this will sound crazy but sometimes i genuinely feel like some michael fans view this man as white. it’s already annoying enough because a lot of people are still ignorant about his vitiligo, thinking michael could control it, which is insensitive in itself. the reason why i believe some michael fans view him as white is through some fan art, the way he’s written in some fanfic, and overall perceived in and by the media. i know what i am saying is not anything new, but it is bothering me, while having the knowledge that michael, when alive, was always proud to be a black man, and had to basically force people to see that. you’re contributing to a harmful narrative if you do view michael as a white man, in any way, shape, or form, that’s an undeniable fact. i could go on about why i feel this way and how i do think that even some of his non-black fans are a contributor to why, not just press, weirdly enough, if that makes sense, even a little. because my conversation on how some non-black fanfic writers exclude black readers when it comes to making michael x reader fics ties into this a bit. also, going back to fan art, and how some non-black artists draw michael to have skin as pale as an actual white man, which is, problematic in itself. i am not even trying to offend anyone, it’s just something that’s been on my mind for a while.
˙⋆✮ SUMMARY: you get a little distracted by michael’s hands while you do laundry together
˙⋆✮ CONTENT: 18+, smut! established relationship, porn with 0 plot i mean c’mon what did you expect from me, hand kink, fingering, michael is a bit of a pleasure dom, dirty talk, michael lowkey being a freak idc, size kink if you squint harder than you’ve ever squinted before, overstimulation, squirting ???
˙⋆✮ AUTHOR’S NOTE: oops sorry this is nothing but nasty i really don’t know what came over me… oh wait it was this! definitely not my best work lmao just quick and horny, but sometimes a girls gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.
Michael always liked spending time at your place. In fact, he preferred it, relishing in the mundane tasks he got to participate in: cooking together, doing the dishes, helping you with laundry— all of it tethering him to the real world.
When he was away on tour he would dream about moments like this: back in your bedroom, lying lazily across your bed, matching socks while you folded towels. It was so simple. So normal. So domestic.
“I’ve missed you.” Your voice was soft, echoing gently against the quiet of your bedroom as you reached into the laundry basket perched on your duvet. You pulled out another towel, folding it neatly with a slight frown pulling at your lips.
You knew all too well how limited your time was together.
This was only a short break in his schedule. Next week he’d be halfway around the world on another leg of tour.
“Hey, stop that.”
He threw a rolled up pair of socks in your direction before starting on a new one. His long, dainty fingers digging through the laundry basket, moving fabric around until he found another set to roll together.
“I’ll be back before you know it.” He peered up at you with the sweetest smile playing on his lips, his hands still busy with the laundry.
You didn’t even realize you’d stopped folding the towel in your grasp— too busy staring at Michael’s fingers moving so delicately, the veins running through the tops of his hands growing more prominent with every fold.
You’d barely seen him in the last three months and now he was laid out on your bed— his hands taunting and teasing you over a pair of socks.
“You alright sweet girl?”
His words snapped against your ears like a rubber band, instantly bringing you out of your trance. You met his grin with a sheepish smile of your own as you thought about all the times you’d heard that nickname over the phone while he was away.
“how was your day sweet girl?”
“been thinkin’ bout you all day sweet girl.”
“I want you to touch yourself like I would. C’mon sweet girl let me hear ya.”
The last one was particularly memorable; the way his whisper rasped through your phone— all heavy and desperate.
It was a strange new form of intimacy for both of you— phone sex.
You’d tried so hard to use your fingers the same way he would. Straining to reach that spot he always could and panting into the phone while he whispered sweet nothings from the other end.
It was never the same. Each call ended with you more needy for his touch, dreaming about moments like this when he would be back home— in your bed.
“Just missed you that’s all.” You smiled down at him, hands still frozen, clinging to the cloth in your grasp.
“Missed me so bad you forgot how to do laundry?” Michael’s voice rang out in a gentle laugh, his hands reaching for the towel, taking it form you and finishing the job, stacking it alongside the others on your bed. All the while you couldn’t stop staring at his fingers.
“I missed your hands.” The confession slipped form you as you watched his touch brush over the soft cotton towels, wishing it was on your body instead.
“My hands?” The question giggled up from his chest as he looked down at his open palms.
You had to keep yourself from gliding your tongue across your lips as you watched him stretch and wiggle his fingers. He looked up to see the way your lids had gotten heavier— your stare locked in on his movements.
“What’d you miss about my hands?” The amusement fell away from his voice, his words now laced with a much lower hum of desire.
You reached out, holding them in your own, gliding your fingers over his knuckles.
“Everything.” You purred, rubbing gentle patterns into his palms.
“They’re just so pretty, and big.”
You line up your palms with his, noting how his fingers stretched far past yours.
“You’ve got pretty hands too baby.” His compliment was paired with a love-drunk smile— his pupils blown from the seductive tone of your voice.
“Mmm but yours always feel so good.” You trace each of his fingers, “Your fingers always fill me up so nice.”
Flustered but still smiling, he bit at his bottom lip, breaking eye contact to watch the way your hands pressed together.
“I can’t do it like you can. I try, but it’s just not the same.” There’s a performative pout on your lips and Michael’s having a hard time sitting still at the mention of you all frustrated and fucked-out with your fingers between your legs.
