you a front row seat to the exact moment she, Diana Ross, had done a whole tribute, looking every bit the legendary diva she was. But as she started singing "Ain't No Mountain High Enough," she decided to take the performance off the stage and into the audience. You watched, your face instantly freezing into a mask of pure, unadulterated composure, as Diana made a straight beeline for Michael’s front-row seat.
Before anyone could even blink, she dropped her tomato looking ass right down onto Michael’s lap.
And Michael? Oh, he ate that shit right the fuck up.
Your chest tightened, a hot flash of pure irritation hitting your bloodstream. Diana Ross or not, she is sitting on my man's lap. It felt deeply disrespectful, and under normal circumstances, you didn't play those types of games. At all. You didn't care about the history, you didn't care about the "mentor" title. Every instinct in your body wanted to roll your eyes, break character, and let the attitude show. But you knew the cameras were scanning the crowd for a reaction. You knew the media would love nothing more than to create a certain narrative about the young R&B queen being pressed. So, you held your composure like the absolute professional you were. You kept your spine straight, your chin up, and a polite, completely blank expression on your face, but internally, the ledger was marked. Michael was going to have some explaining to do because Instead of being surprised or pulling back like a man who knew his woman was sitting three rows behind him, a massive, brilliant smile split his face. He let out that high pitched, breathless giggle, his eyes crinkling up as he wrapped his long arms tightly around Diana's waist, hugging her close while she sang right into his face. He was swaying with her, looking completely charmed, totally lost in the moment. Behind him, your jaw tightened just a fraction, your fingers digging into the fabric of your designer gown. Like; Bitch, I will slap you right here in Monaco. I don't give a fuck if the whole world watching.
The second the curtain closed on the final bows, because yes Diana’s dirty ass was last, Michael ended up being surrounded by a wall of people, his five awards being carried in his hands. The area outside was a chaotic zoo of security, executives, and photographers, wanting to get pictures of the man. His schedule was supposed to be brutal; his security team had a private jet fueled and waiting to fly him straight back to the states so he could return to the set of his Ghosts film project. And you were supposed to fly back to Los Angeles separately because of that but you didn't care about Ghosts right now. You just wanted to get back to your hotel suite, rip this tight dress off, and breathe.
But Michael knew you. And more importantly, he had caught your eye from across the room right after the Diana incident while you were taking pictures with your trophies. He saw that brief, icy look in your gaze beneath your beautiful smile, and he knew he wasn't going anywhere near a film set tonight until things were right between you.
He blew off his itinerary, ordered his security to redirect his transport, and slipped completely under the radar to your private luxury hotel suite overlooking the Mediterranean Sea.
When the knock came at your door around two hours later, you already knew who it was. You opened the door, still wearing your glamorous makeup having traded your gown for a silk robe. You leaned against the doorframe, crossing your arms, staring at him.
Michael stood there still partially in his stage attire, his dark hair framing his face, looking a little nervous. He didn't have his usual entourage; he had slipped away with just Bill keeping watch down the hall.
"Hey," he said softly, his voice a tentative, breathy murmur.
"Hey," you replied, keeping your tone flat, cool, and entirely unbothered. "Thought you were supposed to be on a flight back to the Ghosts set, superstar. Five awards wasn't enough? You trying to get fired from your own film?"
Michael winced slightly, stepping past you into the dimly lit, lavish suite as you closed the door. "I canceled the flight for tonight. I pushed the shoot back two days."
"Oh, really?" You walked over to the wet bar, pouring yourself a glass of wine, your silk robe whispering against your thighs. "Why would you do that?"
Michael followed you, his long strides closing the distance until he was standing right behind you. The heat radiating off his body was immense, still carrying that electric, post-performance energy. "Because I saw your face tonight. And I know you're mad at me."
You turned around slowly, leaning your lower back against the bar, looking up into his dark, apologetic eyes. "Mad? Why would I be mad, Mike? You won five awards. Diana Ross gave you a whole lap dance on international television. Looked like you were having the time of your life."
"It wasn't a lap dance," he protested quickly, a small, high pitched giggle of pure nervousness escaping him before he caught himself. He stepped closer, trapping you between his arms as he rested his hands on the bar on either side of your hips. "You know how Diana is. She’s...she’s like family, she’s always done theatrical things like that. It’s just show business, baby. I didn't invite her to do that, I swear."
"I don't care who she is," you said, your words slipping out heavy and sharp now that you were behind closed doors. "Family or not, that's my lap she was sitting on. And you sat there all smiles and shit, letting her sing in your face in front of all the cameras. It looked crazy, Michael. And you know I don't play them messy-ass games."
"I know. I know you don't," he murmured, his demeanor shifting instantly from defensive to entirely submissive, his voice dropping into that deep, gravelly register he only used when said cameras were gone. He leaned down, his face inches from yours, his dark eyes locked onto your lips. "I hated it too, because all I wanted was you sitting there. I didn't want anybody else touching me. I was thinking about you the whole night."
