Pairings: MatureEra!Michael x Younger!Reader Headcanons
Genre: Pure Fluff !
Warnings:: Age gap(?) Reader is 30, Michael is in his 60s. Reader's referred to as 'mom' like once. Perhaps Michael in a bonnet. aside from that, None :)
Summary:Â Michael gets a new phone, how bad could it be?
W.C: 829
Authorâs Note: I love love LOVE this one! Let me know what you think in the comments, reblog if you love it. As always, happy Reading!
-Love, B. đ€ âȘ The Archive.
OlderHusband!Michael who decided it was time for a new phone after eighteen years of loyalty to his little IPhone 3G. He chose (was forced) to upgrade to a 15pro Max because he found the newest models âtoo intimidatingâ
OlderHusband!Michael who regrets his decision immediately. He mourns the loss of his home button, doesnât quite understand the mechanics of FaceID, and absolutely hates the little woman that starts talking whenever he holds the power button. You promise heâll figure it out, but in his head Michael seriously considers bringing back telegrams
OlderHusband!Michael who asks how to put your number on speed dial. When you tell him that feature is long gone, he nearly returns the phone all together.
âWhat good is this thing if I canât call anyone quickly?â
You do your best to explain that the phone is designed to be fast, and that he won't have to worry about it, but the look he gives you makes it hard to keep a straight face.
OlderHusband!Michael who and all but begs you to teach him how to use social media properly. You started small, with Instagram, showing him all the steps to make a post and how to caption it. Michael decides his first post should be a Christmas photo from about two years ago of you, him, and the kids in matching pajamas. He captioned it âFanily :)â, since he couldnât really see the keyboard, which you thought was the cutest thing.
OlderHusband!Michael who tried, keyword: tried, to get on tiktok. He wasnât really a fan of the short-form style, and the content geared to a new user put him off.Â
âI donât like this application, honey. I really donât see how you spend so much time on here.â
OlderHusband!Michael who, despite his distaste, still tries to learn how to use the app just so he can share something with you. There was a video of some bendy doll with his face on it. Michael thought it was cute, and tried to send it to you. Instead, he bought fifty of those little dolls and laughed himself sick when they arrived. You suspect that it wasnât an accident, but ultimately decided to just let him have his fun
OlderHusband!Michael who is tucked in next to you, bonnet on, winding down. Heâs quickly found himself addicted to the little videos and shows you every single one. Some make you laugh, others make you tell yourself to watch your husband carefully.
âAngel, look, this dog is dancing on two feet!â
â...Mikey, honeyâŠthatâs A.Iâ
OlderHusband!Michael whose frustration grows larger by the millisecond. All he wants to do is text his children goodnight, but the keyboard is too blurry. Heâs also dreading having to do it three times over. This is when you step in and introduce him to the beauty of group chats. He physically relaxes when he realizes he can send a mass message, but tenses again when it comes time to type it out.Â
Youâd offer to do it for him, but you know heâll want to figure it out on his own. So, you propose an alternative: voice messaging. When you explain the concept, he raises a brow
âBaby, thatâs just a one-sided phone call.â
âMichael, do you want to send the message or not?â
OlderHusband!Michael who struggles more with sending a vm than he did with texting. He kept having to rerecord because he was accidentally deleting his messages. Eventually he gave up and decided that his kids would know he loved them, even with a few typos.
As soon as he sends the message, Paris calls your phone to ask if heâs had a stroke. You explain that heâs fine, and just wanted to text them before you went to bed. She then tells you to get him a stronger prescription next time he visits the optometrist.
OlderHusband!Michael who, a few days later, sends you a text while you're working. When the notification pops up on your screen, a smile forms on your face. You really canât wait to decipher what your man is trying to say to you this time.
You open the app and let out a surprised laugh, itâs a voice message! To you, this is a milestone. Michael did something on his phone without you there to coach him through it. You open the chat thread and press play.
â...Baby⊠Itâs me, Michael! I think I figured this out! I just want you to know I love you, and I hope you have a good day. Okay, bye now.â
Your heart melts as you think about your husband with his little glasses probably fighting for his life just to send this to you. There are a few more seconds on the message which you assume are just silence, but then,
â â Okay Prince, how do I send this to your mom?...No, I want her to think I did it myself.â
professor! michael jackson x grad student f! reader
cw/tw: 1991, michael teaches a graduate literature course at uc berkeley, no use of y/n, slight age gap â reader is mid 20s michael is 33, fluff, forbidden romance, praise, drunk makeouts, 18+ mdni, thigh riding, m!masturbation, semi-public oral (m! receiving), mention of semi-public sex, use of yes sir, soft dom! michael
wc: 3.9k
Everyone was drawn to him.
That became apparent with each passing lecture. The way he was able to hold the attention of the room as he spoke and moved, your eyes catching on the way his hand flexed as he wrote on the chalkboard. Not being able to help it.
The cadence he spoke in, a lull on the ears that kept the attention easily. He didnât even have to try.
His smile infectious and when heâd lean against his desk with his hands in his pockets, cracking a joke only one with knowledge in fifteenth century literature would understand â the entire lecture hall laughed. Even if they didnât get it, there was just something about him.
Despite how distracting Professor Jackson was, you were one of, if not the, top student of his.
Your gaze would catch his as he handed back assignments, forcing back a shiver as your fingers brushed when you took the paper from him. Practically melting when he winked at you and muttered a Good work.
Your face feeling warm as you looked down to see the familiar scrawl of his hand writing. You didnât even bother to look at your grade, knowing it was an A.
Instead your attention was pulled to the annotations he had left.
He was probably one of the best professors to give feedback on work. He was honest, but he wasnât cruel and he didnât have the ego to withhold a compliment when it was due.
You smiled to yourself as you read what heâd written in the margins. His handwriting slanted and borderline messy and telling yourself his praise didnât mean all that much. He was just doing his job.
Then your eyes caught on the smiley face heâd drawn next to one paragraph. Nothing else.
It made your stomach flip.
The infatuation was normal and you were sure half of the other students shared your sentiments. Professor Jackson was handsome and young. Soft spoken and intelligent. Kind and charming. A silly side to him that made him all the more endearing. He ticked every box.
Though youâd never admit it out loud, the small crush you had on him drove you to work harder. Desperate to win his approval in a way only academics knew. The hunger for it practically insatiable because you knew those brief interactions were all you were going to get.
At least, thatâs what you had initially thought.
Heâd mentioned two weeks ago that there was an essay competition and left a list pinned to the bulletin board outside of the lecture hall for people to sign up.
Youâd been curious, of course. But the thought of people reading your work outside of a classroom setting made your bones slightly itch. The act of putting yourself out there like that too vulnerable. Saying youâd do it eventually, just not now.
Yet as the hour wrapped up and you were half way through packing your bag to leave, you heard your name.
Glancing up, convinced you were hearing things, you found him looking at you expectantly as he leaned against the desk, his arms on show given heâd rolled the sleeves up and you tried to ignore how dry your mouth suddenly got.
âYes, sir?â
You had never actually talked to him before besides asking questions now and then during seminars.
âDo you have a minute?â
You nodded, blushing as he gestured for you to come over with his hand.
Sliding your bag onto your shoulder, you held the strap of it like a life line as you approached him.
His smile was lazy at the corners, his eyes just slightly narrowed as he looked at you. Debating something in his head and you felt like the world had stopped moving.
âWhy didnât you sign up for the competition?â He finally said.
You blinked at him. âSorry?â
âThe essay comp. You didnât sign up.â
âOhâŠâ you continued to stare at him like an idiot. Not knowing what to say in a way that wouldnât make it sound childish. âI just⊠Iâm busy.â
âYou get two weeks until the deadline.â
You bit the inside of your cheek. âIâm really busy.â
Professor Jackson raised a brow at you.
His direct and prolonged attention was overwhelming and you suddenly started to panic if you were breathing normally.
âI really think you should give it a shot, thereâs no need to be nervous about submitting something. Youâre a wonderful writer.â
You physically felt your chest bloom in warmth at the compliment. âThank you, but I donât know. Iâve never,â you shifted on your feet. His gaze was so intense. âIâm not sure if itâs right for me, is all.â
âThatâs exactly why you should do it. If it would help ease some nerves, Iâd be happy to look over your work before you submit it.â
Your brows rose a little bit. âYou would?â
He shrugged. âWhy not?â
âIs that allowed?â
He winked at you as he turned around to grab something, a moment later the sign up sheet and a pen were being handed to you.
You looked at him and held your breath as he leaned down a little closer. The smell of his cologne swirling around you in a comforting haze.
His voice was low as he spoke. âOur little secret.â
And because it was him and he was looking at you like that, you signed your name. Trying to ignore the way heat pooled in your stomach at how pleased he looked that you were doing it.
âJust let me know when youâd like me to review it, my doorâs always open. Do you know where my office is?â
You nodded, your mind spinning at the thought of being alone with him in such a small space.
The next week and a half was spent practically tearing your hair out over the essay. Being abhorrently self critical as always and you were terrified to go to Professor Jacksonâs office.
Not for any valid reason. You were simply nervous. The school girl crush you had on him practically rendering you useless.
It was pathetic.
You paced outside of the liberal arts building that his office was in. Your paper in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Half tempted to shove the blazing stick of tobacco into the header and watch it shrivel up into ash.
With a shaking hand, you brought the cigarette to your lips. Willing the nicotine to calm you down enough so you didnât look like a blundering idiot in front of him.
Apparently the cigarette calmed you down too much.
You had sat there watching him flick through the paper just fine, but when he started lecturing you on your need to get over your childish stage fright of sharing your work or else youâd never make it as a writer, something apparently shifted in your common sense.
âDonât be such a pretentious asshole, Iâm perfectly capable of deciding when and what I want to do with my writing.â
He froze.
So did you. Watching as the sharp words swirled in the air, practically taunting you with regret.
âSorry,â you mumbled.
At the stretch of silence in the small office you began to worry youâd royally fucked up.
Professor Jacksonâs voice was quiet, his voice nearly as warm as the heat blowing out of the vent in the ceiling. "That mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble one day."
You stilled for a moment before your fingers tightened on the hem of your skirt. Your stomach swirled a bit, a combination of worry and something else that was wholly inappropriate. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"
A light laugh left him, though it seemed more of an exhale.
He wouldn't look at you. His gaze was focused pointedly at something over your shoulder.
"It's fine, your bluntness is appreciated. That being said, I prefer you didn't call me anything such as a pretentious ass in front of my students."
You were being let in. Only a little bit.
You couldn't help it as you started to smile. "So only in private, then?"
You watched in fascination as a string pulled slightly at his mouth, his dark eyes sliding over to you for only a moment and it made your head spin.
"Only in private," Professor Jackson hummed.
He then stood up, gesturing for you to follow him and he opened the door for you. The warm light from the hall sweeping into the room and your legs shook a bit as you walked.
âMichael.â
âWhat?â You paused just in front of him, your eyes flicking up to meet his. He was looking at you intently now.
âCall me Michael.â
You wet your bottom lip, âonly in private?â
He observed you for another moment, a quiet storm behind his eyes before he nodded once.
âOnly in private.â
You felt like a line was being crossed. A boundary being carefully tread. Invaded. Redrawn. You knew better. Then again, maybe you were just delusional.
It probably didnât mean anything.
When the weekend rolled around, you and your roommate headed to a popular bar that was only a few blocks away from the apartment.
You were in desperate need for a drink, your mind constantly spinning over the interaction between you and Profâ Michael, from the other day.
Nothing had technically happened. Yet it felt like the world had slipped off its axis since then.
âWhy is it so busy?â You groaned as you rounded the corner, seeing the line to get in.
âItâs Friday. And itâs lecture night.â
You raised a brow. âLecture night?â
âYeah, a bunch of professors come here on Fridayâs, give a lecture on whatever they want, and everyone gets progressively more wasted as the night goes on.â
You hummed, the idea growing more entertaining.
You were three dirty martinis in when Michael stepped up on stage. Your eyes widening at the sight of him.
He looked so⊠casual.
He wore a sweater with the sleeves rolled up, a white collar peeking out at his neck and navy jeans. His curls looking a little messier than usual and his gaze was a little glossy as he brought a glass of wine to his lips.
Michael stepped closer to the microphone, clearing his throat. âI had one too many before this, so if I start randomly slipping into old English, just throw something at me.â
Laughs bubbled up around the bar followed by applause as he started his lecture of choice.