“Want me to show you baby?” His gaze meets yours again, the question is soft, dripping with genuine concern and chased with impatient desire.
You nod your head, teeth sharp against your bottom lip, biting down as you watch him shift his weight on your mattress. He sits at the edge of the bed, pulling your body closer until you’re standing between his legs.
His hands run up your body, resting heavy on your hips, toying with the waistband of your pajama shorts, “these need to come off.”
You don’t say a word. Working your shorts down your legs and letting the material pool at your feet.
“That’s good.” His praise melts into your body as his lips meet your skin. He places a kiss just above his thumb pressing against your hipbone.
“Missed you so much baby.” He’s cooing against your skin, breath hot and heavy at the waistband of your panties.
“My pretty girl.” His compliment is muffled as he brings a hand between your legs, running a single finger over the damp spot seeping through the cotton at your core.
“My sweet girl.” He hums against your hip, pushing your panties aside just enough to tease a finger at your entrance.
You’re already soaked. His breath huffs against your skin as he chuckles to himself, teasing his pointer finger at the pool of arousal threatening to drip down your thigh.
He pushes a single digit into you at a painfully slow pace, smiling against your skin at the little gasp you let out as it sinks into you.
“Mikey…” your hum of approval bleeds into the room and you have to grip his shoulders in an effort not to fall over when he slips another finger along with the first.
“This how you want it babygirl?” His words are sloppy against your skin, his teeth just barely nipping at your hipbone.
You nod, ready to reply but your words get stuck in your throat when he curls his fingers at just the right angle. Your mouth falls open wide enough for a strangled moan to escape.
He laughs.
His smug little giggle warm on your skin as his forehead rests against your bare stomach peeking through the raised hem of your T-shirt. The tickle of his curls only adding to the sensation building in your belly.
He hits the same spot again and again. His fingers fucking into you with precision— each movement carefully dedicated to your release. He was hungry for it, starving to feel your thighs clench and your body shake, and if he was lucky he’d get to hear his name on your lips— a melodic chant of sweet victory.
Profanities tumble out of your mouth as you squeeze his shoulders, gripping tighter with each twist of pleasure rippling through your abdomen.
“Fuck- that feels s’good” you’re mumbling into the air, voice floating somewhere between a whisper and a groan.
He hums against your skin in response. His curls still brushing back and forth along your stomach as his lips kiss along the waistband of your underwear.
You were already teetering on the edge of release, seconds away from unraveling at the mercy of his fingers, when he pushes his thumb against your clit, rubbing soft little circles and making your jaw go slack.
“Mike…” His name almost sounds like a warning as it fills the room. Your hands clutching at his shoulders as you struggle to stay still.
He’s in awe of the way his hand completely covers your pussy— his fingers curling into you and his thumb stroking your clit in tandem to push you over the edge. God he needs to hear you whine his name while you make a mess on his palm.
And you must be some kind of mind reader with the way you’re moaning his name over and over— the sweetest symphony he’s ever heard.
Your body is tense, fingers digging into his shirt as you grow more unsteady with every wave of pleasure washing through your body.
He’s kissing and sucking at your hip, his hand not letting up between your thighs despite the heaving of your chest and your legs wobbling beneath you.
Little gasps stutter past your lips as you come undone, pulsing and clenching around his fingers. You pull at his shirt in your hands, riding the wave of your high, and waiting for his movements to match the tempo of your descent.
But he keeps going— harder, deeper, faster— and all you can do is carefully dig your hands in his hair, tugging in the mess of curls at the nape of his neck.
Your composure is fleeting with every brush of his fingers against the sensitive ridges of your walls squeezing around him.
“Such a sweet girl.” His voice mumbled into your skin, teeth scraping against your body.
“Michael. I can’t.” You were panting— breathless— barely able to form a full sentence, his touch rendering you speechless.
“You can.” His eyes found yours between the slow blinks of his lashes— his gaze laced with devotion and dominance.
It wasn’t encouragement, it was a command.
His lips moved lower, licking and biting at the skin of your upper thigh, his face dangerously close to where his hand met your body— fingers still fucking into you obsessively.
The sensation building in your belly was overwhelming, pooling together and threatening to burst with each swipe of his fingers.
His thumb worked faster at your clit, as he moaned hushed praises into your skin— coaxing you into another orgasm.
You gave in— body melting into the bliss of his touch, pussy gripping and clenching and gushing around his unrelenting fingers. Your arousal coating his hand, dripping and leaking, making a mess down your thighs.
A guttural groan vibrated into your skin. Michael’s head was still buried against your leg, his lips moving lazily toward the soaked material of your panties— pushed aside and barely clinging to your body.
His hand fell from between your legs, and a whine bubbled up your throat at the loss of contact, suddenly feeling so empty without his touch on you— in you.
His fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, pulling the ruined material down your legs.
You were in a state of pure euphoria, hands still gently holding onto his hair, and little hums of satisfaction trembling from your chest. But you were quickly pulled back to earth when Michael’s tongue made contact with your center, lapping at your core and sending your fingers clutching at his curls.
“Mike…” your head snapped down, your eyes meeting his in a caution fueled daze.
“Uh uh I’m not done yet.” His words were polite, almost delighted, as he murmured against your bare cunt.