"Mm-hmm," you huffed, trying to look away, but Michael reached up, his large, slender hand cupping your jaw, his thumb gently forcing your chin back up.
"Look at me," he whispered, his grip firm but incredibly tender. "I skipped my flight for you. I don't care about the film right now. I don't care about the awards. I came here to make it up to my girl. Let me make it up to you."
The intense, burning sincerity in his eyes began to melt your resolve. You let out a long, ragged sigh, your shoulders dropping. "I didn’t ask you to do any of that."
"I know," he breathed, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss against your lips. "I'm sorry. Let me fix it."
He didn't give you a chance to answer. He captured your mouth in a deep, hungry kiss that tasted like the raw, pent up adrenaline of the entire evening. He swirled his tongue against yours, pulling a soft moan from your throat as his other hand reached out, trying to grab your hand, but you pulled away, when your nose filled with the scent of heavy, shitty, old lady perfume causing your face to scrunch up in disgust. You put a hand on his chest, gently but firmly pushing hum away. "I can fucking smell her on you!" you snapped, your eyes locking onto his now wide ones. "Gosh! She knew exactly what she was doing. You a grown man, Michael. You know better. You supposed to be my man, but tonight you looked like her fucking fanboy. I’m sitting three rows back watching you hold another woman tightly around the waist while she all up in your face? No. We don't play that."
"I know, I know, you're right," Michael rushed out, steping closer, completely disregarding your personal space. He looked up at you through his eyelashes, his dark eyes wide and pleading. "I should have been more mindful. I was just caught up in the excitement of the night…the awards, the energy…I wasn't thinking. I'm so sorry, baby. Please look at me."
"No," you muttered, turning your back to him again. "Don't you got a film to shoot?"
"I just told you I don’t care about the shoot," he said firmly, his voice suddenly shifting, losing that timid edge. His large, slender hands came around your waist from behind. He pulled your back firmly against his chest, his grip tight and unyielding. You tried to twist out of his hold, but Michael was surprisingly strong when he wanted to be, especially when his adrenaline was pumping. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, his hot breath fanning against your skin.
"I'm not going anywhere," he whispered, his voice gravelly and deep against your ear. "I don't care about the set right now. I care about my girl. I'm not leaving this room until you know that you're the only one I want. The only one."
"Michael, stop," you grumbled, though your heart did a traitorous little flip at the sheer weight of his body pressing into yours. "You think you can just smooth this over?"
"I'm gonna try," he murmured, his lips pressing a slow, heavy kiss right against your jawline, his hands sliding down the silk of your robe to grip your hips, pulling you flush against him. "I'm gonna make it up to you all night…"
You just stared off into space, all dead eyed, while his lips grazed your neck. He really thought this was gonna erase everything that happened, having the audacity to try to charm his way out of the doghouse after being dead wrong.
"Get your hands off me, Michael, for real," you snapped, twisting your torso sharply until his grip broke. You stepped a foot away from him, your eyes flashing with absolute fire as you looked him up and down. "I just told you I can smell that heavy ass perfume she wears all over you, it’s making me sick to my stomach, and then you gonna move closer. Like what the fuck..."
Michael’s face fell instantly, a flash of hurt and panic crossing his features as he stepped back, completely reluctant but listening to the sheer authority in your voice. He let his arms drop to his sides, looking at you with a heavy, lost expression, completely misinterpreting the ice in your demeanor. He truly thought you were done with him for the night, that this situation had crossed a line he couldn't repair, and with a slow, defeated sigh, he turned on his heel and began to walk toward the double doors of the suite.
But…was it really that serious? It was...but you were sitting there thinking you could get some kind of lick off this - literally. You bit your lip and sucked your teeth before you even let a word slip.
"I didn't tell you to leave," you called out, stopping him dead in his tracks before he could take more than three steps. "I told you to get your hands off me."
Michael froze, his back still turned to you, his shoulders rising and falling with a tense, heavy breath as the shift in the room's energy hit him. You didn't say another word, letting the silence stretch out agonizingly as you deliberately leaned your backside against the edge of the mahogany wet bar, swirling the remaining white wine in your glass before tilting your head back and downing the rest of the alcohol in one smooth swallow.
You set the empty glass down on the counter with a sharp, echoing clink, locked your eyes onto the back of his head, and said, "Get on your knees and eat my pussy."
The raw, unfiltered command hung heavily in the air, thick with your attitude and an undeniable, intoxicating power. Slowly, Michael turned back around, his eyes incredibly dark, heavy lidded with a sudden, raging heat as he took in the sight of you draped against the bar. He didn't say a single word. He just began walking back toward you, his strides slow, deliberate, and entirely focused, his gaze locked hungrily onto your face as the space between you evaporated.