It was something about Medieval depictions of hell and how it was really just a dogmatic idea of the working class, but your mind trailed off as you watched him move.
Mesmerized by his drunken and lazy smile, the way his eyes were set a little heavier as he squinted against the stage light. He was so easily able to take control of any room he walked into and he didnât even have to do anything but be himself.
You turned to your friend, taking another sip of your martini.
âHeâs so hot.â
They nodded in agreement, looking starstruck themselves as they watched him.
He concluded his lecture with a slight bow and a muttered Thank you through the mic. Stumbling a bit as he walked off the stage and his laugh was loud as someone helped steady him.
You werenât thinking.
Clearly.
The room spinning slightly as you stood up and made your way over to him.
You could blame the bad decision making on the vodka when you were sober enough to care.
â
Michael spun you around the second the bathroom door shut, his mouth on yours, the sudden contact almost violent as he backed you against the wood of the door.
Your head would've slammed into it, but his hand had snaked into your hair and absorbed the impact.
His fingers twining, tight, and yanked. Making your mouth fall open in a moan and he all but lunged on the opportunity. Tongue slipping into your mouth and exploring, his own groan leaving him as his rationality left him with its tail between its legs.
His mouth slid down to your jaw, his teeth sinking in, biting and soothing. Caught up in a wave of want that felt borderline primal.
There was a small voice in the back of his mind telling him how wrong this was. You were his student. You were both drunk. This was inappropriate.
Heâd be lying if he said he hadnât thought about before.
His imagination outrunning his better judgement as heâd think about you when the hour ran late. Grading papers but getting too distracted at the mere thought of you. Wondering what you would sound like. What you would look like⊠either being spread out in his bed or bent over his desk.
Waking up one too many nights in a thin layer of sweat, hips grinding into his mattress and wishing it was you.
It was wrong and he was horrible for thinking such things.
But he couldnât stop.
Itâs like you had infested his fucking soul, if he were to be so dramatic.
Not even realizing what he was doing half the time as his hand slipped beneath his boxers to take hold of his hardened cock. Picturing your pretty face and eyes as he started to jack off. Head rolling back and hitting the headboard of his bed as his fantasies ran wild, your name tumbling from his lips as his hips thrusted up into his own hand, hot cum making a mess on his stomach.
When Michaelâs thigh wedged between your legs, a moan broke past your lips and it made him feel dizzy.
He didnât think about how he was your professor. Didn't think about how he was too old for you. Didn't think about how you two were in the bathroom of a bar as you started to ride his thigh and his hands were pulling up your skirt.
A groan leaving him as his eyes flicked down to see your pretty underwear already soaked as you dragged your clothed cunt against his jeans.
One of his hands took hold of your hip, helping you grind against him while his other wrapped around your throat. Pulling your mouth back to his in a bruising kiss.
It was a mess. Wet with teeth hitting against each other and he couldnât get enough.
The whimpers leaving your mouth as you started to go faster and harder going straight to his dick and he wished he could just bend you over the sink and fuck you. The idea was lewd and woefully unromantic, but his drunken mind had lost any semblance of self control.
He pulled back from your mouth, his teeth tugging your bottom lip as he did so and your skin was flushed with liquor and arousal.
âYouâre so fuckinâ pretty.â He said it quietly, mostly to himself as he admired you.
âMichael, Iââ You choked out in a whine, your pupils blown. Reflecting his own desire.
âThatâs it. Youâre doing so good.â
His praise, though small, seemed to topple you over the edge and you buried your face in the crook of his neck as you came.
The sound was akin to the trumpets of heaven, he was sure of it.
His hands settled heavily on your hips, gently working you through your orgasm.
Before another thought could even cross his hand, your own hands were buried in his hair, pulling his mouth back to yours.
The following Monday as he got ready for work, Michaelâs eyes kept catching on the hickey that was placed just between the curve of his neck and above his clavicle.
His jaw rolling at the memory of you putting it there Friday night.
Heâd hardly slept since then.
A mixture of guilt and reruns of the night that only led to more sinful thoughts.
Although you were both adults completely capable of making decisions⊠he was your professor for Godâs sake.
He couldnât even blame it on the alcohol, knowing damn well he had thought about you in a plethora of more erotic waysâ Michael just didnât think heâd actually ever act on it.
But like a dog with a bone thrown in front of it, heâd leapt at the first opportunity.
He felt even worse because he knew he didnât regret it.
Didnât regret it at all as he asked you stay after class, muttering an apology for his behavior in case you regretted it.
Tying to ignore the flood of relief he felt when you shyly admitted it wasnât just a drunken mistake on your behalf.
Shoving his rationality to the side when youâd come visit him during office hours, asking questions about a course you both knew you didnât need help with.
His common sense shutting off with the click of the lock on the door as he undid his belt, eyes dark as he watched you.
âGet on your knees.â
Your gaze slipped to the window covered by half drawn blinds. âWhat ifââ
âDo as your told.â
Your pupils were so blown as you slowly lowered yourself. âYes, sir.â
He hated how much he loved hearing that.
Wrong wrong wrong, the voice would chant.
But the sound of it got drowned out as his hand wound in your hair and his cock slid into your mouth. His eyes never leaving yours and a broken sound tore right up from his diaphragm as your throat constricted around him.
Michael bent over slightly, his chest heaving as one hand caught on the edge of his desk so his knees didnât buckle.
Your mouth was so fucking warm.
You pulled back a bit, tongue swirling around him and curious but it wasnât nearly enough.
âPlease, you can go a bit more.â His words were rough at the edges, his heart pounding as your brows furrowed in concern. Your mouth too full to try and talk, but you shook your head slightly.
âI know you can, you wanna make me proud, donât you?â
He was definitely going to hell.
Michaelâs thumb gently brushed against your cheek, feeling the head of his cock and he shuddered.
âI know you can do it.â
He rolled his hips forward slightly, the tip of his cock nudging the back of your throat and your nails dug into the exposed skin of his hips.
âNice and slow,â he muttered.
He let you set the pace as you did as told, your throat eventually relaxing a bit and he was able to thrust a little further in but his patience was teetering on the edge of ruin.
His teeth sunk into his bottom lip, his grip on the desk tight as his dark eyes met yours.
The trust in your gaze made his chest ache.
You nodded at him once, the movement small.
Not a moment later his hand was back in your hair as his hips rolled forward, the surprised gagging sound you made as his cock slid all the way down your throat made his ears ring. His vision going blurry at the edges as he watched himself slide in and out your swollen lips, his cock covered in your salvia.
Hot tears slipped out of your eyes, leaving a ruddy trail of mascara down your cheeks and he groaned at the sight.
You were devastating in all the right ways to ruin him.
A whine tore up your throat and around his cock, making him throw his head back as the muscles in his stomach tightened when he came down your throat.
âFuck, mama.â His hips mindlessly continued to roll as he rode out his orgasm.
Michael was mesmerized as he pulled out of your mouth, long strings of your saliva and his cum stretching from his tip and your tongue as he did so.
A pathetic sound left him when you swallowed his cum and he pulled you up gently by throat, lips crashing into yours and muttering a Good girl.
â
There was a thrill to stolen glances as he gave a lecture, his eyes catching knowingly on the way youâd bite your pencil and your thighs would clench beneath the table as you crossed them. Your skirt just a bit too short.
The day you had risked not wearing any underwear, he had casually asked you to stay after. His gaze dark and looking a little angry with you.
Not muttering a word as you followed him to his office.
You spent the next hour bent over his desk as he lectured you about it.
How inappropriate it was that you showed up to class like that, but you couldnât summon single thought as his hands took hold of your hips, slamming your pussy back down onto his cock.
Mumbling a broken string of apologies you didnât mean as you moaned his name.
Your chest would tighten when there was a quiet knock on the front door of the apartment well around two in the morning.
Your smile small as you opened it, seeing Michael in a Berkeley crewneck and jeans as you snuck him into your room.
It was ridiculous. Itâs not like what you two were doing was illegal, you just didnât want the drama of it.
Spending the night wrapped up in your sheets, falling asleep to the sound of his heart beat as your head rested against his chest. His fingers running gently up and down your spine as he read whatever book you had on the nightstand that evening.
Getting into the passenger seat of Michaelâs car on weekends as he drove you two somewhere just outside of town. Sliding into linoleum booths of an old diner as you caught up with each otherâs day, smiling absentmindedly as he went on a rant about something new he had read about.
You showing up at his house, walking in to see your favorite flowers on the kitchen table and a bottle of wine when you found out you had won the competition he had encouraged you to enter.
The rest of the night spent with your back arching off his sheets and Michaelâs head between your thighs.
Heâd bring you books often, leaving little notes on parts he thought you would like. Taking you to art exhibitions that opened and not muttering a single complaint as he walked slowly with you to each painting. Bending down and sliding his reading glasses on as he read each description with interest.
Curled up in one of his sweaters, sprawled out on the couch with your back against his chest as he showed you his favorite old Hollywood movies. You found it adorable when he would giggle, trying to hide it behind a hand but youâd tug his wrist away. Muttering how much you loved his smile and watching as he would blush slightly, his doe eyes softening before pulling you in for a kiss.
You adored him. The finality and truth of it hitting you sharply as the semester came to a close and he wished everyone a safe holiday break. Staying long after everyone else had left and not bothering to get up from your chair.
Michaelâs shoes clicked sharply against the tile as he neared you, his smile small and knowing. Hands in his pockets as he came to a stop just shy of the table.
Your fingers thrummed on the wood.
âWhat now?â
You didnât know why you were nervous. Though neither of you had said it out loud, you cared for each other. It wasnât something to be easily discarded.
Michaelâs finger hooked just beneath your chin, tilting your head up and he leant down to kiss you. The pressure of it even and firm.
He then pulled back and straightened, holding his hand out and looking at you expectantly.
âWhatââ
âCâmon.â
You slid your bag on your shoulder, fingers twining with his and you walked hand in hand out of the building and into your new life together, no longer having to be confided to hidden touches and stolen glances.
webcamming with michael Ęâč . Ę á„«áĄ . Ęâč . Ę âĄ[â°]
!!!: 18+, webcam sex, cybersex, pervert!michael, mature!michael, age gap (reader 27, michael 48) #youngho, sweet, blackfem!reader, michael being a simp, late 2000s, michael being bad at technology lol. (inspired by the lovely @/glossiercheekâs sugar daddy michael!!) đđ àŁȘË
You honestly donât know how it happened.
You were on every website and social network known to man at that time. It was 2007, and technology was changing with the times.
Youâd post on Facebook and MySpace, often documenting your outfits, taking cute selfies, or, if you were bored, youâd scroll through fashion blogs and forums, saving pictures of expensive items like Chanel bags and Louie V heelsâthe pink ones, of course.
It was definitely an escape from your reality.
Online, you could customize your page to what you loved and scroll through pages of people you never met. While in person, you were a waitress. Dealing with sticky tables from maple syrup, pouring hot coffee, and counting out the small amount of tips you made at the end of your shift.
But out of everything that kept you staring at that blue screen for hours, there was one thing you couldnât seem to stop going on.
Michael Jackson forums.
You loved to read up on the King of Pop, thread after thread, and you found communities much like you. So one day, late at night, youâd set up that pink laptopâwiping the webcam as you clicked on a live chatroom with people who were fans of Michael.
It was innocent. People were kind, often showing off their merch and talking about their favorite moments, songs, and performances.
Until one night, you clicked on a different forum, mistaking it for a typical fashion blog.
Inside the chat room were talks of paying a large amount of money if a woman were to show off her feet. Trying to persuade the act by insinuating itâd be enough to buy a Dior bag.
It was a large amount that you had never seen at your own job.
You werenât sure what had come over you, but you remembered wanting a channel bag but having to focus on paying an important bill due that week, putting luxuries aside.
So you set up the webcam quickly and responded. Showing off your manicured feet in return. And thankfullyâthankfully, you didnât embarrass yourself on the internet for nothing and were given your money up front.
You vowed to never do something like that again.
And in the later months since then, you never did it again.
Until you got an itchâŠ
However, you never expected the person on the other side of the screen to be Michael Jackson himself.
ᄫᥠ. Ęâ âč . Ę âĄđ»
You dolled yourself up in the mirror, adjusting the strapless dress that pushed your boobs up perfectly.