He reached over, grabbing the laundry basket nestled in your bed sheets and tossing it onto the floor. With a quick maneuver of your hips, he had your back on the mattress. He was quick to find his way back between your thighs, determined to spend the rest of his day in your bed.
˙⋆✮ just think about how worked up boyfriend!Michael would get seeing you all dressed up at an award show…18+ mdni
He can’t keep his hands to himself when he sees the way your dress hugs your hips, stretching perfectly over your ass. He watches you like a hawk all night— obsessive and hungry while you prance around the room mingling and laughing, oblivious to the way your curves are calling to him with every sleek step of your heels.
He’s more handsy than usual, his fingers curling at your waist, hands running down the base of your spine aching to palm the flesh of your backside. You were a temptress luring him out of his usual reserved demeanor, making him look like a love-sick puppy at a televised award show. He’d pay for it later in the tabloids, but for now he couldn’t stop his hands from rubbing and grabbing up your bare thigh, leaning over to whisper against your ear, “you’re drivin’ me crazy tonight baby.” Fingers squeezing softly at your thigh, “you look so sexy.” His lips ghost your jaw, a deep inhale tickling your skin as he takes in the familiar scent of your perfume— warm and sweet.
All he can think about is being suffocated by notes of amber and vanilla with his face buried in the crook of your neck once he can finally have his way with you. He doesn’t even think he’ll be able to make it to the bedroom; perfectly content with the idea of taking you right there in the entry way, pulling your dress up just enough to grant him access between your thighs and fucking you against the front door when you get home.
masterlist 𓈒▐ 𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮. after a particularly rough rehearsal that has michael exhausted, you show him exactly how much you appreciate him. ▐ bad era!michael being a total sub! we cheer! → handjob, lil bit of choking, wet and messy kisses, some dry humping?, cum eating, praise and degradation kink, desperate!michael ₊⊹
You sensed Michael's presence soon before you heard him.
The soft click of the door, as if he thinks he'll wake you up from deep slumber, then a sigh, equally innocent and sweet, even though deeply exhausted. Michael taking off his shoes and shrugging his jacket off, the soft clicks of his chunky belt echoing through the otherwise quiet house.
The sound of his keys hitting the wooden surface of the cabinet down the hall, then the heavy footsteps, his feet barely lifting off the floor as he took the stairs with one thing on his mind:
You.
He was looking forward to the moment he would see you again the whole day. It was a sweet motivation that pushed through the demanding rehearsals, keeping him in your head as the dancers made yet another mistake in the choreo they've been practicing for two months now. Maybe he was too harsh on himself and the people working for him, or maybe he was just stressed. Stressed by the lack of your company, your touch, grounding and comforting in a way that had his mind calm and relaxed. Stressed by the fact that tour was starting soon, and nothing was even close to perfection yet.
Nothing but the calmness of the house and your sweet presence that lights his heart up.
The bedroom door clicked softly, and Michael's ears perked up as he saw you, comfortable and spread out on your shared bed, eyes meeting his before he could say a thing. You smiled, soft and warm, your nose crinkling in the most perfect way as you did so, eyes wide and attentive as you took in his exhausted posture.
The room was dark, lit only by the soft glow of the moon peeking through the curtains and the TV playing some shitty, old school show you didn't care about one bit. The moonlight hit your face in the most perfect way, highlighting the color of your eyes and hair, spread around your head like a halo.
Michael's knees buckled as he took you in, grinning despite exhaustion, his arms spreading out and claiming the space without even trying.
"Hi, superstar," You grinned, getting up from the bed to greet him with a hug that meant more than any fame or fortune in the world. Your small arms wrapped around his back, face squishing into his chest to breathe him in, letting his scent cloud your mind.
"I hate you calling me that," He chuckled softly, cradling your head in his hand, bringing you closer until there was no space left between your bodies. Michael hid his nose in your hair, taking in the sweet scent of your shampoo and something different — something so ultimately you, it brought him comfort immediately. "I missed you so much."
"I missed you too, Mikey." You breathe out, gently petting his back. "How're the rehearsals going?"
Michael shrugged, kissing the top of your head, suddenly aware of the tension in his shoulders and back. God, he could use a massage right now.
"Some dancers have trouble remembering the steps. You know, it's... normal. It should be. But it just keeps on annoying me, y'know? I need everything to be perfect by the time tour starts, and instead everything is falling apart right in front of me." He said, slow and shameful, not quite used to being this honest and open, not in that way.
You slowly pulled away from his chest, lips pouted in that specific way that insinuated you were thinking deep about what he had said. You took his hand slowly from where it was rubbing the small of your back through the red t-shirt you were wearing (stolen from Michael's side of the closet). His eyes followed your joined hands, watching as you kissed his knuckles, soft and warm, instantly calming his bubbling nerves and sweating hands.
"Mike, you need to take thing easy." You tilted your head, head turned towards the bed as you slowly led him to climb onto the warm sheets, the mattress moaning under your joined weights.
"I don't ever take things easy."
"That's why I need you to calm down. Take a deep breath. Relax. I know you crave perfection, but baby, things take time. They're eventually gonna get it, it's gonna be fine." You said softly, not trying to disregard his feelings, just being as supportive as you can.
Michael's lips pursed as he leaned back against the headboard, thinking about what you said with careful consideration. He met your eyes with a boyish, gentle smile, patting his lap softly.
"Sit here? Pretty please."