When he finally reached you, his towering frame casting a shadow over yours, he leaned his face down, his lips parted as he instinctively reached for your mouth to soften the tension with a deep, apologetic kiss. But you wasn't about to make it that easy for him; you quickly turned your head to the side at the very last second, causing his lips to land firmly against your flushed cheek instead.
A low, vibrating chuckle rumbled deep in Michael’s chest, his warm breath tickling your ear as he let out that raspy, quiet laugh because sometimes, when you got full of attitude and try to play tough, he just found it incredibly endearing. But your playful boundaries snapped instantly; you turned your head just enough to press a hard, bruising kiss right against the pulsing vein of his neck, before your hand flew up, your fingers wrapping around his shoulder in a fierce, unyielding grip that dug directly into his muscle. You used your entire weight to push him downward, and the second he felt the true intensity of your demand, the laughter completely died, his knees buckling instantly as he let you drive him straight down to the floor.
Michael went down without a single shred of resistance, landing heavily on his knees, because he was used to that, right between your thighs, his face now perfectly level with your waist. He reached up with large hands, parting the silk of your robe with a slow, reverent urgency until the fabric fell away from your hips, exposing your bare, smooth dark skin to the cool air of the suite. He didn't hesitate for a single second. He leaned his face entirely in between your legs, his hot breath fanning across your inner thighs just a beat before his tongue made direct, wet contact with the warmth of your pussy.
A sharp, breathless whine caught in your throat, your fingers instantly tightening around that same shoulder as he began to devour you. Michael didn't say a word, entirely focused on making up for every single second of the night’s disrespect with the sheer devotion of his mouth. He started with long, broad, agonizingly wet strokes from the bottom of your opening all the way up to your clit, his tongue working with a heavy, expert pressure that had your hips instantly jerking forward against his face and your jaw hanging as you released breathless moans.
The contrast of his soft, pristine image with the absolute, filthy hunger of how he was eating you out was driving you completely insane. He used his large hands to grip the undersides of your thighs, lifting your legs slightly and pinning them against his chest to open you up even wider, burying his nose and lips entirely into your slickness. You let out a high pitched, breathless squeal, your back arching off the bar counter as his tongue shifted into a frantic, swirling rhythm right around your sweetest spot. He sucked on your clit, pulling it into his mouth with a steady, torturous suction that made your knees wobble, your words slipping out in a string of broken, needy stammers as you begged him not to stop. "Oh, Michael...right ther- don't stop, please, baby…”
Michael only sucked harder, his hands squeezing your thighs so tightly his fingers left fading marks on your dark skin. He was completely relentless, swallowing down every single drop of your slickness, his breathing coming in heavy, muffled sounds against your skin as the scent of your arousal completely replaced whatever lingering perfume had been in the air before. He slid two of his long fingers deep inside you, pumping them in a fast rhythm that matched the frantic motion of his tongue, stretching you open and filling you up until you were a completely ruined, whimpering mess in his grasp.
You could feel the swell of your orgasm building like a tidal wave in the center of your stomach, your hands fiercely pulling at the collar of his shirt as your hips rolled helplessly against his mouth, entirely at the mercy of the silent, hungry wrecking ball on his knees before you. But Michael still wasn’t satisfied with how close he was. He wanted all of you. He wanted to bury himself so deep in your warmth that you couldn't tell where your body ended and his mouth began. Michael took his fingers out of your pussy and slid his hands from the undersides of your thighs down to your calves to grip them. In one smooth motion, he lifted your legs completely off the floor and hoisted them up, draping your knees heavily over his broad shoulders. The shift was instant and completely overwhelming; you were practically sitting right on top of his shoulders now, your pelvis tilted completely upward and thrust forward, leaving you entirely exposed and utterly helpless under his gaze.
A loud, high pitched shriek tore from your throat, your hands frantically reaching backward to grip the edge of the mahogany bar just to keep from falling completely over. "Oh my god, Michael—yes!" you panted, your head rolling back as the cool wood of the counter dug into your lower back.
Michael didn't give you a single second to adjust to the intensity of the angle. He brought his massive, slender hands down, wrapping his fingers completely around the thickest part of your thighs. He squeezed his grip until his knuckles turned white, digging his fingers into your dark skin with possessive strength. Using that iron grip for pure leverage, he braced his weight and shoved his entire face forward, pinning back your hips heavily against the hard edge of the bar, anchoring you so he could drive his face even deeper into your heat and so you couldn't flinch away from him even an inch.
"Yes, Michael…ah, right there, Mike, don't stop!" you panted, your words dissolving into raw, breathless stammers as his tongue struck that exact, agonizingly perfect sweet spot with an unyielding, frantic pressure. "Right there! Oh my gosh, you got it…just like that!"