You wanted an 18k gold Cartier bracelet.
You told yourself you just had to have it, and if your job wasn't supplying you extra money for itâŠthen well, you'd find a way.
It just so happened that, unfortunately, your way was the âget rich quickâ method.
ââŠI won't do this againâŠfor real this time.â You spoke to yourself in the mirror as you applied lip gloss.
You turned on your laptop, wiped the webcam, and returned to your forums. Trying to find a similar page you happened to wander on the first time.
âC'mon... someone's gotta be horny..â
You tutted your tongue, trying to find pages but failing.
A few minutes in, you had already started losing patience and went on the Michael Jackson forumâthe one you usually loved. You started smiling while reading stories and seeing photos of him.
Then you got an annoying pop-up.
But before you could exit it, your eyes went to flashing words displayed.
Live Girls Online! Chat Now!!!
You then thought back to the Cartier bracelet you so desperately wanted.
You hesitated before you clicked.
A sea of naked women flooded your screen, causing you to go wide-eyed. Quickly shutting your laptop.
But the gold Cartier bracelet kept calling your name.
You sighed. Slowly opening your laptop back up, the naked women awaited your new user sign-in.
You clicked on the box which mentioned being a cam-girl.
You set up your profile, using only a picture of you from the mouth down to your chest, giving yourself the user:
mjsbunny1958
ᄫᥠ. Ęâ âč . Ę âĄđ»
You lay down on your bed with your laptop, as you put the finishing touches to your profile. Stating, â$90 to see me live, $50 to chat,â purposely not mentioning up front that the price would go up the longer they had you on this site.
You waited, rethinking whether you had made the price so high that no one wanted to click on you. Or that you may have come off too mysterious, since you didn't use your full face for your profile.
You messed with your almond French nails as you thought.
Suddenly, a âchimeâ.
You quickly turned your attention to the chat bubble moving up top.
Dr. Black is typingâŠ
The avatar was blank; it was the usual default profile picture sites first gave you. You were skeptical; this could very likely be a scam.
Dr. Black: Hello beautiful
You hesitated before responding, maybeâjust maybe, it wasn't a scam. You'd entertain it for now.
mjsbunny1958: hi, have you read my rules?
Dr. Black: Yes beautiful, I comply fully
This user has sent you $50
ᄫᥠ. Ęâ âč . Ę âĄđ»
You grinned at the notification, giggling and hoping you'd be getting that notification often.
mjsbunny1958: what would you like to talk about? it can be anything, iâm here to please :)
Dr. Black: I love your username
Dr. Black: Do you like that Jackson guy?
You were glad the conversation steered toward something you loved; you couldn't lie; you were expecting the person to start with something erotic.
mjsbunny1958 is typingâŠ
mjsbunny1958: oh of course! he has such a lovely voice and heart, i listen to invincible a lotâŠi also heard he may be coming out with a thriller deluxe soon
Dr. Black: Really? So many leaks out there
mjsbunny1958: i keep up online
Dr. Black: I can tell. Iâd buy you all the albums beautiful
Oddly, this experience made you feel giddy. You kinda hoped they'd chat a little longer, then you wouldn't have to worry about being on the site for so long for other people, trying to make bank.
Dr. Black: May I see your face?
mjsbunny1958: hmm, iâm not sure about thatâŠ
This user has sent you $70
Dr. Black: Please? May I see this beautiful bunny?
Your eyes widened at the sudden double amount of money he gave you; you almost felt bad if you didn't give him what he paid for. He was begging too.
But you thought, if you were gonna show your face you had to get your money's worth if they tried to ruin your life with this.
mjsbunny1958: you have to request a private live chat :) then you may seeïżŒ
Dr. Black is typingâŠ
He was typing for a long time. You thought you might've ruined your chances of getting more money by asking him to go live with you.
You stared at your laptop, hoping there was still a chance he might send more money over. You sighed as you waited, about to close your laptop before notifications chimed.
This user has sent you $90
This user has requested a private live chat!
ᄫᥠ. Ęâ âč . Ę âĄđ»
You cleaned your webcam. Admiring your dolled-up appearance in the camera.
Still lying on your bed, you accepted their request.
Their camera was dark. It was silent.
You furrowed your eyebrows for a second in confusion. Either their camera was broken or they did not want to be seen.
âHello?â you spoke, giving a hesitant wave.
Silent.
You weren't sure if you should just leave, the silence was deafening.
Then, a choppy, garbled hello was uttered.
âIs your connection okay?â you laughed, unable to keep it together at the thought that they spent so much on you to not have good wifi.
ââŠMâsorry⊠I'm not too good at technology..â
Their voice was deep, yet soft. Maybe they were an older man, you thought.
âIt's okayâŠtimes are changing, y'know.â You giggled.
ââŠIâm already horrible with this new iPhone crap.â He let out in annoyance, though you found it funny.
âYour laugh is as beautiful as you.â
âThank you, sweetheart.â He never failed to keep calling you beautiful, you noticed.
âYour lips are lovely, that's what drew me into you.â
âOh, really? I only chose that photo for privacy reasons.â
âI understand. I have to be private too.â
He wasn't kidding; you answered his live private chat request to absolutely no one but darkness.
He looked at your bedroom layout, noticing pink bedsheets, purses, and the striking Thriller-era poster of Michael Jackson.
âHave you ever seen him in concert?â
âWho? Michael?â You asked.
He loved the way you said his name, and this new angle you were inâyou were on your stomach, lying prone as you kicked your feet in the air.
âYes.â He gulped.
âUnfortunately, I haven't...maybe heâll tour again soon and I'll be able to go.â
â..Maybe he will, you never know.â
âDo you love michael? You seem to bring him up a lot, and I know because of my username but still,â you grinned.
âI don't mind him.â He uttered, wanting to brush past your statement.
âOkay, Dr. Black. If that's your real name, doctor.â You teased.
He chuckled lowly. Feeling a bit shy that he chose that user.
He started staring at you again, undressing you with his eyes.
ââŠCan I see your dress please? Fully? I-Iâll pay another ninetyâŠâ
âI guess I can't argue with thatâŠâ you chuckled. He didn't waste any time stating heâll pay you so you wouldn't turn him down.
This user has sent you $90
You adjusted your pink laptop on your bed before you stood up, adjusting the strapless dress on you.
â..mmm, look so beautiful mama..â
Before you could return to lying back down, he stopped you.
âWait. Stay there, wanna keep looking at you more.â
You paused your steps, looking back into the screen's black, mysterious void that spoke to you.
âCan you touch yourself..â
You weren't sure if he was demanding it or asking you, but it was certainly turning you on.
You let a manicured hand roam up top your dress, kneading your left breast. The dress was struggling to stay in place with your movements.
âShit⊠just like that mama, touch both of them.â
You let both your hands roam, circling your nipples, biting your lips.
You could hear heavy breathing from the other side of your screen.
âTurn around for me, beautiful⊠wanna see all of you..â He spoke shakily, almost as if he was holding himself back.
You turned around, setting your arms by your sides now.
âLift your dress up.â
You grabbed the dress by the ends, lifting it slowly, revealing a lacey pink string thong.
You bent down in front of the camera, the webcam catching your slick, glistening in the dim lights of your room.
You could hear wet noises and heavy sighing.
He got a perfect view of your ass. Heart-shaped and all. You weren't helping him at all when you started moving it seductively.
Repeated âschlickâ noises followed.
ᄫᥠ. Ęâ âč . Ę âĄđ»
At this point, you took the dress off fully. Then your thong.
You wet your fingers with your mouth, before sliding them in your cunt.
âWish it was your fingers, hm?â you moaned out, bucking your hips on your bed as you attacked your wet pussy.
âFuckâyes, I'd go straight to fucking yâahâyou!â
He groaned out; his precum was drooling out.
Feeling brave, he pushed his webcam toward his dick, giving you a clear picture of just how much he was loving this.
You gasped at the sight, he was so big⊠so we're his hands. You even caught the beautiful splotches of white on his dick.
âTell me, bunny,â he let go of his grip on himself, his hand cramping up, forcing him to edge.
You stopped now, too, not because you wanted to. But because you wanted to cum with him.
âDo you like it rough or soft?â He breathed out, catching his breath.
Your legs were shaking as you swallowed before you spoke.
âI-it dependsâŠâ
âWell, just so you know⊠Iâd be gentle if you'd like. But if you weren't feeling it, I wouldn't mind pounding you day or nightâŠmaybe spank your ass a littleâŠnot too hard though.â
You giggled at his remarks, âYou're quite the gentleman.â
âI'd give you some money too, if you'd like that.â
You smirked at your camera, âI think I'd be more than satisfiedâŠthough I wouldn't mind some gifts.â
He chuckled, âYeah?â
âWanna be my bunny? I'd take care of you so well, make sure you're fucked good and treated like a queen. Would you like that, beautiful?â
You smiled, hardly believing you were really falling in love with a faceless man you barely knew who said all the right words.
Before you could speak, he adjusted his webcam.
Black hair and eyeglasses showed faintly.
âDr. Black?â
âYes, beautiful?â He responded with concern.
âYou mentioned being private earlierâŠBut I don't think it's fair that only I get to show my face and don't get to see the handsome man behind the screen?â
He gulped, nervous now. You could feel it.
ââŠIf I tell you who I am, you wouldn't believe me. If I show you who I am, you'd probably never speak to me again. Let alone be with me.â
âThen let me see you.â You whispered. His hesitancy made you unhappy. You were sure whatever it was he was hiding about himself couldn't possibly change what you experienced tonight with him.
ᄫᥠ. Ęâ âč . Ę âĄđ»
He adjusted his camera slowly, the light cascading on his face.
Your jaw went slack in shock.
Michael Jackson.
A sudden realization that you spoke, touched yourself to, and turned him on came to you.
He bowed his head down a few times, ashamed, like he had done everything wrong.
You were glad he gave you a few moments of silence to take it all in. You processed it. Then breathed, calmly speaking now.
ââŠif I asked you to tell me. I wouldn't have believed you.â
âBut, am I so glad you showed me you. You trusted me.â You smiled now. âI'll take this to my graveâŠeven if you didn't mean what you told me earlier.â
He looked back up into the camera, shocked at your calm reaction. But also at your words. He meant what he said, but the fact that you wouldn't try to ruin him even if he didn't mean itâshould've given him relief, but instead it made him disheartened. Because if you didn't try to make a story out of him, then what else was there left to hide?
âT-that's it?â he managed to speak.
You nodded, making peace with the situation. Realizing he was just a man at the end of the day, having needs too.
âKnowing what I know now doesn't just magically erase what happened before I knew.â
It felt odd, for him at least. Not expecting you to behave like this at all.
ââŠI don't remember the last time someone made me feel soâŠordinary.â
If he wasn't already head over heels for you, your words simply made him fall even harder.
âI thinkâŠâ he chuckled, fixing his glasses,
âI'm in much deeper than I planned.â
And from that point on, he meant what he said to you.
From getting your contact to treating you like a queen, wrapped up in his arms.
He fucked you deliciously, and you couldn't seem to wrap your mind around how a guy his age had so much stamina.
He gave you expensive gifts, âthe best of the best for my bunnyâ he'd always say.
You never had to worry about the Cartier bracelet when you now owned 20, courtesy of Michael, of course.
Summary: You and Michael have been together for years. Your lives are perfect; the days are long but successful, and most importantly, your relationship is thriving. In the years together, Michael is healthy and as adorable as ever, but with a new album and a forced tour, will this happiness and stability be able to stay?
Era/Pair: History/Mature Era!Michael x SuccessfulCEOBlackfem!Reader
Tags/Warning: Eating disorders; Fluff and Smut; Masterbation; hurt/comfort; Chubby Michael; improper weight loss; TLC; pet names-mama, Bambi, mommy- is used; angst with a happy ending; fighting with Michael
Part 2 Part 3 Part 4
Michael didn't mind touring; he has spent his entire life touring. Of course, he wasn't a big fan of going through the entire process; however, the actual thought of touring didn't turn him off... until now.
Sitting in a worn rolling leather chair that's a little too tight for comfort, he takes a sip of orange juice just to hide his grimace. Clearing his throat, he swallows his pride as he's told that this was happening. He needed to go on the road, although it was more like a plane. With the dates they were throwing at him, Michael felt as though he might as well be getting prepared to move.