Michael had this innocence in his gaze, and you knew immediately he felt vulnerable in his heart. You took him in: the disheveled hair on the top of his head, loose strands breaking free from his ponytail and falling onto his forehead and eyes. The way his hands reached out to you, like a little kid looking for comfort. The red shirt that sat perfectly on his torso, first few buttons unlocked, droplets of build-up sweat glistening on his chest and neck.
He looked so exhausted, but oh, so beautiful.
You climbed onto his lap, and Michael's arms wrapped around your waist before you had a chance to fully settle. His chest expanded as your legs bracketed his, your smaller body melting into his much bigger one naturally.
"Besides...," You continued, a hint of tease in your voice as you settled in the moment, gentle hands pushing the stray strands of hair away from his face. "No one could ever dance as good as you do."
Michael laughed, the tiniest of tension dripping from his shoulders as he squeezed your waist. He missed this. The warmth coming from your whole body, the comforting touch on his face that kept reminding him of home, those sweet lips of yours that had the ability to make him blush like a teenager.
"That's a bit overboard."
"No, it's not."
"Yes, it is."
"Michael, you're the most talented person in the whole world. And I mean it." You narrowed your eyes at him.
He sighed at the praise, melting underneath the weight of your body, his own going slack as your slow, steady hands played with his hair. You curled a piece around your finger, tugging on it ever so gently, causing Michael's hands to twitch on your waist. He not so secretly loved when you did this.
All of the praises he got from his peers and colleagues could never bring him this much joy. This, here, with you, felt real: no fake sympathy, respect that meant nothing behind the closed doors, bows and applauses that didn't matter at the end of the day. This, you, was authentic, real, a connection that was worth more than any fame or respect in the world. He knew that.
"I love you. You're working too hard," You whispered, quieter now, and Michael's long fingers tightened on your waist just a fraction. "I'm so proud of you, baby."
"You're so beautiful. Like an angel. Always taking my breath away," You continued, your fingers tracing the sharp edge of Michael's jaw, then moving up his nose, careful, a small smile playing on your lips as Michael's body twitched underneath you, unconsciously seeking more of the attention. The praises travelled through his whole body, a deeply settled insecurity regarding his appearance slowly melting away as he took in your awed expression.
"Keep— keep talking. Please." He swallowed, leaning into your touch, his face inches away from yours now, embarrassment flooding his body as he felt his cock twitch in his pants.
You felt it, too. Suddenly very aware of your core pressed tightly against his crotch, something you ignored in the moment of fondness but prominent now. You tutted as Michael's arms tightened around your back, breath shallow and eyes clouded with devotion and something deeper beyond the surface — desire.
"You like it when I talk about how pretty you are?" He nodded, desperate, his face rubbing against your palm lovingly. "You are, Mikey. Everything about you is perfect. Like a work of art, only for me to admire, to love, to cherish. I love your eyes. How you look at me like I'm the only one that matters, even in a room full of people. This pretty little nose...," You pecked the tip of it, earning a nervous giggle from Michael. His cheeks turned rosy as you kissed the soft skin there, giving him all of your undivided attention to prove your point. "Those lips. Drive me insane. This beautiful smile, yeah, this one—"
You starting laughing as Michael's lips pressed tightly against yours, heightening your arousal that slowly started to spread across your body as you praised him. His cock jumped in his pants at the sound of your voice, your smile against his lips, that beautiful melody that's your laugh echoing through the room.
Michael whimpered into the kiss, quiet and unfiltered, his hips flexing underneath you as he tugged on your — his — shirt covering your body, already craving the feel of your bare skin against his.
You used your tongue to part Michael's lips, and he obeyed immediately, moaning into your mouth as you licked your way into his, completely taking control over the kiss. You knew Michael needed this, needed the adrenaline that comes with being desired. His brows furrowed as he sinks further into the sheets, hips rising off the mattress to search for the warmth of your sweet cunt on his achingly hard cock.
"I need you, baby—" He sighed into your mouth, and you sucked on his tongue, humming lowly while your hips began to move on their own, the buildup of your desire leaving you grinding down onto his cock. You could feel the outline of him through his pants, big and aching and ready for whatever you'd give him, ready to burst from a simple touch. "O-oh, angel girl—"
"Feels good?" You moan, leaving a wet spot on Michael's pants where you connected over and over again, not pulling away from a second. You fought with the urge to close your eyes, instead tugging on Michael's hair to get him to look at you, at the effect he had on you. "Of course it does. My good boy, always so obedient. What do you think your fans would say if they saw you like this— oh— completely at my mercy? What would they say, Mikey?"
You grinded harder, your hips working in tandem with Michael's, your bodies singing in a beautiful harmony without even trying. Your own words turned you on beyond belief, and they seemed to have the same effect on Michael.
"'m your good boy," He whispered, low and pathetic, his hands shaking with restraint as they rested on your thighs, squeezing and fondling the skin there. "Wanna be good for ya, that's all I want to do, baby—"
"What do you want?" You asked, sharp and firm, your voice dropping lower as your hands travelled down Michael's torso, playing with the buttons of his shirt and undoing them, one by one, slower than Michael would like it. The fabric felt like a barrier, a burden on his skin that was aching to be pressed against yours, but he let you take things slow, instead focusing on playing with the hem of your own shirt.