Michael didn't need to be told twice. He devoured you with a primal, silent ferocity, completely deaf to anything but the wet, heavy sounds of his mouth working against your skin and the high pitched, needy whimpers escaping your lips. He sucked your clit into his mouth, his tongue swirling and flattening against you in a rhythmic, torturous pace while he brought his hand back so his long fingers could pump deep inside you, curling upward to hit you from the inside out. The double texturing of his tongue and fingers was entirely too much. Your hips began to jerk violently against his face, your toes curling in the air as the heat in your stomach continue to coil into a tight, unbearable knot.
"Yes, Michael, yes!" you whined, your eyes squeezed shut as your hips jerked involuntarily against his face. Your voice breathless, completely stripped of all that ice and attitude you’d had just minutes before. "Fuck! Yes!"
Michael didn't make a sound. The only response you got back was the tight, bruising squeeze of his hand on your thigh, anchoring you in place as he sucked your clit completely into his mouth while his fingers still pumped inside of you. He began to draw on it with a steady, deep suction, his tongue swirling fiercely around the head until your entire lower body went completely rigid. You were entirely trapped, your legs pinned over his shoulders while he literally drank from you, his nose inhaling the sharp, intoxicating scent of your arousal.
He slid another one of his of his long, smooth fingers straight back inside you, now pumping three of them deep and fast, his knuckles rubbing against your opening with a slick, heavy friction that matched the wild pace of his tongue. He was stretching you open, driving his fingers in to the absolute hilt, making a heavy, squelching sound that had your face burning with pure heat. You were a complete mess, your fingers clawing at the smooth wood of the bar behind you, as the pleasure built up so high it felt like static behind your eyes.
"Michael, please...I'm gonna- I'm about to..." you gasped out, your chest heaving as a heavy shudder ran straight down your spine. You tried to pull back, just an inch, just to breathe, but his grip on your thigh was an absolute vice, forcing you to take every single bit of the pleasure he was throwing at you. The wave crashed over you with a sudden, violent force. Your entire body went rigid, your back arching away from the bar as you completely camw right on his face, your walls clamping down on his fingers in an intense, pulsing sequence of release. You were soaking him, your slickness pouring out in a heavy rush that he eagerly swallowed down, his tongue never stalling, not even when your knees began to shake violently, his strong hands keeping your legs spread wide as he drank you in, proving to you with every single wet, heavy stroke that nobody else on that earth could ever hold a candle to how he loved you. You grind heavily through the entire duration of your climax until you were a completely trembling, vocal mess.
For a long, quiet minute, the only sound in the room was your ragged, shallow breathing. Michael slowly slid his fingers out of you and your legs off his shoulders, letting your feet find the floor, though your knees immediately buckled the second you tried to bear your own weight.
He caught you instantly. Rising from his knees, his face glistening in the dim light with the evidence of how well he’d just taken care of you, Michael slid his long arm around your waist. He held you up against his chest, completely bearing your weight because your legs were shaking so you couldn't have stood on your own if your life depended on it.
Still keeping his silence, he reached out with his other arm, grabbing a clean glass and the open bottle from the wet bar you were leaning against. He poured himself a slow drink. He took a slow sip, his throat bobbing, before setting the glass down, his eyes never leaving your flushed, exhausted face
That energy of his melted away, replaced by the deep, gentle adoration he always held for you. He then wrapped both arms around you securely, tucking your head underneath his chin as you leaned heavily into his warmth, your silk robe hanging loosely off your shoulders. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss directly to the crown of your head, his chest rising and falling against yours in a steady, calming rhythm, though yours was the complete opposite.
"I've got you," he whispered into your hair, his voice a soft, soothing melody of sweet nothings as he rubbed comfort into your lower back, walking you both to the bathroom to clean up. "I've got you, baby. You good. You're so good to me...I love you so much."
، summary𓈒 During the WMA (World Music Awards) in 1996, Diana dirty ass sat in your man’s lap and you obviously caught an attitude about it because Michael ate that shit right up.
، pairing𓈒 michael jackson x hip-hop artist!black reader
، warnings𓈒 Diana dirty ass, no use of y/n, praise, Michael’s obliviousness, oral sex (f receiving obviously), slightly dom!reader for a good lil second.
، notes𓈒 literally love this man downnn but I hate writing moaning dialogues...that shit blows me ngl. And i did proofread, so yeah...Enjoy.
The backstage chaos of the 1996 World Music Awards in Monte Carlo was a dizzying blur of flashing cameras, and towering security guards. The energy in the Salle des Étoiles was suffocatingly thick with the scent of expensive champagne, heavy perfumes, and just pure raw adrenaline.
You were currently leaning back in a plush leather chair in your private dressing room, trying to let your wardrobe team finish the final touches on your look. As one of the top tier hip hop and R&B artists dominating the charts, the pressure tonight was immense. You had a massive, high energy performance scheduled, and the stakes were sky high and you had ended up doing your thing– yada yada yada. Your performance had the entire arena on their feet, Michael Jackson being your number one hype man, cementing exactly why you were the definitive leading lady of the charts. You had already walked up to that podium three times to accept your own trophies, looking absolutely stunning, speaking your mind, and representing for the culture on a global stage.