He protested as politely as he could, his voice having a hint of a defeated laugh, "I don't have to tour. The album did really well. Not âThrillerâ well, but enough for me. That should be enough for you guys, right? I don't understand why you guys love doing these things to me."
The executive tried to give him his best smile, but everyone has been sitting in this meeting for hours already. They clearly didn't try to cater to the legend any longer; they refused to anger the one who kept their lights on.
"Michael, please. The best thing for you to do is to tour. There are children and past fans who will be able to see you for the first time. Don't you want your new fans to see you?"
Michael hesitated, rubbing his hands on his thigh as those words turned over in his head. He was happy for once. He had gained a lot of weight, sitting pretty at 185 pounds, the most he's ever weighed.
Ever.
It wasn't exactly distasteful either; all he gained was a little ass, thick thighs, and love handles. He was still self-conscious about it, except he knew who he was, and he was comfortable. Plus, he has had a long-time girlfriend who saved him. He loved her and didn't want to add to her stress by being gone for six months to a year.
He didn't have a choice, though. The executives had already made their decision, only giving him the courtesy of trying to 'convince' him. They had already picked out the dates and begun using the old pictures of him to create prototype advertisements. He knew he didn't have much power besides his name, and he knew that they were growing more cautious of him in terms of his buying power and brand.
Michael may look gullible, but even so, he wasn't stupid.
His fame was a phenomenon, and his talents were as well. He knew that he needed to be careful around these men. Looking at them sitting around this table, they reminded him of government officials rather than music executives. Just soulless.
They even spoke to him like he was still a child and not a man in his late 30s. Even in his presence, they rarely spoke to him as a man, just a commodity like a toy they could wind up and collect coins from. Always speaking about him in the third person to his manager and anyone who was around him at that time.
All Michael was to them was pure cash. So he just nodded and asked quietly in his melodic voice, "So when can I start?"
In his heart, he knew that this was a decision that he would come to regret. Especially when he was in a long-term committed relationship. These thoughts immediately turned to you and how you would feel knowing he accepted a deal that he should have turned down.
Across the city, you spend the day in the office, wondering if Michael is okay. You wanted to phone him on your lunch break, but your assistant came in, waving her hands frantically about how one of the idols you were managing had shaved their head and refused to talk to their personal manager. By the time you had returned to the office and sat down at your desk, the emails and paperwork were piled too high for you to do anything else other than scream and get to work.
Michael stayed on your mind constantly as you worked. He was called to Sony early this morning. He didn't sound too happy about it, yet after being with him for 3 years, you noticed that he's never that happy about being called to the company. From what you understood, they weren't exactly the most civil with him. You offered to accompany him, only for Michael to brush you off, giving you his signature boyish smile with a promise that he would be fine. In his own words, "He was a big boy now."
A statement that made you chuckle even now that he wasnât in your sight. Another laugh escapes as you remember how you patted his now protruding stomach, "Yes, you are, baby."
Laughing harder than ever when he covered his stomach and blushed before scurrying out the door like a shy deer.
You smile down at the paperwork on your desk at the thought of this morning's interaction.
Gods, he was cute. You loved that man with every fiber of your being. Which is why you couldn't shake the fact that something was wrong after not hearing from him.
It wasnât until you got home after work that your suspicions were confirmed. Looking back, you shouldâve insisted that you were going with him.
Now Michael has come home around 7. Slamming the door to the second story of the main bedroom open, only pausing to see you lying in bed with your book. He was almost shaking with anger and practically chewing his fingers off as he paced back and forth.
"They're making me go on tour! A TOUR! Baby, I can't do that. They didn't even ASK me. They TOLD me. Me. MICHAEL JACKSON! Someone who has been touring since before I even knew what touring was. I made that company millions!" His pacing became faster as he ran his hands through his fairy mullet.
You couldnât help but notice that even when he's stressed, he looks perfect. His upper arms were now swollen with extra meat, and his tummy was straining in his button-up. His pale skin glowed and was blemish-free, reminding you of the beautiful patches that graced his chest, arms, and thighs.
Your man was a masterpiece.
"Michael," you call out softly.
Stopping his pacing momentarily, you set aside your book and move to the edge of the bed, "You're okay, love. I'm sure this will be a good experience. Your fans must miss you."
He whines, flopping down next to you, cringing when the soft bed gives a low moan. "But you-"
"I'll be fine, baby. I'll miss you, but it isn't like we're living in the dinosaur ages. You can call me every day, no matter the time. I'll wait for you."
Placing a kiss on his forehead and squeezing his thigh, you continue to watch him bite his lip before poking it out, still not convinced. Michael knows that this tour was nothing but bad news, just as you did in your heart.
A week later, he's packing to go off for rehearsals in Florida for 4 months before the first leg of the tour starts in Russia. You sit on his bed, listing out the things he might need and you know he was prone to forget, "You have your toothpaste?"
"Um⊠yes," he says, looking through his Louis Vuitton carry-on.
"Toothbrush?"
"Yep."
"Sunscreen? Your makeup? "
"Karen's gonna be there, but uh yeah."
You keep your eyes from rolling before continuing down the list, "Deodorant?⊠Rash cream?" You ask, knowing he would need it in Florida's humid weather, especially with how sensitive his skin is; now that he's bigger, the chafing can get a little bad, leading to him being in pain from the constant rubbing.
He blushes at the question before grabbing the cream off the nightstand. He turns to you sharply, "I got it, I promise. This isn't my first tour."
"I know, baby." You sigh, looking at him with a little sadness in your heart, "I just want to be sure that youâre never going without something. Make sure you eat lots. You'd better not lose one pound! Not after I spent all that time fattening you up so well!"
He giggles hesitantly, rubbing his stomach defensively, "I'm not fat."
"Okay, my pretty chubby baby." You laugh, leaning forward to kiss the hand that's still rubbing his stomach.
He pulls you off the bed, kissing you deeply. Your body relaxes naturally at the taste of him; the kiss was full of enviable longing. His lips are always soft, and the kisses are a little wet as he begins to get excited. Those large hands you love come to cup the back of your head, letting him take as much as he pleases.
You pull back first, his lips chasing yours before letting out a high whimper, then taking in a sharp inhale at the complete loss of you. A sequence of sounds that just proves that the Lord was too cruel to make Michael. Trying to refill your lungs with the air you occupy yourself by placing butterfly kisses all over his face, relishing in the smile and sighs it pulls from him.
Placing one last kiss on his Adamâs apple, you reach a hand to tug his hair behind his ear, "Have a safe trip, baby. Don't forget to call me when you land."
He nods, then moves quickly, shocking you by stealing another kiss before you both walk down the stairs.
By the time you come down the main staircase of the house, while holding his hand. His manager and personal assistant are already rushing around you, grabbing his things from his bodyguards. They rush him to the car, audibly complaining about how much time he's used up with you. The last thing you hear before he shuts the car door is his voice, loud, strong, and proud, yelling out, "I LOVE YOU!"
webcamming with michael Ęâč . Ę á„«áĄ . Ęâč . Ę âĄ[â°]
!!!: 18+, webcam sex, cybersex, pervert!michael, mature!michael, age gap (reader 27, michael 48) #youngho, sweet, blackfem!reader, michael being a simp, late 2000s, michael being bad at technology lol. (inspired by the lovely @/glossiercheekâs sugar daddy michael!!) đđ àŁȘË
You honestly donât know how it happened.
You were on every website and social network known to man at that time. It was 2007, and technology was changing with the times.
Youâd post on Facebook and MySpace, often documenting your outfits, taking cute selfies, or, if you were bored, youâd scroll through fashion blogs and forums, saving pictures of expensive items like Chanel bags and Louie V heelsâthe pink ones, of course.
It was definitely an escape from your reality.
Online, you could customize your page to what you loved and scroll through pages of people you never met. While in person, you were a waitress. Dealing with sticky tables from maple syrup, pouring hot coffee, and counting out the small amount of tips you made at the end of your shift.
But out of everything that kept you staring at that blue screen for hours, there was one thing you couldnât seem to stop going on.
Michael Jackson forums.
You loved to read up on the King of Pop, thread after thread, and you found communities much like you. So one day, late at night, youâd set up that pink laptopâwiping the webcam as you clicked on a live chatroom with people who were fans of Michael.
It was innocent. People were kind, often showing off their merch and talking about their favorite moments, songs, and performances.
Until one night, you clicked on a different forum, mistaking it for a typical fashion blog.
Inside the chat room were talks of paying a large amount of money if a woman were to show off her feet. Trying to persuade the act by insinuating itâd be enough to buy a Dior bag.
It was a large amount that you had never seen at your own job.
You werenât sure what had come over you, but you remembered wanting a channel bag but having to focus on paying an important bill due that week, putting luxuries aside.
So you set up the webcam quickly and responded. Showing off your manicured feet in return. And thankfullyâthankfully, you didnât embarrass yourself on the internet for nothing and were given your money up front.
You vowed to never do something like that again.
And in the later months since then, you never did it again.
Until you got an itchâŠ
However, you never expected the person on the other side of the screen to be Michael Jackson himself.
ᄫᥠ. Ęâ âč . Ę âĄđ»
You dolled yourself up in the mirror, adjusting the strapless dress that pushed your boobs up perfectly.
You wanted an 18k gold Cartier bracelet.
You told yourself you just had to have it, and if your job wasn't supplying you extra money for itâŠthen well, you'd find a way.
It just so happened that, unfortunately, your way was the âget rich quickâ method.
ââŠI won't do this againâŠfor real this time.â You spoke to yourself in the mirror as you applied lip gloss.
You turned on your laptop, wiped the webcam, and returned to your forums. Trying to find a similar page you happened to wander on the first time.
âC'mon... someone's gotta be horny..â
You tutted your tongue, trying to find pages but failing.
A few minutes in, you had already started losing patience and went on the Michael Jackson forumâthe one you usually loved. You started smiling while reading stories and seeing photos of him.
Then you got an annoying pop-up.
But before you could exit it, your eyes went to flashing words displayed.
Live Girls Online! Chat Now!!!
You then thought back to the Cartier bracelet you so desperately wanted.
You hesitated before you clicked.
A sea of naked women flooded your screen, causing you to go wide-eyed. Quickly shutting your laptop.
But the gold Cartier bracelet kept calling your name.
You sighed. Slowly opening your laptop back up, the naked women awaited your new user sign-in.
You clicked on the box which mentioned being a cam-girl.
You set up your profile, using only a picture of you from the mouth down to your chest, giving yourself the user:
mjsbunny1958
ᄫᥠ. Ęâ âč . Ę âĄđ»
You lay down on your bed with your laptop, as you put the finishing touches to your profile. Stating, â$90 to see me live, $50 to chat,â purposely not mentioning up front that the price would go up the longer they had you on this site.
You waited, rethinking whether you had made the price so high that no one wanted to click on you. Or that you may have come off too mysterious, since you didn't use your full face for your profile.
You messed with your almond French nails as you thought.
Suddenly, a âchimeâ.
You quickly turned your attention to the chat bubble moving up top.
Dr. Black is typingâŠ
The avatar was blank; it was the usual default profile picture sites first gave you. You were skeptical; this could very likely be a scam.
Dr. Black: Hello beautiful
You hesitated before responding, maybeâjust maybe, it wasn't a scam. You'd entertain it for now.
mjsbunny1958: hi, have you read my rules?
Dr. Black: Yes beautiful, I comply fully
This user has sent you $50
ᄫᥠ. Ęâ âč . Ę âĄđ»
You grinned at the notification, giggling and hoping you'd be getting that notification often.
mjsbunny1958: what would you like to talk about? it can be anything, iâm here to please :)
Dr. Black: I love your username
Dr. Black: Do you like that Jackson guy?
You were glad the conversation steered toward something you loved; you couldn't lie; you were expecting the person to start with something erotic.
mjsbunny1958 is typingâŠ
mjsbunny1958: oh of course! he has such a lovely voice and heart, i listen to invincible a lotâŠi also heard he may be coming out with a thriller deluxe soon
Dr. Black: Really? So many leaks out there
mjsbunny1958: i keep up online
Dr. Black: I can tell. Iâd buy you all the albums beautiful
Oddly, this experience made you feel giddy. You kinda hoped they'd chat a little longer, then you wouldn't have to worry about being on the site for so long for other people, trying to make bank.