"Ah, ah, ah," You tutted, hand rising up to rest against Michael's throat, not quite squeezing, just resting there, feeling his pulse against your small palm. He let out a pained sound, half-whisper, half-sob, his hands dropping to his sides and tangling into the sheets. "No touching. Yeah, good boy. You like it when I choke you a little?"
"Yes. Fuck, yes," He groaned, teeth grinding together as you squeezed his throat experimentally, seeing just how far he's willing to take it, and to your surprise, he whined again, surer this time, hips bucking up just a fraction before dropping to the mattress.
"Yeah, you do," You smiled, biting your bottom lip as your hips faltered just a fraction, hips shaking with effort as your high creeped up on you, sudden and unexpected.
And so you stopped.
Michael's loud groan echoed through the room, annoyed, tears brimming in the corners of his eyes. The way he looked at you then sent a shiver down your spine.
Devoted. Completely and utterly under your spell.
Yet still he didn't move. Didn't say a word, didn't rush you, his eye whites showing as he looked at you pitifully, breathing shallow and unsteady.
"What do you want, Mikey? Use that pretty little mouth of yours," You whispered softly, hands moving down his torso to move his shirt out of the way, scratching his skin with your nails with enough pressure to make him hiss.
Your palm experimentally moved over the aching bulge in his pants, feather-like and soft, and it only made Michael's hips buck up into your touch.
"I— I need to feel you— I can't wait anymore," He babbled, words leaving his mouth in a hurry. You rewarded him with a small flick of your hand as it rubbed up and down his length with pressure that was not nearly enough. "Oh God— And I want you to keep talking to me. About how— p-pretty I am— and how proud you are of me— You always take such good care of me, baby, please—"
You smiled, sliding off Michael's lap only to tug on his belt, and he understood immediately what you wanted. His hands shook as they unbuckled the heavy thing, fumbling with the zipper of his pants and pulling them down along with his boxers, not bothering to ask for permission.
His cock sprang free from the confines of his clothing, bobbing in the air freely and then hitting Michael's stomach with a wet sound. He whined — soft, desperate. You could see the effort it took for him to not touch himself, not give into the feeling until you made a move, allowed it.
"So pretty, so, so fucking beautiful," You whispered, taking in the sight in front of you with your bottom lip stuck between your teeth. You didn't lie; every inch of Michael was perfect, starting with his perfectly sculpted face, to his lean body, strong thighs, and the cock that sat between them. He was big, flushed, looking as if a simple touch from you could make him come. It looked painful, and you only cooed at the sight.
"Want me to touch you, angel face? Want to cum so bad, don't you, sweetie?"
"Yes, God, yes," He breathed out, and you wasted no time climbing back into his lap, straddling one of the very thighs that drove you insane. Your pussy rubbed against Michael's soft, brown skin as you sat down, leaning in to peck his lips.
"Please."
The way he said it, soft and sweet, his mouth instinctively chasing after yours, made you smile. You kissed him again, slower this time, your fingers tracing soft circles on the skin of his thigh, dangerously close to his aching, throbbing cock.
"So good for me. You can touch me, baby— Yeah, take what you need," You praised him softly, finally giving him the permission to touch you, feel your skin under his fingertips. Slowly, almost painfully so, your palm reached its destination. Michael's own hands travelled up your body, one hand resting on the small of your back, the other sliding up to hold your hair out of your face while you kissed him. His touch was firm but delicate, claiming your body without taking control, letting you take the initiative without a word of protest.
Your fingers wrapped around his girthy cock with undeniable precision, the one that came from knowing his body way too well. Michael whined into your mouth, his hips bucking up into your palm, a soft cry leaving his mouth right after. He was on edge, and you knew it.
"Such a good boy. You're doing so perfect for me, look at how well you're taking me," You whispered against his lips, your hand beginning to stroke him slowly, your wrist flicking in a way that you knew drove Michael crazy. Your thumb rubbed against his sensitive slit with each movement, and Michael sighed, eyes rolling back into his head.
Your lips disconnected as soon as you began your little demonstrations on his dick, a string of saliva still connecting the two of you long after he pulled away. His head fell back against the headboard, eyes half-lidded, clouded with lust and ultimate devotion.
"So good, ma," He whined, licking his lips as you sped up, just enough to make him dizzy and hot. Michael's body shook underneath you, his hold on you tightening just a fraction, letting you know just how much he enjoyed it.
"I know, baby, you're so hard for me, so fucking big. You're practically drooling, that's what a little attention does to you, huh? Falling apart so prettily for me. You're so pathetic it's cute," You said, voice fond and affectionate even when your words did nothing but humiliate him. Michael's body shook as your hand became a blur, your pace suddenly changed into something charged with animalistic desire — desire to watch him fall apart.
"I'm so close, don't you—"
"I know, angel boy, I'm not stopping, I'm right here—"
"I love you so much, oh God, I love you—"
"What do you need, Mikey?" You flicked your wrist in the right way, watching his face confront in pleasure, your hand beginning to hurt from the rough, demanding pace you've set. You couldn't stop, though, no: not when Michael's hips began to thrust up into your hand and his soft sobs echoed through the room.
"Can you— can you put your hand there— oh— jus' need a little more," He silently begged with his eyes, interlocking your fingers with his and bringing them to his neck. You immediately knew what was going on.