But honestly? Your mind wasn't even entirely on your set. It was on your man.
Michael was having a historic, earth shattering night. You had watched from the wings earlier as he took the stage for "Earth Song," delivering a performance so visually stunning and spiritually devastating that it left half the venue in tears. And then came the sweep. The man was practically clearing out the trophy room. One by one, he took home five record-breaking awards: World's Best-Selling Male Pop Artist, World's Best-Selling Male R&B Artist, World's Best-Selling American Male Recording Artist, World's Overall Best-Selling Male Recording Artist, and the holy grail— World's Best-Selling Record of All-Time for Thriller. You had been beaming, clapping until your hands were raw, so incredibly proud of him.
Until the seating arrangements played you.
Because of protocol and the intense media glare, you couldn't sit directly next to Michael during the broadcast. Instead, you were positioned just a few rows back, keeping up professional appearances. That gave you a front row seat to the exact moment she, Diana Ross, had done a whole tribute, looking every bit the legendary diva she was. But as she started singing "Ain't No Mountain High Enough," she decided to take the performance off the stage and into the audience. You watched, your face instantly freezing into a mask of pure, unadulterated composure, as Diana made a straight beeline for Michael’s front-row seat.
Before anyone could even blink, she dropped her tomato looking ass right down onto Michael’s lap.
And Michael? Oh, he ate that shit right the fuck up.
Your chest tightened, a hot flash of pure irritation hitting your bloodstream. Diana Ross or not, she is sitting on my man's lap. It felt deeply disrespectful, and under normal circumstances, you didn't play those types of games. At all. You didn't care about the history, you didn't care about the "mentor" title. Every instinct in your body wanted to roll your eyes, break character, and let the attitude show. But you knew the cameras were scanning the crowd for a reaction. You knew the media would love nothing more than to create a certain narrative about the young R&B queen being pressed. So, you held your composure like the absolute professional you were. You kept your spine straight, your chin up, and a polite, completely blank expression on your face, but internally, the ledger was marked. Michael was going to have some explaining to do because Instead of being surprised or pulling back like a man who knew his woman was sitting three rows behind him, a massive, brilliant smile split his face. He let out that high pitched, breathless giggle, his eyes crinkling up as he wrapped his long arms tightly around Diana's waist, hugging her close while she sang right into his face. He was swaying with her, looking completely charmed, totally lost in the moment. Behind him, your jaw tightened just a fraction, your fingers digging into the fabric of your designer gown. Like; Bitch, I will slap you right here in Monaco. I don't give a fuck if the whole world watching.
The second the curtain closed on the final bows, because yes Diana’s dirty ass was last, Michael ended up being surrounded by a wall of people, his five awards being carried in his hands. The area outside was a chaotic zoo of security, executives, and photographers, wanting to get pictures of the man. His schedule was supposed to be brutal; his security team had a private jet fueled and waiting to fly him straight back to the states so he could return to the set of his Ghosts film project. And you were supposed to fly back to Los Angeles separately because of that but you didn't care about Ghosts right now. You just wanted to get back to your hotel suite, rip this tight dress off, and breathe.
But Michael knew you. And more importantly, he had caught your eye from across the room right after the Diana incident while you were taking pictures with your trophies. He saw that brief, icy look in your gaze beneath your beautiful smile, and he knew he wasn't going anywhere near a film set tonight until things were right between you.
He blew off his itinerary, ordered his security to redirect his transport, and slipped completely under the radar to your private luxury hotel suite overlooking the Mediterranean Sea.
When the knock came at your door around two hours later, you already knew who it was. You opened the door, still wearing your glamorous makeup having traded your gown for a silk robe. You leaned against the doorframe, crossing your arms, staring at him.
Michael stood there still partially in his stage attire, his dark hair framing his face, looking a little nervous. He didn't have his usual entourage; he had slipped away with just Bill keeping watch down the hall.
"Hey," he said softly, his voice a tentative, breathy murmur.
"Hey," you replied, keeping your tone flat, cool, and entirely unbothered. "Thought you were supposed to be on a flight back to the Ghosts set, superstar. Five awards wasn't enough? You trying to get fired from your own film?"
Michael winced slightly, stepping past you into the dimly lit, lavish suite as you closed the door. "I canceled the flight for tonight. I pushed the shoot back two days."
"Oh, really?" You walked over to the wet bar, pouring yourself a glass of wine, your silk robe whispering against your thighs. "Why would you do that?"
Michael followed you, his long strides closing the distance until he was standing right behind you. The heat radiating off his body was immense, still carrying that electric, post-performance energy. "Because I saw your face tonight. And I know you're mad at me."