Dr. Black: May I see your face?
mjsbunny1958: hmm, iâm not sure about thatâŠ
This user has sent you $70
Dr. Black: Please? May I see this beautiful bunny?
Your eyes widened at the sudden double amount of money he gave you; you almost felt bad if you didn't give him what he paid for. He was begging too.
But you thought, if you were gonna show your face you had to get your money's worth if they tried to ruin your life with this.
mjsbunny1958: you have to request a private live chat :) then you may seeïżŒ
Dr. Black is typingâŠ
He was typing for a long time. You thought you might've ruined your chances of getting more money by asking him to go live with you.
You stared at your laptop, hoping there was still a chance he might send more money over. You sighed as you waited, about to close your laptop before notifications chimed.
This user has sent you $90
This user has requested a private live chat!
ᄫᥠ. Ęâ âč . Ę âĄđ»
You cleaned your webcam. Admiring your dolled-up appearance in the camera.
Still lying on your bed, you accepted their request.
Their camera was dark. It was silent.
You furrowed your eyebrows for a second in confusion. Either their camera was broken or they did not want to be seen.
âHello?â you spoke, giving a hesitant wave.
Silent.
You weren't sure if you should just leave, the silence was deafening.
Then, a choppy, garbled hello was uttered.
âIs your connection okay?â you laughed, unable to keep it together at the thought that they spent so much on you to not have good wifi.
ââŠMâsorry⊠I'm not too good at technology..â
Their voice was deep, yet soft. Maybe they were an older man, you thought.
âIt's okayâŠtimes are changing, y'know.â You giggled.
ââŠIâm already horrible with this new iPhone crap.â He let out in annoyance, though you found it funny.
âYour laugh is as beautiful as you.â
âThank you, sweetheart.â He never failed to keep calling you beautiful, you noticed.
âYour lips are lovely, that's what drew me into you.â
âOh, really? I only chose that photo for privacy reasons.â
âI understand. I have to be private too.â
He wasn't kidding; you answered his live private chat request to absolutely no one but darkness.
He looked at your bedroom layout, noticing pink bedsheets, purses, and the striking Thriller-era poster of Michael Jackson.
âHave you ever seen him in concert?â
âWho? Michael?â You asked.
He loved the way you said his name, and this new angle you were inâyou were on your stomach, lying prone as you kicked your feet in the air.
âYes.â He gulped.
âUnfortunately, I haven't...maybe heâll tour again soon and I'll be able to go.â
â..Maybe he will, you never know.â
âDo you love michael? You seem to bring him up a lot, and I know because of my username but still,â you grinned.
âI don't mind him.â He uttered, wanting to brush past your statement.
âOkay, Dr. Black. If that's your real name, doctor.â You teased.
He chuckled lowly. Feeling a bit shy that he chose that user.
He started staring at you again, undressing you with his eyes.
ââŠCan I see your dress please? Fully? I-Iâll pay another ninetyâŠâ
âI guess I can't argue with thatâŠâ you chuckled. He didn't waste any time stating heâll pay you so you wouldn't turn him down.
This user has sent you $90
You adjusted your pink laptop on your bed before you stood up, adjusting the strapless dress on you.
â..mmm, look so beautiful mama..â
Before you could return to lying back down, he stopped you.
âWait. Stay there, wanna keep looking at you more.â
You paused your steps, looking back into the screen's black, mysterious void that spoke to you.
âCan you touch yourself..â
You weren't sure if he was demanding it or asking you, but it was certainly turning you on.
You let a manicured hand roam up top your dress, kneading your left breast. The dress was struggling to stay in place with your movements.
âShit⊠just like that mama, touch both of them.â
You let both your hands roam, circling your nipples, biting your lips.
You could hear heavy breathing from the other side of your screen.
âTurn around for me, beautiful⊠wanna see all of you..â He spoke shakily, almost as if he was holding himself back.
You turned around, setting your arms by your sides now.
âLift your dress up.â
You grabbed the dress by the ends, lifting it slowly, revealing a lacey pink string thong.
You bent down in front of the camera, the webcam catching your slick, glistening in the dim lights of your room.
You could hear wet noises and heavy sighing.
He got a perfect view of your ass. Heart-shaped and all. You weren't helping him at all when you started moving it seductively.
Repeated âschlickâ noises followed.
ᄫᥠ. Ęâ âč . Ę âĄđ»
At this point, you took the dress off fully. Then your thong.
You wet your fingers with your mouth, before sliding them in your cunt.
âWish it was your fingers, hm?â you moaned out, bucking your hips on your bed as you attacked your wet pussy.
âFuckâyes, I'd go straight to fucking yâahâyou!â
He groaned out; his precum was drooling out.
Feeling brave, he pushed his webcam toward his dick, giving you a clear picture of just how much he was loving this.
You gasped at the sight, he was so big⊠so we're his hands. You even caught the beautiful splotches of white on his dick.
âTell me, bunny,â he let go of his grip on himself, his hand cramping up, forcing him to edge.
You stopped now, too, not because you wanted to. But because you wanted to cum with him.
âDo you like it rough or soft?â He breathed out, catching his breath.
Your legs were shaking as you swallowed before you spoke.
âI-it dependsâŠâ
âWell, just so you know⊠Iâd be gentle if you'd like. But if you weren't feeling it, I wouldn't mind pounding you day or nightâŠmaybe spank your ass a littleâŠnot too hard though.â
You giggled at his remarks, âYou're quite the gentleman.â
âI'd give you some money too, if you'd like that.â
You smirked at your camera, âI think I'd be more than satisfiedâŠthough I wouldn't mind some gifts.â
He chuckled, âYeah?â
âWanna be my bunny? I'd take care of you so well, make sure you're fucked good and treated like a queen. Would you like that, beautiful?â
You smiled, hardly believing you were really falling in love with a faceless man you barely knew who said all the right words.
Before you could speak, he adjusted his webcam.
Black hair and eyeglasses showed faintly.
âDr. Black?â
âYes, beautiful?â He responded with concern.
âYou mentioned being private earlierâŠBut I don't think it's fair that only I get to show my face and don't get to see the handsome man behind the screen?â
He gulped, nervous now. You could feel it.
ââŠIf I tell you who I am, you wouldn't believe me. If I show you who I am, you'd probably never speak to me again. Let alone be with me.â
âThen let me see you.â You whispered. His hesitancy made you unhappy. You were sure whatever it was he was hiding about himself couldn't possibly change what you experienced tonight with him.
ᄫᥠ. Ęâ âč . Ę âĄđ»
He adjusted his camera slowly, the light cascading on his face.
Your jaw went slack in shock.
Michael Jackson.
A sudden realization that you spoke, touched yourself to, and turned him on came to you.
He bowed his head down a few times, ashamed, like he had done everything wrong.
You were glad he gave you a few moments of silence to take it all in. You processed it. Then breathed, calmly speaking now.
ââŠif I asked you to tell me. I wouldn't have believed you.â
âBut, am I so glad you showed me you. You trusted me.â You smiled now. âI'll take this to my graveâŠeven if you didn't mean what you told me earlier.â
He looked back up into the camera, shocked at your calm reaction. But also at your words. He meant what he said, but the fact that you wouldn't try to ruin him even if he didn't mean itâshould've given him relief, but instead it made him disheartened. Because if you didn't try to make a story out of him, then what else was there left to hide?
âT-that's it?â he managed to speak.
You nodded, making peace with the situation. Realizing he was just a man at the end of the day, having needs too.
âKnowing what I know now doesn't just magically erase what happened before I knew.â
It felt odd, for him at least. Not expecting you to behave like this at all.
ââŠI don't remember the last time someone made me feel soâŠordinary.â
If he wasn't already head over heels for you, your words simply made him fall even harder.
âI thinkâŠâ he chuckled, fixing his glasses,
âI'm in much deeper than I planned.â
And from that point on, he meant what he said to you.
From getting your contact to treating you like a queen, wrapped up in his arms.
He fucked you deliciously, and you couldn't seem to wrap your mind around how a guy his age had so much stamina.
He gave you expensive gifts, âthe best of the best for my bunnyâ he'd always say.
You never had to worry about the Cartier bracelet when you now owned 20, courtesy of Michael, of course.
sub!cowboy michael who likes the thrill of public sex on your farm after attending to your animals. the soft flesh of your thighs under his warm palm as his head falls back on the oak shed walls in ecstasy. âjusâ like that mikeâdoinâ so good fâme baby.â your voice huffed out in a muttered moan as michael whimpers at how tight you circled around him, never wanting to let go.
sub!cowboy michael who helps you on your farm whenever youâre tired. âmichael you shouldnâtââ he shakes his head cutting you off before wrapping the brown rope around his calloused hands. âi got your horses for the day lemme take care of you.â before kissing you quickly and running off to attend your animals, watching him with a warm smile on your lips at the cuteness showcasing off of him.
sub!cowboy michael who drives himself insane seeing you in your bra and shorts in your barn early morning, prepping for the day from his farmhouse. the sight of your perky breasts on display as your hair is in a bundle of curls, making him palm his growing bulge from afar and cursing small profanities under his breath.
sub!cowboy michael who lets you cockwarm him while sitting out front of your farm. the feeling of his cock growing more in you as he whimpers feeling you bounce a lil over him tauntingly while picking small flowers off the ground. âmama please i canâtââ âjusâ a lil longer baby. donât wanna scare the neighbors outside.â while he continues to shut his eyes and focus on not coming continuously in youâonce again.
sub!cowboy michael who loves to grip on your hair while fucking you from behind, making sure the dim farmhouse lights, showcase up and over your glowing complexion. âbounce jusâ like that baby.â your moans echoing through the farmhouse with the small sounds of your animals outside making noise. âfuck youâre creaming all over meâ thatâs my pretty girl.â while continuing to use your pussy and gripping your hair like the ropes around his horse. hard, tight, and desperate.
â you want your own bedroom, but your husband, bad!michael, strongly disagrees.â
â light suggestiveness. pouty michael.
you had a lifestyle magazine opened on your shared bed to a well-decorated, feminine bedroom, but michael wasnât staring at itâhe was staring at you as if you just suggested moving to mars.
"a separate bedroom?" he repeated, his soft voice rising into a scandalized gasp.
he stood at the foot of the bed, his hands coming to rest firmly on his hips. he shook his head in disbelief. he couldnât help but wonder if he had done something wrong or if you didnât find him attractive anymore because of his snoring.
"y/n, we are married. husbands and wives share a bed. thatâs how it works!â
you were sitting on the edge of the bed as he stood in front of you flopping his hands around.
"mike, it's just for my own personal space," you explained, trying to suppress a smile at how offended he looked.
one of your friends told you all about how she felt happier having her own bedroom and how it can do wonders for a marriage. plus, sheâs been married about twenty years longer than you. you didnât realize that not compromising on every single thing was an option, and you truthfully couldnât stop thinking about it.
you looked down at the sparkly bed set you were sitting atop of and the Jesus portrait above the bed.
ââŠbesides, i want to decorate it in my own style. yâknow, my own books, maybe a giant pastel rug, a cheetah print loveseat. i love our bedroom, but sometimes i just want somethinâ of my own." you shrugged your shoulders, unable to look him into his eyes that always appeared larger than life whenever he was upset.
you looked down at your swinging feet instead.
michael pouted and rolled his eyes.
"but our bedroom is cozy, and you have somethinâ of your ownâit's my left shoulder!"
he marched around to your side of the bed, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. he huffed. he grew more and more upset the longer the looked at your empty side of the bed. he couldnât bear for that sight to become the norm. he was also internally panicking because you were his personal nyquil; he slept much easier with your presence next to him.
âif you sleep in another room, who am i supposed to serenade at two in the morning when lyrics come to me in a dream? who's gonna steal the cover off me?"
"you can still visit, michael," you giggled, reaching out to tug on the fabric of his shirt.
"visit?" he repeated loudly, his lips curling in horror at the word.
"i have to make an appointment to see my own wife? no, no, no. i don't like the thought of it at all. it makes me feel like we're landlords." he violently shook his head as he walked back over to you.
he suddenly slumped down next to you, burying his face in your shoulder with a dramatic sigh, his long loose curls sprawled out.