He truly needed for you to choke him in order to reach his peak.
And so you obeyed. You applied a little pressure to his pulse point, squeezing the sides of his throat in the most delicious way, feeling his Adam's apple bob as you did.
You squeezed harder, checking Michael's face for any type of discomfort, but all you could see was utter, devoted pleasure. His eyes rolled back into his head, curls sticking to his sweaty forehead, and his chest glistened in the moonlight, heaving with every, choked up breath he took. The feeling of your hand on his dick was like no other: your grip was as tight as a glove, not as tight as your pussy, but enough to make him lose his mind.
"You like it when I do this, don't you?" You punctuated your words with a tight squeeze to the base of his cock and his throat, pulling his foreskin down to have him as sensitive as possible. Michael whined — a pained, desperate sob from somewhere deep in his chest that made your pussy throb against his leg. "You carry the whole world on your shoulders. You work so hard. Let me take care of you the way you deserve, baby."
"I'm right there," He moaned through another sob that shook his whole body, his hand clawing at the one squeezing his throat. He wasn't trying to push you away, just anchoring himself in the moment, needing to feel the warmth of your skin against his palm. "I'm right there, angel—"
"Yeah, take it. Take it like a good boy, that's right—"
Your hand movements became a blur, palm hitting his lower abdomen with every stroke, every squeeze to his length, bursting and twitching in your palm. He wouldn't need much to unravel, and you knew it.
"C-can you kiss me, baby? Please, I need to—"
You wouldn't let him finish, immediately crashing your lips onto his with force that pushed the air out of his lungs. Michael immediately granted you access to the inside of his mouth, moaning and whimpering, loud and unfiltered, completely consumed by the pleasure surging through his body. The kiss was messy, your saliva mixing and stretching between your willing mouths when you pulled away for a breather. It dropped between you, right onto the tip of his cock, and Michael hissed, his whole body shaking as he neared that familiar peak.
"Come for me, angel boy," You whispered, knowing just how much he loved the nickname, your hand moving from his throat to grab a fistful of his hair, pulling his head back to watch every moment of his pleasure.
"I'm coming, ma, I can't hold it, I'm—"
"Yeah, good boy, such a good fucking boy, give it to me—"
Michael's back arched off the mattress, hips bucking wildly as his own body betrayed him, a gasp that sounded pained leaving his swollen lips. The first spurt of his white, sticky seed made you chuckle, watching him make a mess of himself. Your hand movements never slowed — not for a second, guiding him through the moment, your lips crashing onto his in a mess of saliva and teeth clashing, but neither of you cared. Michael pulled you closer by the hips, his grip almost painfully tight, his cum staining his expensive shirt, your hand and his chest. It was messy, and it was perfect, and it was never ending — a spurt after spurt, each one weaker than the last, but nonetheless intense.
"So good, let it out, just like that, baby," You cooed softly, continuing to stroke him through every aftershock, and Michael cried out, overstimulated to the limit, his whole body trembling underneath you.
"I can't— take no more," He whispered, soft, broken, some fresh tears staining his tears, and he looked so beautiful you wanted nothing more than to devour him whole.
"It's okay, angel face, it's okay."
"I love you. I love you so much, baby, you're doing so good," You stopped your movements altogether, even though his cock still stood tall, some droplets of cum leaking from his tip, and you collected them with the pad of your finger, bringing them to your lips with a moan. Michael sobbed softly, following the movements of your mouth with his teary eyes as you sucked on your finger, licking the remains of his cum theatrically, with intention to drive him insane again.
"Tastes so good, too. Want to try?" You moaned, and Michael's hands tightened on your thighs just a fraction, offering you a shy nod of his head.
You took two of your fingers, then, dragging them through the mess he made on his chest, collecting some of the pearly cum and immediately bringing them to his lips. You padded on Michael's bottom lip, and he obeyed immediately, granting you access. His tongue lolled out, eyes wide and cheeks rosy as your fingers snuck into his mouth, pressing down on his tongue only to watch him squirm and moan.
"Good boy. Don't you taste fucking good?" You tilted your head as Michael's lips wrapped around your digits, his brows furrowing as the tasted himself on you.
Michael both hated and loved how much this aroused him.
You caressed his cheek slowly, lovingly, watching as he came down, finding comfort in the weight of your fingers on his tongue. He eventually came down, his body melting into the mattress as he settled. You slowly withdrawed your digits, bringing Michael closer and letting him rest his head on your chest. Your unsteady heartbeat was the only thing he could focus on.
"I love you," He mumbled lowly, his face rubbing against your t-shirt in a way that immediately made you melt. "I love you, I love you, I love you—"
You laughed, out of breath, kissing the crown of his head lovingly. "And I love you. Feeling better?"
You caressed his hair, letting him wrap his arms around you and bring you impossibly closer.
"Never better."
a/n: i apologise. or not. planning to make him even whinier and more pathetic in the upcoming fics. not sorry for that either.
SUMMARY: An innocent movie night takes a turn when Michael becomes a little too distracted by your touch.
CONTENT: 18+, ???, sexual themes, kinda smutty I guess but nothing beyond a sloppy makeout sesh and heavy petting, very much puppy love vibes, inexperienced thriller era! Michael, subby michael I don’t make the rules, dry humping, he might be shy but that boy can’t keep his mouth shut! he’s a moaning mess
AUTHOR’S NOTE: @hcwait said something about michael being so shy he’d cover his mouth or bite his finger to keep from making noise and I said SAY LESS.