You turned around slowly, leaning your lower back against the bar, looking up into his dark, apologetic eyes. "Mad? Why would I be mad, Mike? You won five awards. Diana Ross gave you a whole lap dance on international television. Looked like you were having the time of your life."
"It wasn't a lap dance," he protested quickly, a small, high pitched giggle of pure nervousness escaping him before he caught himself. He stepped closer, trapping you between his arms as he rested his hands on the bar on either side of your hips. "You know how Diana is. She’s...she’s like family, she’s always done theatrical things like that. It’s just show business, baby. I didn't invite her to do that, I swear."
"I don't care who she is," you said, your words slipping out heavy and sharp now that you were behind closed doors. "Family or not, that's my lap she was sitting on. And you sat there all smiles and shit, letting her sing in your face in front of all the cameras. It looked crazy, Michael. And you know I don't play them messy-ass games."
"I know. I know you don't," he murmured, his demeanor shifting instantly from defensive to entirely submissive, his voice dropping into that deep, gravelly register he only used when said cameras were gone. He leaned down, his face inches from yours, his dark eyes locked onto your lips. "I hated it too, because all I wanted was you sitting there. I didn't want anybody else touching me. I was thinking about you the whole night."
"Mm-hmm," you huffed, trying to look away, but Michael reached up, his large, slender hand cupping your jaw, his thumb gently forcing your chin back up.
"Look at me," he whispered, his grip firm but incredibly tender. "I skipped my flight for you. I don't care about the film right now. I don't care about the awards. I came here to make it up to my girl. Let me make it up to you."
The intense, burning sincerity in his eyes began to melt your resolve. You let out a long, ragged sigh, your shoulders dropping. "I didn’t ask you to do any of that."
"I know," he breathed, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss against your lips. "I'm sorry. Let me fix it."
He didn't give you a chance to answer. He captured your mouth in a deep, hungry kiss that tasted like the raw, pent up adrenaline of the entire evening. He swirled his tongue against yours, pulling a soft moan from your throat as his other hand reached out, trying to grab your hand, but you pulled away, when your nose filled with the scent of heavy, shitty, old lady perfume causing your face to scrunch up in disgust. You put a hand on his chest, gently but firmly pushing hum away. "I can fucking smell her on you!" you snapped, your eyes locking onto his now wide ones. "Gosh! She knew exactly what she was doing. You a grown man, Michael. You know better. You supposed to be my man, but tonight you looked like her fucking fanboy. I’m sitting three rows back watching you hold another woman tightly around the waist while she all up in your face? No. We don't play that."
"I know, I know, you're right," Michael rushed out, steping closer, completely disregarding your personal space. He looked up at you through his eyelashes, his dark eyes wide and pleading. "I should have been more mindful. I was just caught up in the excitement of the night…the awards, the energy…I wasn't thinking. I'm so sorry, baby. Please look at me."
"No," you muttered, turning your back to him again. "Don't you got a film to shoot?"
"I just told you I don’t care about the shoot," he said firmly, his voice suddenly shifting, losing that timid edge. His large, slender hands came around your waist from behind. He pulled your back firmly against his chest, his grip tight and unyielding. You tried to twist out of his hold, but Michael was surprisingly strong when he wanted to be, especially when his adrenaline was pumping. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, his hot breath fanning against your skin.
"I'm not going anywhere," he whispered, his voice gravelly and deep against your ear. "I don't care about the set right now. I care about my girl. I'm not leaving this room until you know that you're the only one I want. The only one."
"Michael, stop," you grumbled, though your heart did a traitorous little flip at the sheer weight of his body pressing into yours. "You think you can just smooth this over?"
"I'm gonna try," he murmured, his lips pressing a slow, heavy kiss right against your jawline, his hands sliding down the silk of your robe to grip your hips, pulling you flush against him. "I'm gonna make it up to you all night…"
You just stared off into space, all dead eyed, while his lips grazed your neck. He really thought this was gonna erase everything that happened, having the audacity to try to charm his way out of the doghouse after being dead wrong.
"Get your hands off me, Michael, for real," you snapped, twisting your torso sharply until his grip broke. You stepped a foot away from him, your eyes flashing with absolute fire as you looked him up and down. "I just told you I can smell that heavy ass perfume she wears all over you, it’s making me sick to my stomach, and then you gonna move closer. Like what the fuck..."
Michael’s face fell instantly, a flash of hurt and panic crossing his features as he stepped back, completely reluctant but listening to the sheer authority in your voice. He let his arms drop to his sides, looking at you with a heavy, lost expression, completely misinterpreting the ice in your demeanor. He truly thought you were done with him for the night, that this situation had crossed a line he couldn't repair, and with a slow, defeated sigh, he turned on his heel and began to walk toward the double doors of the suite.