"we can change the rug, y/n. we can buy booksâwhatever yâwant. just please don't leave me. iâll do whatever yâwant angel." he pleaded, pulling his head back and holding both of your hands into his.
when you looked forward instead of into his eyes, he slid off the bed and dropped down on his knees. he rested his head against your hard knee and looked up at you pleadingly. some of his strands partially covered his eyes.
âmichael!â you groaned, trying to move your knee from his heavy skull, but he grounded the weight of his head into it. he was genuinely bothered by the idea and didnât support it at all. you definitely werenât expecting him to be so dramatic about it either.
âiâm so serious baby. donât go.â he sighed.
you bit the inside of your cheek knowing that you already discussed the decorations with one of the onsite architects.
he raised his arms and began gently rubbing long ovals up and down your covered thighs.
âwhoâs gonna love you when you need me, baby?â he muttered slowly, grazing his teeth across his reddish pink lower lip.
you gulped quietly then rolled your eyes. you tried pushing his veiny hands off of you, but he instead took hold of your smaller ones and began kissing each of your fingers.
âmichael! seriously stop being childish.â you groaned.
he, unfortunately, wasnât going to stop until you let this grotesque idea go.
note: this is based on the doc series michael did with bashir. ummm thick dad bod michael was sumn so serious !! he just looks yummy.
In the studio, the air was stifling, thick with the suffocating heat of the camera lights and the relentless, disorganized demands of Martin Bashir's crew. It had been a grueling day of filming, and you could see the malicious picture he was trying to paint; beneath Michael's composed exterior, a dark, turbulent anger was fiercely brewing .
Every time he managed to steal you away into a quiet corner, the tension rolling off his warm body was palpable. He was already starting to take his frustrations out on you in the only way he could during these brief breaks...with sudden, punishing intimacy. Each stolen kiss he pressed to your lips was hungrier and much more aggressive than the last.
Finding a momentary respite from the incompetent crew, he cornered you once more. His brows were drawn together in a fierce scowl, his dark eyes stormy, and his breath carried the faint, sharp bite of alcohol.
"I'm sorry this is taking so long, baby," he groaned, dragging a large, heavy hand down his face in pure exasperation. He was visibly agitated, ready to snap, rambling under his breath about every little thing that had angered him on set.
Without asking, his long fingers expertly hooked into the waistband of your skirt, his heavy-handed grip uncompromising and tight. With a sudden, forceful pull, he dragged you flush against his body. The solid, full heat of him radiating through your clothes elicited a quiet gasp from your lips as you leaned into him. He dipped his head, his lips brushing right against your ear, making it clear with his body language that he was in no mood for games.
"I know it's late, but I need you here so I have something to ground me," he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, commanding register.
His grip tightened almost painfully on your waistband, the unspoken promise of a relentless release hanging heavy in the air between you. He needed an outlet for his anger, and you knew exactly what was coming the moment he finally got you alone. His eyes burned into yours as he delivered a final, thrilling warning of what to expect behind closed doors: "You'll have to wait just a little longer for bedtime tonight; I need to calm down before I can sleep".
Your eyes looked up at his, nodding as he spoke. Or rather, as he talked at you. He was rambling under his breath about every little thing that had angered him in that moment, his frustration boiling over. You knew better than to run from it or try any antics; he wasn't messing around, and you already knew that when he was this mad, his dominant, heavy-handed nature was fully taking over. With a final, possessive growl, Michael crashed another few bruising, aggressive kisses onto your lips, before tearing himself away to find his seat on the couch to continue filming.
The suffocating camera lights flared back to life, illuminating the carefully composed mask Michael slipped onto his face. Bashir began again, his questions laced with that same insidious, calculating tone meant to build a picture that wasn't in Michaels favor.
Michael answered them with practiced grace, but you knew the turbulent truth of what was brewing underneath. As he spoke, his dark, heavy-lidded eyes kept darting past the miserable, incompetent crew to lock onto yours. Every time he was asked a particularly intrusive or unorganized question, Michael's jaw would tick, and his burning gaze would instantly seek you out in the shadows of the studio.
Those heated, stolen glances across the room weren't just seeking out a grounding presence; they were a predatory promise. His eyes would darken as they dragged over your form, visually undressing you while he casually answered Bashir, silently reminding you of his uncompromising, tight grip on your waistband just moments ago. With every subtle flex of his large hands resting on his knees, you could feel the demanding energy rolling off him.
You already knew exactly what was coming once the cameras stopped rolling. His piercing looks held you captive, conveying a clear, unspoken message: the madder they made him right now, the harder and more relentless his inevitable release on you was going to be. Every time his eyes flicked back to yours, it was a thrilling reminder that you were his only outlet.
The oppressive heat of the studio felt even heavier as the interview dragged on. You continue to watch from the shadows as Michael reached down, his large hand wrapping around a bottle of liquor sitting just to the side of his feet. He took a quick, desperate shot, trying to loosen up and numb the mounting irritation from Bashir's relentless, grueling production. You knew he already had a hint of alcohol on his breath from earlier, and seeing him so flustered broke your heart, but you also knew exactly how these people operated. You couldn't let them spin his drinking into something malicious to use against him, knowing the picture they were trying to build wasn't in his favor at all.
Catching his eye across the room, you frowned in deep disappointment and explicitly mouthed, "The cameras."
The moment the words left your lips, you instantly regretted it. The flash of dark, unfiltered fury that crossed Michael's features was terrifyingly thrilling. It was bad enough that this highly unorganized crew was irritating him, but having you silently reprimand him? That pushed his already paper-thin patience right to the edge. You knew firsthand how relentless he was going to be later that night.
Instead of hiding the bottle, he responded with a blatant, breathtaking display of dominance. His position on the sofa shifted abruptly, his long legs spreading wide open in a predatory sprawl. Your breath hitched, your eyes instantly drawn to the thick, heavy bulge resting between his spread thighs. It was a stark, visual reminder of the heavy-handed, aggressive release he was promising, and the realization that he wasn't even fully hard yet made your pulse pound everywhere.
Bashir droned on, asking another calculated question. Michael answered smoothly, but his dark, stormy eyes kept darting back to you as he spoke. Every time he glanced your way between answers, it was a heavy, commanding stare that practically stripped you naked where you stood. You could see his jaw ticking as he rambled slightly under his breath, a clear sign of how much every little thing was frustrating him in that moment.
Those piercing, stolen looks weren't just seeking you out to ground him anymore...they were a silent, thrilling threat. With his legs spread wide and his eyes burning into yours mid-sentence, he was visualizing exactly how he was going to slut you out the absolute second he got you alone. The unspoken promise of punishment hung thick in the stifling air.
Your legs squeezed together instinctively; seeing him this mad was terrifying, but in the absolute sexiest way possible. The heavy, pooling honey between your thighs was entirely for him. Desperate to soften the blow of what was coming, you tried to catch his gaze, giving him those wide, pleading doe eyes you always used to lighten his mood and ensure his inevitable punishment wouldn't be quite so unforgiving.
Ignoring your silent plea, Michael stood up, his large hand casually but deliberately brushing over his slacks to adjust the heavy, straining bulge pressing against his zipper. As the grueling interview finally came to a wrap for the night, you immediately scrambled into action. You desperately tried to keep busy by herding the miserable, disorganized crew toward the door, knowing it was your only way to stall. You knew the second you were alone, Michael would order you upstairs, he never hesitated to fulfill the promises he made to you.
Just as you thought you'd successfully avoided him in the chaos of the packing crew, you felt the sudden heat of his warm, thick body press flush up against your back. You froze, letting out the quietest gasp as his solid frame caged you in against a nearby table.
The lingering crew members were still peppering him with final, annoying wrap-up questions about tomorrow's schedule. Michael casually made small talk with them, his public mask firmly in place, but his dark, heavy-lidded eyes kept cutting sideways to glance at you as he answered their questions. Every time he responded to a producer, he cast another heated, predatory look your way, visually promising that your little stalling tactic had only made him madder.
While smoothly answering a question about the lighting setup, he leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear so only you could hear him over the chatter. "I didn't tell you to talk... I told you to wait," he murmured, his voice a low, commanding rumble that sent a shiver straight to your core.
His heavy-handed grip slid onto your hip, his long fingers unapologetically tight and uncompromising as he kept up the conversational facade for the crew. He didn't even bother to ask for permission; his body language made it perfectly clear that he was going to take his frustrations out on you the moment the room was empty. As he casually answered Bashir's last question, his thumb stroked your hip bone in a silent, thrilling warning. He was already rambling under his breath about every little thing the incompetent crew had done to anger him today, and his stolen glances promised a session of backshots to help him calm down before he could sleep. You knew better than to try and test him again, because that would only get you spanked. His piercing looks held you captive, silently assuring you that you were going to be completely slutted out the second the front door clicked shut.
His grip on your hand was uncompromising as he dragged you down the hall, completely ignoring your breathless, nervous pleading. He wasn't in the mood to hear your reasons for speaking out of turn earlier; his paper-thin patience had completely snapped, and the time for reasoning was over.
He roughly pushed his bedroom door open, shooting you a dark, commanding look that signaled for you to get inside. The moment you nervously crossed the threshold, his large hand came down in a sudden, stinging smack against your ass. The hard spank drew a sharp gasp from your lips, a thrilling physical reminder that he was heavy-handed as fuck when he was mad, and he was ready to take all his built-up frustrations out on you.
That stinging slap wasn't the end of it. The heavy click of the lock sealing you in echoed through the room. Michael needed an immediate release from the grueling hours of filming, and you were the only one who could help him with this task. His dark, stormy eyes locked onto yours as his long fingers eagerly began unbuttoning his shirt, silently signaling for you to sit on the edge of the bed and wait for him.
You knew exactly what that heavy gaze meant: your mouth was going to be his first outlet. As he stripped his top off, he began a low, punishing lecture about your defiant mouth on set, his voice a deep, vibrating rumble. His reprimand seamlessly bled into him pacing the floor rambling about every little thing that had angered him today and how utterly ignorant Bashir's miserable, incompetent interview was.
"Do you have any idea how unorganized this whole production is?" he growled, stepping closer to you. "You know the picture they're trying to build isn't in my favor, and then you decide to give me attitude in front of the cameras?".
Suddenly, a soft knock came at the bedroom door. "Michael? Sorry to bother you, just a quick final question about tomorrow's wardrobe," a muffled producer's voice called out from the hallway.
Michael didn't miss a beat, entirely unfazed by the interruption. He stepped right between your parted knees at the edge of the bed, his imposing, warm body towering over you. As he smoothly called back through the closed door, casually answering their mundane questions with his practiced, polite tone, his dark eyes kept darting down to glance intensely at you.
The juxtaposition was intoxicating. While he politely answered the producer's questions, his large hand reached down, his long fingers threading roughly into your fresh silk press to forcefully tilt your head back. Every time he paused to give an answer to the person on the other side of the door, his burning gaze would visually undress you.
As soon as the producer's footsteps finally faded down the hall, his public mask vanished, replaced by raw, predatory hunger. He looked down at you, his grip tightening in your hair as he prepared to effortlessly slut you out. His eyes darkened with undeniable intent as he issued his final command: "Open your mouth for me."
The producer's voice called out again through the heavy wood of the door, asking another intrusive, unorganized question about the filming schedule.
Without hesitation, your trembling fingers reached for the waistband of his slacks. You quickly unbuttoned his pants and freed his heavy, strained erection, eagerly taking him into your mouth to give him the immediate release he so desperately needed. Michaelâs breath hitched, a low, guttural groan rumbling deep in his chest, though he was incredibly careful to keep the sound muffled so the crew outside wouldn't hear.
"Yes, we'll start at eight tomorrow," Michael called back through the closed door, his voice remarkably smooth and steady for a man whose hips were currently caging you against the mattress. But as he spoke, his dark eyes glanced down at you, burning with a mix of fiery frustration and intense physical pleasure.
You kept your gaze entirely focused on him, your eyes locking with his stormy stare before tracing down the hard muscles of his stomach to fixate on his happy trail. As you took him deeper, your nose brushed against his warm skin, gently tickled every now and then by the dark, coarse hair as he did shave as much as he used to down there.
The producer outside carried on with questions becoming increasingly ridiculous and outrageous, further proving how incompetent Bashir's crew truly was. With every outrageous question that came through the door, Michaelâs grip in your hair tightened, and his hips snapped forward, thrusting deeper and much harder into your mouth.