You didn’t even realize you were doing it— tracing gentle patterns into the denim right above Michael’s knee.
You were sat next to each other watching a movie with your limbs intertwined, and it’s like you didn’t even notice your thumb aimlessly rubbing against his leg— gliding across the rough surface of his jeans as your eyes stayed trained on the tv in front of you.
But he noticed. He noticed right away.
The second your hand fell on his knee his whole body froze.
It was motionless at first, just your palm resting gently on his leg. Then the stroking started. Your thumb moving in tender motions— back and forth— teetering dangerously toward the inside of his thigh.
It was so innocent, just a simple swipe of your fingers against his skin, not even his skin— his jeans. Only a sweet display of affection over clothing, yet it made him feel so excited.
He looked over at you— once, twice— checking to see if there was any slight change in your facial expression, any little shift in your body language that could lead him to think you were doing it on purpose. That maybe— just maybe—you were teasing him, just as hungry for more as he was.
His eyes fell down to his leg, your hand still resting above his knee, thumb still eroding away at the dark denim adorning his skin.
He wanted more. Needed more.
Without letting himself think about it, he placed a hand on your leg, allowing his palm to rest there, melting into the warmth of your thigh. He rubbed his thumb back and forth mimicking your movements.
It caught your attention immediately. It wasn’t like Michael to do something so bold.
The two of you had been taking things slow— really slow— respecting each other’s boundaries and getting to know one another in other, less physical, ways. You’d been patient, waiting for his signals, following his lead. Waiting for him to make all the first moves. His hand bravely perched on your thigh felt like some kind of long awaited approval. Like an invitation.
When you turned your head in his direction you expected to see him looking at you— waiting for your reaction. Instead, you were met with his side profile, his eyes fixed on the screen across the room, his hand still making gentle motions on your leg. He seemed calm, cool, collected.
But you could hear it— his quick shallow breaths— the way each exhale trembled as it left his lips.
He was nervous.
It was sweet.
You inched your hand up his leg ever so slightly, continuing to draw circles into his jeans.
Gently squeezing, you let your thumb slide lower toward the inside of his thigh. His body tensed. His chest filling with a single deep inhale as you watched him stare at your hand traveling recklessly close to his crotch.
His eyes shot up to meet yours, his flustered gaze hiding between the careful, slow blinks of his lashes.
Neither of you said a word. Neither of you looked away.
Your bodies were already so close together— his arm around your shoulder, your thighs smushed against each other— it made it impossibly easy to shift your weight until you were straddling his lap with each of your legs coming to rest on the sunken cushions beneath you.
A groan began to bubble from Michael’s chest at the sudden change of position. But the sound didn’t make it far, dissipating at the feeling of your body hovering over his.
You melted against him, hips colliding, causing him to choke on a whine as soon as he felt the friction.
“This ok?” The words left you in a whisper as you pressed your forehead against his.
As your hands found the curls at the nape of his neck, he nodded to your question before closing the gap between your lips.
His kiss was fueled by deliberation and impulse as his mouth moved with yours. His usual timid demeanor began to slip further away as your fingers tangled deeper into his curls, eliciting a soft whimper from his lips. Your hips moved against him at the sweet vibration of his moans on your tongue.
You kept the motion of your hips tame— just barely moving back in forth with the rhythm of the kiss, but your fingers moved wildly in Michael’s hair. Each gentle tug threatened a soft gasp from the man beneath you.
His hands stayed at his sides, fingertips scratching against his jeans— aching to hold you— to feel you.
You pulled away from his mouth long enough to utter a breathless invitation, “Michael. You can touch me.”
Meeting his lips again, you smiled into the kiss as you felt his hands come to rest on your body. His hold was tight on your hips, fingers pressing into your sides as he guided your body over his.
With both of you moving in tandem desperation for friction, you trailed your lips toward his jaw. Your mouth against his skin was wild and messy, mirroring the movement of your hips. Your lips were busy on his neck, kissing and sucking, and then-
The filthiest, most pathetic groan you’d ever heard slipped out of Michael’s mouth.
It was as if all the little noises he’d been fighting back were no match for the way your lips met that sensitive spot just under his jaw.
The sound only encouraged you, sending you on a desperate pursuit for more, but you noticed one of his hands leave your hips. It traveled up to his face, stopping at his mouth, acting as a muffle for the unruly sounds of pleasure seeping from his throat.
Your hips gyrated, the friction causing you both to grip and grab. Your fingers tangled into his hair and you could swear he was biting his palm to keep from groaning.
“You sound so pretty Michael.”
Your praise melted into his skin, each word fluttering against his neck, and as soon as it left your lips his hand was back on you, pulling at your hips.
A symphony of soft moans and instinctive whines filled the room as he let your flattery feed his liberation. No longer caring about keeping his cool or staying quiet, he set every noise free as he guided your body to grind onto his.
Your lips continued their descent on his neck, following a path to his collarbone. Meanwhile, his hands found their way to the hem of your t-shirt, gently pushing the material up just enough to feel the bare skin of your back. His touch was heavy yet tender, like he was starving but willing to wait an eternity just for a taste.