But…was it really that serious? It was...but you were sitting there thinking you could get some kind of lick off this - literally. You bit your lip and sucked your teeth before you even let a word slip.
"I didn't tell you to leave," you called out, stopping him dead in his tracks before he could take more than three steps. "I told you to get your hands off me."
Michael froze, his back still turned to you, his shoulders rising and falling with a tense, heavy breath as the shift in the room's energy hit him. You didn't say another word, letting the silence stretch out agonizingly as you deliberately leaned your backside against the edge of the mahogany wet bar, swirling the remaining white wine in your glass before tilting your head back and downing the rest of the alcohol in one smooth swallow.
You set the empty glass down on the counter with a sharp, echoing clink, locked your eyes onto the back of his head, and said, "Get on your knees and eat my pussy."
The raw, unfiltered command hung heavily in the air, thick with your attitude and an undeniable, intoxicating power. Slowly, Michael turned back around, his eyes incredibly dark, heavy lidded with a sudden, raging heat as he took in the sight of you draped against the bar. He didn't say a single word. He just began walking back toward you, his strides slow, deliberate, and entirely focused, his gaze locked hungrily onto your face as the space between you evaporated.
When he finally reached you, his towering frame casting a shadow over yours, he leaned his face down, his lips parted as he instinctively reached for your mouth to soften the tension with a deep, apologetic kiss. But you wasn't about to make it that easy for him; you quickly turned your head to the side at the very last second, causing his lips to land firmly against your flushed cheek instead.
A low, vibrating chuckle rumbled deep in Michael’s chest, his warm breath tickling your ear as he let out that raspy, quiet laugh because sometimes, when you got full of attitude and try to play tough, he just found it incredibly endearing. But your playful boundaries snapped instantly; you turned your head just enough to press a hard, bruising kiss right against the pulsing vein of his neck, before your hand flew up, your fingers wrapping around his shoulder in a fierce, unyielding grip that dug directly into his muscle. You used your entire weight to push him downward, and the second he felt the true intensity of your demand, the laughter completely died, his knees buckling instantly as he let you drive him straight down to the floor.
Michael went down without a single shred of resistance, landing heavily on his knees, because he was used to that, right between your thighs, his face now perfectly level with your waist. He reached up with large hands, parting the silk of your robe with a slow, reverent urgency until the fabric fell away from your hips, exposing your bare, smooth dark skin to the cool air of the suite. He didn't hesitate for a single second. He leaned his face entirely in between your legs, his hot breath fanning across your inner thighs just a beat before his tongue made direct, wet contact with the warmth of your pussy.
A sharp, breathless whine caught in your throat, your fingers instantly tightening around that same shoulder as he began to devour you. Michael didn't say a word, entirely focused on making up for every single second of the night’s disrespect with the sheer devotion of his mouth. He started with long, broad, agonizingly wet strokes from the bottom of your opening all the way up to your clit, his tongue working with a heavy, expert pressure that had your hips instantly jerking forward against his face and your jaw hanging as you released breathless moans.
The contrast of his soft, pristine image with the absolute, filthy hunger of how he was eating you out was driving you completely insane. He used his large hands to grip the undersides of your thighs, lifting your legs slightly and pinning them against his chest to open you up even wider, burying his nose and lips entirely into your slickness. You let out a high pitched, breathless squeal, your back arching off the bar counter as his tongue shifted into a frantic, swirling rhythm right around your sweetest spot. He sucked on your clit, pulling it into his mouth with a steady, torturous suction that made your knees wobble, your words slipping out in a string of broken, needy stammers as you begged him not to stop. "Oh, Michael...right ther- don't stop, please, baby…”
Michael only sucked harder, his hands squeezing your thighs so tightly his fingers left fading marks on your dark skin. He was completely relentless, swallowing down every single drop of your slickness, his breathing coming in heavy, muffled sounds against your skin as the scent of your arousal completely replaced whatever lingering perfume had been in the air before. He slid two of his long fingers deep inside you, pumping them in a fast rhythm that matched the frantic motion of his tongue, stretching you open and filling you up until you were a completely ruined, whimpering mess in his grasp.
You could feel the swell of your orgasm building like a tidal wave in the center of your stomach, your hands fiercely pulling at the collar of his shirt as your hips rolled helplessly against his mouth, entirely at the mercy of the silent, hungry wrecking ball on his knees before you. But Michael still wasn’t satisfied with how close he was. He wanted all of you. He wanted to bury himself so deep in your warmth that you couldn't tell where your body ended and his mouth began. Michael took his fingers out of your pussy and slid his hands from the undersides of your thighs down to your calves to grip them. In one smooth motion, he lifted your legs completely off the floor and hoisted them up, draping your knees heavily over his broad shoulders. The shift was instant and completely overwhelming; you were practically sitting right on top of his shoulders now, your pelvis tilted completely upward and thrust forward, leaving you entirely exposed and utterly helpless under his gaze.
A loud, high pitched shriek tore from your throat, your hands frantically reaching backward to grip the edge of the mahogany bar just to keep from falling completely over. "Oh my god, Michael—yes!" you panted, your head rolling back as the cool wood of the counter dug into your lower back.
Michael didn't give you a single second to adjust to the intensity of the angle. He brought his massive, slender hands down, wrapping his fingers completely around the thickest part of your thighs. He squeezed his grip until his knuckles turned white, digging his fingers into your dark skin with possessive strength. Using that iron grip for pure leverage, he braced his weight and shoved his entire face forward, pinning back your hips heavily against the hard edge of the bar, anchoring you so he could drive his face even deeper into your heat and so you couldn't flinch away from him even an inch.
"Yes, Michael…ah, right there, Mike, don't stop!" you panted, your words dissolving into raw, breathless stammers as his tongue struck that exact, agonizingly perfect sweet spot with an unyielding, frantic pressure. "Right there! Oh my gosh, you got it…just like that!"
Michael didn't need to be told twice. He devoured you with a primal, silent ferocity, completely deaf to anything but the wet, heavy sounds of his mouth working against your skin and the high pitched, needy whimpers escaping your lips. He sucked your clit into his mouth, his tongue swirling and flattening against you in a rhythmic, torturous pace while he brought his hand back so his long fingers could pump deep inside you, curling upward to hit you from the inside out. The double texturing of his tongue and fingers was entirely too much. Your hips began to jerk violently against his face, your toes curling in the air as the heat in your stomach continue to coil into a tight, unbearable knot.
"Yes, Michael, yes!" you whined, your eyes squeezed shut as your hips jerked involuntarily against his face. Your voice breathless, completely stripped of all that ice and attitude you’d had just minutes before. "Fuck! Yes!"
Michael didn't make a sound. The only response you got back was the tight, bruising squeeze of his hand on your thigh, anchoring you in place as he sucked your clit completely into his mouth while his fingers still pumped inside of you. He began to draw on it with a steady, deep suction, his tongue swirling fiercely around the head until your entire lower body went completely rigid. You were entirely trapped, your legs pinned over his shoulders while he literally drank from you, his nose inhaling the sharp, intoxicating scent of your arousal.
He slid another one of his of his long, smooth fingers straight back inside you, now pumping three of them deep and fast, his knuckles rubbing against your opening with a slick, heavy friction that matched the wild pace of his tongue. He was stretching you open, driving his fingers in to the absolute hilt, making a heavy, squelching sound that had your face burning with pure heat. You were a complete mess, your fingers clawing at the smooth wood of the bar behind you, as the pleasure built up so high it felt like static behind your eyes.
"Michael, please...I'm gonna- I'm about to..." you gasped out, your chest heaving as a heavy shudder ran straight down your spine. You tried to pull back, just an inch, just to breathe, but his grip on your thigh was an absolute vice, forcing you to take every single bit of the pleasure he was throwing at you. The wave crashed over you with a sudden, violent force. Your entire body went rigid, your back arching away from the bar as you completely camw right on his face, your walls clamping down on his fingers in an intense, pulsing sequence of release. You were soaking him, your slickness pouring out in a heavy rush that he eagerly swallowed down, his tongue never stalling, not even when your knees began to shake violently, his strong hands keeping your legs spread wide as he drank you in, proving to you with every single wet, heavy stroke that nobody else on that earth could ever hold a candle to how he loved you. You grind heavily through the entire duration of your climax until you were a completely trembling, vocal mess.
For a long, quiet minute, the only sound in the room was your ragged, shallow breathing. Michael slowly slid his fingers out of you and your legs off his shoulders, letting your feet find the floor, though your knees immediately buckled the second you tried to bear your own weight.
He caught you instantly. Rising from his knees, his face glistening in the dim light with the evidence of how well he’d just taken care of you, Michael slid his long arm around your waist. He held you up against his chest, completely bearing your weight because your legs were shaking so you couldn't have stood on your own if your life depended on it.
Still keeping his silence, he reached out with his other arm, grabbing a clean glass and the open bottle from the wet bar you were leaning against. He poured himself a slow drink. He took a slow sip, his throat bobbing, before setting the glass down, his eyes never leaving your flushed, exhausted face
That energy of his melted away, replaced by the deep, gentle adoration he always held for you. He then wrapped both arms around you securely, tucking your head underneath his chin as you leaned heavily into his warmth, your silk robe hanging loosely off your shoulders. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss directly to the crown of your head, his chest rising and falling against yours in a steady, calming rhythm, though yours was the complete opposite.
"I've got you," he whispered into your hair, his voice a soft, soothing melody of sweet nothings as he rubbed comfort into your lower back, walking you both to the bathroom to clean up. "I've got you, baby. You good. You're so good to me...I love you so much."