You had to take every punishing, aggressive thrust in absolute silence. You didn't dare make a peep, fighting to swallow down your own sounds, because you knew if he felt like someone else outside could hear your muffled moans, he wouldn't be happy and you were already acutely aware of how heavy-handed he was when he wasn't happy.
Michael was using your mouth to relentlessly take out all his built-up frustrations. He smoothly answered another question about the camera angles through the door, but his dark eyes constantly darted down to watch you, clearly thrilled by the sight of you getting completely slutted out for him on the edge of the bed. He let out another quiet, breathy groan, his long fingers unapologetically tight in your hair, silently promising that this steamy, secret release was just the beginning of what he needed to do to calm down before bed.
The footsteps in the hallway finally faded into total silence. The barrage of intrusive, dumb questions had stopped at last. He looked down at you, his dark eyes ablaze, deciding your mouth had taken enough for now. With a commanding look, he hooked a single long finger, silently motioning for you to get up.
The second you were on your feet, the raw force he had been holding back unleashed completely. With no hesitation, his large hands gripped your waist and forcefully spun you around, pushing your head and shoulders down hard against the mattress. Because of how dangerously fast he had spun you and bent you over, your skirt was already hiked high up your thighs. Michael didn't even bother wasting time taking your clothes off.
His other large hand immediately grabbed the thin material of your panties, roughly pulling them to the side to clear the way.
He drove himself thick and deep inside of you with a single, aggressive thrust that instantly shattered your forced silence. A loud, breathy moan ripped from your throat, but this time, he didn't care how loud you were. You were finally entirely alone behind a locked door, and he was ready to take full advantage of this opportunity.
The relentless backshots were punishing and breathless. His heavy-handed grip on your hips was much tighter now, his long fingers practically bruising your skin as he anchored you in place. Just as you had feared and anticipated, the madder he was, the harder he went. He thrust furiously into you, his deep voice echoing in the bedroom as he began yelling and rambling angrily about the dumb questions and every little thing that had irritated him during the miserably incompetent interview.
"Do you hear the garbage they were asking me?" he growled with a brutal snap of his hips, the sheer force of it pushing your face deeper into the mattress. "Trying to build a picture against me in my own home!".
With every frustrated shout, a stinging, heavy-handed slap was placed precisely onto your ass as he saw fit. The sharp sound of his palm hitting your flushed skin echoed through the room, a thrilling, painful reminder of exactly how heavy-handed he could be. The intense combination of his punishing spanks and the sheer, unrelenting pace of his thrusts was completely overwhelming.
You gripped the twisted bedsheets, whining and struggling not to run from his thick length as he relentlessly drove into you at a punishing pace. Your instincts begged you to scramble forward to escape the intense depth, but you knew better than to actually try and crawl awayâŠrunning from it would only get you spanked even harder. He needed this aggressive release to ground him. Michael effortlessly slutted you out and kept you firmly pinned beneath his warm, heavy body until every single ounce of his anger was finally spent.
But the relentless backshots weren't enough for him. He forcefully pulled out, his large hands grabbing your hips to quickly flip you over onto your back. He pushed your knees wide and pinned them back, ensuring you were completely exposed to his stormy gaze. He didn't just want to take his frustrations out on you in the dark; he needed you to watch.
He drove back into you with a powerful, breath-stealing thrust, filling you completely. "Keep your eyes open," he commanded, his deep voice vibrating within the room. "Don't you take your eyes off what I'm doing to you until I'm finished."
He wanted you to witness every aggressive inch of your punishment, but he was also getting incredibly turned on just by watching you take it. He watched your face flush and contort in pure pleasure, his dark eyes tracking every gasp and whimper that left your lips. This was secretly your favorite thing he did when he was angry; no matter how heavy-handed and demanding he was being, his intense focus always ensured he made you finish at least twice.
As his tight grip anchored your hips, the rhythmic pace of his strokes pushed you right to the edge. The moment you finally cried out, your body clenching and shattering around him, the dark anger that had been fiercely brewing inside him all day suddenly melted away. Just for a fleeting moment, his intense expression softened into something tender.
"That's it, baby. You're doing so good for me," he praised, his voice dropping to a low, breathless whisper. "I'm so proud of you for taking it so well."
His rare, mid-punishment praise only made your core clench tighter around him. You were throbbing heavily from both the blinding pleasure and the sweet, dull ache of his thick length stretching you out so deeply. You could feel the tension coiling tight in his warm, full body, signaling he was finally getting close. His thrusts became even harder and more desperate.
With a final, deep guttural groan, Michael buried himself to the hilt, his hips locking flush against yours as he surrendered to a powerful climax. He poured every ounce of his stress into you, finally achieving the ultimate release he desperately needed.
Completely spent, his large frame toppled heavily on top of you, his chest heaving as he pressed you into the mattress. The weight of his warm body caging you in was incredibly comforting. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, his breathing ragged as he pressed soft, lingering kisses to your flushed skin.
"You look so damn pretty underneath me," he murmured softly, his tone completely transformed from the angry man on the interview set. He wrapped his long arms securely around you, his voice filled with genuine relief. "I'm so lucky you're here to help me... thank you for letting me have my moment, baby. Now we can both get some sleep."
âLook! they have the new edition!â Michael pipes up from beside you, holding a book that he frequently reads, a big smile on his face. âThats good! see? i told you they were gonna have it.â
He chuckles and tucks it under his arm, taking your hand and walking with you to other aisles, his smile never falling from his beautiful face.
But something catches your eye.
A woman was looking at him with something like disgust in her eyes, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed.
you hold eye contact with her, letting that bitch know not to look at your man like that, she catches sight of you and flinches, looking away quickly.
âThats what i thought..â you mumble.
âHuh? what did you say?â Michael looks down at you. âNothing baby.â
âââ
You were at the Hayvenhurst estate, sitting on the floor with Michael and his siblings, playing board games.
He currently was losing, a frown on his plush lips. âHey! thats not fair, you guys are literally cheating.â he points out.
âCmon Mike, stop being a drama king.â Marlon snickers, causing Jermaine and even randy to laugh. Michael doesnât look amused though, clearly irritated.
âGuys stop teasing him, and stop cheating Marlon, i see you.â you huff, placing a card down. âI win.â
The girls laugh while Marlon stammers, but you donât pay attention to them, only grabbing your boyfriendâs hand and pulling him up with youâhis cheeks a warm hue.
âââ
Michael was sitting on the floor in his room, back resting against his bed as he stared at his album cover, fingers tracing over it slowly.
He had an argument with Joseph earlier, the usual berating and an almost beating that he narrowly escaped when you came into the house.
you had glared at his father. âHello, Mr Jackson, am i interrupting something?â
His father had shook his head and gave a pointed look to michael before walking away down the hall.
Now, he was in his room with you, his nerves finally calmed down. âYouâre not scared of my father are you?â
You shake your head, flipping through his peterpan book. âNope, i donât fear men, least of all your father.â
summary: you and your husband have a nice start to your morning !
contains: smut, fluff?, p in v, paris, blanket, and prince mentioned!
A/N: I love thick Michael DOWNNNN! Iâm trying to finish those requests for you guys! enjoy lovelies <3
The comforter shuffled between the two of you. creating a comfortable yet overstimulating feel to your body. you shuffle some more before feeling your husband's arm bring you closer to his rounded figure.
Michael had been put on a specific diet that would help him get the protein and more that he needs giving him a little more weight. And you were loving it down.
You tugged a small smile at the warmth your husband brought you, testing your luck, grinding into his feeling your butt touch a snippet of his stomach before his crotch.
A groan leaving his mouth before he buries his face down the crook of your neck, his nose touching your sweet spot, giving you soft giggles.
At this point you weren't even half asleep. You shuffle around in his touch still, your body facing his now. Placing gently kisses on his shoulder up to his neck.
Getting to his jaw, cheeks that have more fat, ending on the corner of his lips. "Mmm one more" he mumbles, eyes still close.
"I thought you were sleep Mikey" you said leaning back slightly looking at his full face.
Seeing his face twitch trying to play asleep, "boy if you don't open your eyes" you say tickling him. "Ahhh! c'mon mama" he says laughing.
"give me my last kiss" puckering his lips out, "unt uh that ain't how you ask" you mumble before turning your head away from his face.
He groans before taking ahold of your chin, bringing your lips to his, a gasp leaving your mouth, giving Michael an opening to add tongue, each others tongues swirling together, moans fleeing from your mouth.
You pull away a string of spit coming along before breaking, wiping the wetness from your outline of your bottom lip with your thumb.
"Well good morning to you mr Jackson" you say out, smirking. His hands gripping your waist bringing you closer, your body nearly clashing each others body heat, as your stomach pushes against his.
"Good morning baby" he says kissing your shoulder. Your arms wrapping around his shoulders, snaking a hand to the nape of his hair, the other playing with his front pieces.
"You look so good angel face" you mutter out, looking at his face with the new weight added on. His shy smile coming to play, replacing his face in the crook of your neck.
"c'mon baby quit it" he mutters out shyly. You chuckle at his shyness cause no matter how long you and Michael have been together, you both still get the same feelings like the first time you two began dating.
"Whatt? my husband looks sexy I can't help it" you say pecking ticklish kisses all over his neck, giving him that amusement to let out a laugh.
His chuckles looking away shyly, "mama stop it" he drags out his words vibrating against your shoulder.
You look down at him, before grabbing ahold of his chin, bringing his face to yours.
His eyes trail down to your lips, before meeting your eyes once again, âmm let me show you babyâ the last thing you muttered before diving back to his lips.
Leaving open trails of open kisses down his chest, down to his waistband of his pajama pants, sliding them down revealing his pre-cum covered dick.
âOh so youâve been wanting huh?â You ask looking up at him, his smirk becoming more confident.
You slide your night down to scrunch up around your waist, as you slide down on his length, releasing moans from his mouth.
"b-baby w-wait" he says hands instantly gripping your hips. Your bouncing starting off relentless and messy.
His hands trailing from your hips to your ass gripping them, pushing it down with every bounce. Your hands meeting his rounded stomach as you caress it, enjoying the view of the new weight on him, clenching down on him.
"Mike baby oh my..." you moan out, his mouth latching on one of your breast, bringing a hand to knead the other, altering his mouth between the two.
His eyes trailing up to yours. Your mouth slightly agape, brows furred together releasing from another occasionally.
"so pretty mama...and so tight f'me" a thrust meeting your sweet spot at his words. your whimpers and moans coming out whiner now.
Michael's hands coming back to grip your waist, keeping you still as he thrusts into you, body recoiling with each thrust.
"Michael! right there baby" you moan out, nearly enough to wake up your kids. "Shh sweets gonna wake the kids up." he says bringing his mouth back to your breast.
"love this pussy s'much baby" he growls, his thrusts becoming faster, but still having the gentle touch around the edges, showing in the affection through his hands, slowly grazing your body while his dick pistols into you.
"mi-mike im close" your body meeting your words as you clamp down on his length releasing all over on him, as you grind into his thrusts.
"look at you, let me give it to my baby yea?" he says, feeling more confident now. "what happened to shy mr Jackson?" you tease out, looking at him.
His eyes giving you a glare, before his thrusts becoming more sloppy, his last thrust halting him, as his finishes inside of you.
Your lips meet each other, tonguing each other down, smacking noises filling up your shared bedroom, as you grind down on him, âOh my baby wants more?â He asks pulling away, eyebrow raising.
âMaybe I d-â CLASH! you two hear little feet coming closer to your room, you put a cover over each other, acting as your laying on top of him.
Your door slammed open, Paris with blanket hand in hand next to her holding his comfort teddy, âmommy prince was trying to make breakfast and he broke the jar of sugarâ Paris rants out.
A moment of silence passes through all four, Paris watching you and Michaelâs expression. You two both sigh, before looking at each other, and nod.
âMommyâs coming downâ you say. The two kids walk out, you look at Michael, his face filled with pure happiness, his chubby cheeks pushing against his eye lines.
You roll your eyes before slowly pulling him out of you, sliding off the bed, grabbing your plum color robe.
The v neckline, exposing enough but still giving that seductive sexy look, highlighting the outline of your breast, and your brown skin.
âHmm câmere mamaâ he says, you slowly stroll over, teasing him.