They traveled up your spine, savoring every inch of your soft skin under his fingers until-
The distant sound of a car door closing outside made you both jump.
His hands instinctively flew back to your hips as you pried your lips from his neck— both of your chests heaving and heads buzzing while you listened to the cackles of his brothers in the driveway.
So caught up in the heat of the moment, you’d forgotten all about his family and the fact that your time alone was limited.
The front door flew open, as voices traveled into the living room. You barely rolled off of michael, keeping a leg slung over his lap and a hand still in his hair as Tito and Marlon laughed their way into the kitchen.
“We could go upstairs…” Michael’s voice was quiet, each word soft and breathless, his chest still rising and falling at an ungodly pace.
“You don’t want to finish the movie?” Your question oozed with sarcasm as you watched Michael’s head dip in a giggle.
“C’mon.”
He was pulling you off the couch with a quick tug of your hand, both of you a mess of smitten glances and flustered chuckles as you practically raced each other up the stairs.
a fluffy imagine where reader helps mj with his curls (wash & style) and ofc his edges .. lmk if someone already wrote this cause if not I definitely will
michael jackson doesn't get jealous. he's michael jackson, for goodness sake!
and sure, he is probably holding onto your waist a little too tight while you engage in a conversation with some famous actor you like. and maybe he is shooting him death-daggers behind his aviators--but, he's not jealous.
michael was supposed to be rubbing elbows with his fellow industry-mates, but once this schmuck wandered over to you, he suddenly had nowhere to be.
michael isn't territorial, though. territory is such a crazy word itself and michael would never think of you like that. never. you’re his precious little p.y.t., the whole reason he wrote the song, obviously.
still he cannot shake the feeling that the man wants you, as if you aren’t already michael jackson’s girl. official, at that.
and michael knows he shouldn’t care. he knows attention comes with the territory of being seen in public with him. people stare. people hover. people flirt because they think it’s harmless or funny or impossible.
but he's human before he's michael jackson.
so he just stays close to you for the rest of the night, closer than he usually does. his hand retires its hold from your waist and finds your lower back instead. every photo taken, he stands to where everyone knows your his.
by the time you get home, after all the glamorous clothes are off and the makeup is wiped, he holds you from behind in the bathroom.
"did you have fun tonight?" translation: did you forget about me?
you turn in his grasp and kiss his lips, "i had fun 'cause you were there."
that was really reassuring.
"i'm sorry if i was too close, i just hate sharing you, girl," he mumbles it into your cheek.
see, michael jackson isn't jealous. maybe a little clingy, but really just in love.
꒰ ( a/n ) : im so PISSED i cant do the gradient thing bc im in mobile UGHH. ᐢ..ᐢ i cant dance so.... projection? Maybe. Btw i havent written in like 9 months so sorry if its cheeks
—
You've always struggled to dance. Weither your movements be too stiff or your limbs simply getting in the way, it was evident that dancing wasn't your strong suit.
Reguardless you couldn't find it in yourself to care. When dancing you felt free—a leaf rolling lax in the wind, letting the breeze take it wherever it pleased.
The music sung its smooth rhythm, filling the jackson's record room, and your ears with its melodic beat.
Flopping you arms and your legs, bumbling around like it was a language and only you spoke it, you preformed like no one was watching. But of course, someone was watching.
And michael, he adored every second.
He loved seeing you in your element...even if it wasn't particularly good. You were good—better than good, and that was enough for him. And each misplaced step and shake pulled him deeper into infactuation.
Your uncoodinated and somewhat graceless movements made him giggle. One after another, meek giggles slipped from his lips.
"what's so funny?" You asked a smirk playing at your lips. You already knew the answer, but it was fun to tease.
"Nothin'." He smiled. His voice still carrying that gentle touch that it usually did.
You mouthed the words flooding through the radio, followed by the messy shuffling of your shoulders as you stepped towards him.
As you got closer his giggles turned into poorly stiffled laughs that he covered with his hand. Which soon turned into him turning his head away entirely in an attempt to not only protest the giggles bubbling in his throat, but the heat that threatened—and had suceeded in—rushing to his face and ears.
The words "c'mon, mike, let's dance," left your throat breathless with amusment before pulling his big hands from his face to hold them in yours. Michael watched you tentatively—wide-eyed and speechless as you placed kisses along the spaces between his knuckles, which made him shudder each time your soft lips touched his hand.
You loved how easily he would melt into your touch and how his deep brown eyes looked at you like you were the most valuable thing in the world.
His body began to stiffen when you placed his pliant hands on your hips. Even after dating for a while, micheal still had the fattest crush on you.
Next thing he knew you draped our arms along his neck. "So...you gonna teach me to dance?"
"I dont know if i can fix that."
"You're such a smartass"
-
The wind was knocked out of both of your lungs as you both fell onto the ground, michael's grasp on your hips tightening. Laughter then began to spill from michael's lips, making his body uncontrollably squirm against yours.
"Oh really? You think thats funny? How about this?" You say in between peppering kisses across his face. Some on his nose. Some on each of his eyelids. Some on his cheeks, before stopping at his lips.
"Mmh! Haha, stop, baby-" he laughed in between your numerous assaults on his face.
"Is this still funny?" You smile into his lips, placing your hands on either sides of his face only for his to abandon their post on your hips and meet your hands.
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