You bring your face close to his, acting fast his lips instantly meeting yours, his tongue sliding over to yours, his hand gripping your jaw bringing you closer, moans leaving your mouth, his tongue sliding over your bottom lip before biting it.
You pull away out of breath, âyou bitin off more than you can chew Mr Jacksonâ you say smirking, walking over to the door, Michael following right after you, pulling his pants back up.
Right behind you, pressing his already hardon on the shape of your ass. âOh I can chew itâ he said open kissing your neck.
You chuckle before leaving the bedroom to be met with chaos from your three babies.
warnings: feminine/ girlish reader, calling michael âdaddyâ, petnames: âdollâ âprincessâ, possessive!mikey, use of vibrator, slight exhibitionism, over the knee, bratty reader, fluffy, biting
requests: open
a/n: for this request <3 ; kept these pretty much only suggestive so that if you lovies want me to expand on any, i can.
sugar daddy!michael who⊠buys only the most expensive lingerie for his lovely girl. youâve a whole part of you closet dedicated to the most beautiful undergarments.
âanother one,â you asked mikey, holding up a pink nightgown that featured pops of crystals throughout.
he smiled, pulling you in by the waist, âcâmon, princess, yâknow i like dressing you upâŠâ
he did, you were his little doll. michael kissed you on the nose before you headed to your shared restroom to change for him. every time you got a new piece, you knew you were in for a rough night.
sugar daddy!michael who⊠loves giving you massages. always as you lay on the sofa, michael canât help but kneed the heels of your feet. youâre a little ticklish, which he finds absolutely adorable, but itâs relaxing for the both of you. typically, this escalates. your daddysâ touch is too sensual for your mind not to wander elsewhereâŠ
sugar daddy!michael who⊠takes you out shopping with a vibrator in you. itâs a combination of his two favorite things: spoiling you, n making you feel good.
whenever you would speak with a store clerk he would turn up the setting.
âmikey,â you always hissed at him.
heâd smile boyishly, he loved teasing you. not to mention, watching the way you tried to keep yourself from absolutely falling apart in public.
sugar daddy!michael who⊠indulges in your late night conversations.
as you press tender kisses to his bare chest, you peer up at him through your lashes, âwhat color should i do my nails next, daddy?â
he caresses your head, âmm, i think that beautiful red you did once looked beautiful.â
you pursed your lips together, âi dâknow daddyâŠâ
âthe hot pink you have now looked very nice around me the other night,â michael smiled at the memory.
lifting yourself up to look at him, âit did, didnât it?â
âit did, princess,â however, your expression was still unsure, âbut⊠you liked the baby pink you usually do- right?â
you smiled, finally hearing what you wanted too, âi think that ones pretty nice!â
michael laughed, âme too, princess.â
you climbed on him and kissed his forehead.
sugar!daddy michael who⊠does not deal with your attitude. since he always spoils you, you donât take no for an answer very well. sometimes money is tight, or he simply finds one of your needs ridiculous (itâs very rare he denies you). you stomp, shove him, yell at him- but not for very long.
he pleas for you to stop⊠caressing you, running his hands along your angry body, but if that doesnât work- youâll be over his knee apologizing for your unnecessary temper tantrum.
honestly, he usually ends up getting you whatever you wanted anyway.
sugar daddy!michael who⊠is very very possessive of his doll. he lets you dress skimpy from time to time, classy- but sometimes in a dress far shorter than necessary. everyone knows youâre michaels girl and so people usually donât come on to you- but from time to time thereâs always someone who tries. heâll try to cover your near-bare ass by resting his hands on you, which of course isnât enough. the entire event is spent with his hands roaming your body, bringing you to sit on his lap, random passionate kisses.
sugar daddy!michael that⊠loves to have random photoshoots with you. heâll lay out his favorite pieces heâs bought you on a nice clothing rack- or sometimes a brand new lewd costume, and his camera on the dresser. michael is an amazing creative director, which applies to these photoshoots.
âspread a little more fâme, i wanna see the wet spot between your legs,â he winks as he lifts camera to his face.
he always makes you flustered, but you comply. his hands sometimes peer through every photo, he canât keep himself off of your darling body.
these photos are kept in a small box on his nightstandâŠ
sugar daddy!michael who⊠always bathes with you. he sets up the sweetest baths, pink glittery bath bombs and rose scented bubbles, all candlelit and sensual.
before you even get in the water itâs an experience. he kisses along your collarbone before removing your top and braw, nibbling at your waist before removing your lacey underwear⊠he worships you like a goddess.
and he just adores the way soap falls onto your breasts, its intoxicating.
âyâknow i just love you,â heâll bite the skin on your shoulder, âso much.â
you sigh into his touch, the two of you both needing more.
babe please write something about this youâre the OG thick michael expert and that video literally has me ********* so bad
( ˶°ă °) !! ââ1.4k, nsfw ) thick, husband!michael jackson x fem afab wife!reader <3
cws: WATCH THE LINKED VIDEO; it is sfw but oh my gawd... SMUT AHEAD!! car sex, semi-public(?) sex, michael being teasing, bra-pulling (but michael is not mean/aggressive abt it), implied multiple rounds (only one described srry), michael has a happy trail, reader has bush (not described in detail), bouncing on michael's thick thighs
âââââââit's nearly impossible to remain composed after seeing his thigh recoil onstage like that. those fitted, golden pants have already done you several favors tonight, highlighting the curve of michael's ass, the meat of his thighs, and, if you looked for more than five seconds, the outline of something just as big as the rest of him. you'd already managed to sneak a make-out session before the show, causing him to go onstage with flushed cheeks and adorably dorky grin, but damn. damn! the more you watch him dance, practically salivating as his thighs jiggle, his newfound weight showing itself off, the more you're convinced you'd be needing him after the show, too.
fortunately for you, after seeing you backstage, michael's thinking similar thoughts.
his adrenaline was already high, contributing to the feeling, but nothing's more arousing for him than seeing you already aroused. it's an almost sadistic pleasure, watching you desperately try to tamp it down while knowing you can't (never could, really) control yourself. you weren't embarrassed of your sexuality, not truly, but there's a certain vulnerability in admitting you need another person for anything, even sex. as stubborn as you are, you'd rather die most days than say the words "i need you". so, is it really sadistic of michael to watch you squirm, or is this something you're doing to yourself? either way, it makes the moments where you do break down, initiating intimacy with a blunt, needy beg or a very obvious touch, all the more satisfying.
the privacy partition's already rolled up, sealing you both off in the back of a blacked out suv. he's all sweaty post-performance, no longer panting but still taking those deep breathes that fill his lungs to the brim, making his chest rise and drawing attention to his body. michael knew from the moment he first ended the show and saw you backstage that you'd be all over him tonight; he's simply waiting for you to stop acting so poised. it's about two minutes into the car ride that his wish comes true, your eyes tracing from his chest down before your lips part to speak.
"that was a good show," you start carefully, licking your top lip briefly. "this part of the car is sound-proofed, right?"
he chuckles, shaking his head at you, his sweat-slicked black curls moving this way and that. "that's got to be the most romantic way you've ever asked for me." despite his sarcastic teasing, michael's large hands reach towards your waist, taking hold in order to slide you along the plush backseat until you're by his side.
"shut up, you got the message," you mutter, seizing the opportunity to crawl onto his lap. his legs spread for you, encouraging you to position yourself right against his hardening length. as you do so, you sigh in relief, feeling him through his and your pants. your gaze meets his as you rock a little, grinding, "you're so sexy in these pants, baby."
"yeah?" he breathes out, his hands sliding from your waist upwards to the hem of your top. carefully, he slides it off of you, humming in approval when he sees the bra you're wearing. "i like this on you," michael compliments, tracing a hand along the lace almost casually.
"you're just so... such a man now," you go on, breath hitching when you manage to drag yourself against him in a particularly pleasing way, "your big hands... your belly... that growing trail, down there..." biting your lip, you recall how his happy trail had looked the last time you saw it, curly black strands growing in as he grew too busy or too lazy to trim it down. "your butt, baby... even just your thighs, oh, god."
with an ease that shouldn't be attractive but is, he hooks two fingers under the middle of your bra, pulling you closer by gently tugging on the fabric. it stretches just enough for one of your nipples, already pebbling, to slip out. the straps of your bra dig into your back as michael asks gently in your ear, "you like bouncing and sliding along my thighs, sweet girl?"
"yes!" you don't even have to think about it, and if you had shame at one point, you definitely don't have it anymore. "yes, yes, yes." you're rutting like a dog without a damn in the world, humping as hard as you can in search of more friction. his cock twitches, tip leaking precum underneath the fabric of his pants as your ass jiggles and shakes with every rock of your hips against his thigh.
"you're like a rabbit," he mocks quietly, "so eager, all the time." michael pulls on your bra a little more, using it like a reign or leash to egg you on. his free hand palms your butt, gently massaging and gripping it while his eyes watch, fascinated by the sight. his hand is big enough to hold the curve of your ass well, and as he squeezes and feels the roundness, he grins. "i'm not complaining, though," he chimes a while after, letting go of your butt to lightly pinch along your freed nipple.
the entire backseat moves as you continue chasing your high, eyes closing as you start to whine and whimperâ "fuck, ohâ yes, baby, yesâ" you're doing a majority of the work, moving your hips, gripping his shoulders, pressing down hard, and yet you're still praising him like he's fucking you from behind! michael would laugh if he wasn't close to coming himself, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he starts grunting and (finally) thrusting up into you.
"you look so pretty like this," he whispers, "so gorgeous, baby." yes, with your hair a mess, your forehead and neck covered in sweat, your eyes half-lidded, and your jaw nearly slack; you look like an animal in heat and michael's adoring every second of it. "c'mon pretty thing, take it, take what you need," he encourages you, tugging your bra once more to make sure you don't drift away in the moment.
your head comes to rest against his shoulder, eyes squeezing shut as you grind a few more times. when your orgasm does hit you, it's nothing short of heavenly, even as your legs buckle and spasm. cum and slick fill your underwear, undoubtedly sticking along your bush as you cry out in pleasure against michael's neck. white globs trail and drip down michael's pants, past his ankle and onto the floor of the car, his own breathing labored as he soaks in how much you're glowing. it's so unfairâ you look so good, he just wants to do it all again! whereas you oftentimes start the first round, michael tends to initiate the second. sometimes it's because he feels bad for teasing and wants something tender, and other times (like this time) it's because you look so good all dazed and fucked out, he can't help but want to keep you that way.
"pretty girl," he manages to coo after a few moments, taking off your bra and kissing along one of your nipples, "can you take your pants off for me? i want to see..." he cups you through your pants, letting his thumb trace your pussy lips for a moment. michael swears he can feel your wetness and cum through the fabric, a thought that only strengthens his desire for more. michael hums, reaching for your waistband, "are you too tired? want me to do it for you?"
slowly, you nod, "mmhm..."
his voice sounds saccharine as he reassures you, "aww, baby, i've got it."
...by the time the driver alerts you both over the speaker system of the car that you're nearly "home", only about five minutes away from the hotel your staying in, you're fully nude, scrambling as much as you can to put your clothes back on. everything's puffy, from your nipples to your lips to your poor clit, sensitive against the softness of your panties. meanwhile, michael's even sweatier than when he first came offstage, staring at you lovingly with his golden pants around his ankles. the smooth expanse of his right thigh is covered in lipstick and light teeth imprints, thoroughly marked up by you. his left thigh still tingles, as though your fingers were still gripping it. awkwardly, he grabs his pants and tugs them up, his eyes still focused on you even as he grunts, adjusting his clothing.
"i love you," michael purrs out afterwards, nudging your jaw with his nose. as he looks into your eyes, he grins wide, "we can finish in the hotel room, okay, baby?"
and you, too fucked out to focus on more than one thing at a time, just nod, slipping your shirt back on. "uh-huh..." you mumble, head bobbing, "yeah, baby... yeah..."
looking for more?
posting mildly later than usual but i hope this does well bc i do quite like this piece... i love all my thick michael pieces though LMAO i dont know if i focused on his thick juicy voluptuous thighs enough here but i was thinking so hard abt just feeling ur thighs against his, fucking urself against him and his thighs. like holy shit!!! sigh... come back thick michael we (i) need you.
THANK YOU MOOTIE PIE FOR SENDING THIS IN TO ME! I LOVE YOU, THANK YOU!
us hosting a seminar on the study of michael thickology:
