hi mjblr ! i’m new on here and i wanted to introduce myself. my name is destiny and my pronouns are she/her/hers. i’m black and 20 years old.
i love listening to music, reading, and the color pink.
i don’t write mj fanfics personally, however, shoutout to all the writers, especially the black writers, who do! i’m just on here to defend mj when needed, like, read, reblog, etc.
i’ve been an mj fan ever since i was a little girl and one of my first memories of that is watching the way you make me feel music video on my tablet, loving the song, thinking how handsome he looked in it, and being jealous of the girl in it, wishing that he was chasing me down the street instead.
some of my favourite mj songs are: butterflies, find me a girl ft jackson 5, fly away ft rebbie jackson, girlfriend, love never felt so good, loving you, pretty young thing, the way you make me feel, this place (heartbreak hotel) ft jackson 5, and whatever happens (what can i say i’m a lover girl and i love his yearning songs !).
i follow back all mj fans, however, if you’re under the age of 18, please dni with my blog or this post.
The reason black fans get upset at you saying “Michael loved everyone” under their posts about how Michael loves black people is because it’s an attempt of trying to remind them or show them they aren’t special when they are very much special
Michael’s black fans are so near and dear to him because he was a black man and a lot of you refuse to see that.
He was the first black artist to be on MTV. HE IS A PART OF BLACK HISTORY.
he’s an inspiration to black people all around the world that they can beat the industry
That they don’t have to let the world force an identity on them
Stereotypes continue to destroy the careers of black individuals no matter where they go.
I’m not black myself but a lot of you non black fans need to know your place.
I can tell you don’t see Michael Jackson as a black person and it’s heartbreaking because it erases all the hard work black people have done in the industry to get to the top.
Please stop being ignorant and let this be a safe place for everyone
ᥫ᭡. description: one stubborn argument, a pair of vibrating panties, and a crowded paris restaurant. trapped in the back of a luxury sedan, the remote control turns a petty power struggle into a breathless, desperate surrender.
content: 18+, smut, vibrating panties, bad!michael, public, car sex, dryhumping, feet play???, arguing, extreme teasing, THIS FREAKY ASF …
˗ˋˏ༺❤︎༻ˎˊ˗
the rain was tapping against the hotel window in paris, a soft, steady rhythm that did absolutely nothing to calm the storm brewing inside the luxurious suite. the air was thick, heavy with the kind of silence that makes your ears ring.
you and michael had been arguing for forty-eight hours straight. it had started over something incredibly stupid. he was being impatient, rushing you to get ready for some big press event he had to attend, and your stubborn streak had kicked in hard. you had refused to let him hurry you, digging your heels in, and before either of you knew it, the whole thing had blown up into a massive, exhausting argument. you had spent the last two days sleeping on opposite sides of the massive king bed, barely even making eye contact.
but tonight was different. tonight, you had reservations at one of the most exclusive, hardest-to-get-into restaurants in all of paris. it had taken michael’s team months of pulling favors to secure a table, and despite the heavy wall of anger between you, neither of you wanted to back down and cancel. it was a matter of pride. you were both going to see this through, even if it meant sitting in icy silence across from each other all night.
you stood in front of the gold-trimmed vanity mirror, carefully zipping up a gorgeous, backless silk dress. it hugged every curve of your body, the dark fabric making your skin glow under the warm lights of the dressing room. in the reflection, you saw michael step into the room. he stopped dead in his tracks.
for a split second, his jaw slackened. his dark eyes softened, melting from the hard, annoyed expression he’d been wearing for days into pure, unfiltered admiration. he looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.
"you look beautiful, baby," he murmured, his voice soft, husky, and filled with a quiet sincerity that almost made you want to drop your guard right then and there.
for a moment, the thick ice between you started to thaw. you felt a blush creep up your neck. but instead of saying anything, you just turned around to grab your undergarments from the vanity drawer, wanting to keep up your protective wall.
michael always had his team stock your wardrobe with beautiful things whenever you traveled together. there were boxes of designer clothes, shoes, and lingerie waiting for you in every city. so, when you reached into the drawer and pulled out a pair of silky black panties you didn't quite recognize, you didn't think twice. you liked the lace detailing and the sleek look of them, so you stepped into them and pulled them up.
michael’s eyes went wide. his jaw practically dropped to the floor, his entire demeanor shifting in an instant from romantic admiration to sheer panic.
"wait, no, no. don't put those on," he said, his voice suddenly urgent as he stepped toward you, holding his hands up as if to stop you.
you snapped your head up, your stubbornness flaring right back to life. "why not? they're cute. and you bought them, didn't you?"
"yes, i bought them, but they aren't for going out," he said, a sudden flush of red creeping up his neck and dusting his cheekbones. he looked incredibly flustered, trying to maintain his polite, gentlemanly composure while clearly panicking. "they're... they are different, sweetheart. please, just take them off and put on a normal pair. we have to go, and those are not suitable for a restaurant."
"suitable?" you scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. "you've been rushing me and being impatient all day, michael. now i finally find something i actually want to wear, and you're telling me no? what is your problem?"
"i'm not trying to be difficult," he said, taking a deep, steadying breath, trying to keep his voice calm and gentle even though his eyes were wide. "i am telling you, as a gentleman, that wearing those tonight is a very, very bad idea. please, listen to me just this once. change into something else."
your stubbornness was like a brick wall. the more he pushed, the more you wanted to resist. "no. you don't get to tell me what to do just because you're in a bad mood. you're always trying to control everything around you, michael. i'm wearing them, and that's final."
"i am not trying to control you!" he argued, his voice rising an octave in pure frustration, though he still kept his hands neatly tucked near his sides, trying not to look aggressive. "you are being incredibly stubborn right now, and you don't even know what you're doing. just listen to me!"
"i'm leaving," you snapped, grabbing your small clutch purse from the vanity. "the reservation is in twenty minutes. meet me in the car if you're actually coming."
you turned on your heel, your heels clicking loudly against the hardwood floor as you marched out of the suite and slammed the door behind you.
michael stood alone in the dressing room, running a hand through his curls, letting out a long, stressed exhale. his eyes fell on the nightstand, landing on a tiny, sleek black remote control that had been hidden behind a jewelry box. a sudden, dark, mischievous look crossed his handsome face. the perfect gentleman in him knew he shouldn't, but the frustrated, teased man in him won out. he walked over, snatched up the remote, slipped it deep into his trousers pocket, and headed out to catch up with you.
the ride to the restaurant in the back of the town car was completely, painfully silent. you stared out the window at the glowing lights of the eiffel tower, refusing to look at him. michael sat on his side of the seat, his hands resting on his knees, his face a mask of polite calm, though his fingers occasionally twitched against his thighs.
when you arrived at the restaurant, it was everything you expected. the lighting was low and romantic, the air smelled of expensive truffles and aged wine, and the dining room was filled with the soft murmur of wealthy patrons and a few very recognizable celebrities. you both kept it casual, nodding politely to a couple of people who recognized michael, putting on a perfect front for the public.
the host led you to a cozy, secluded booth in the corner, offering a bit of privacy while still keeping you in view of the rest of the room. you sat down across from each other, the small table with its crisp white tablecloth the only thing separating you.
"are you still going to pout all night?" michael asked quietly, leaning forward slightly, his dark eyes locked onto yours. his voice was soft, but there was a sharp edge of frustration underneath it.
"i'm not pouting. i'm enjoying the silence," you shot back, keeping your voice low as you gave him a sweet, incredibly fake smile. "it's much better than listening to you rush me."
before michael could reply, a waitress smoothly approached the table. "bonsoir, welcome to l'ambroisie. i am celline, and i will be taking care of you tonight. can i start you with some of our finest champagne before the first course?"
as the waitress spoke, you kept your eyes on michael, giving him another defiant, stubborn look.
michael didn't say a word. instead, he kept his polite, gentle smile fixed on the waitress, but his right hand slipped slowly into his pants pocket.
his thumb found the power button. he clicked it. a sudden, violent, buzzing hum exploded right against your clit.
"ah—!" the gasp ripped out of your throat before you could stop it. your eyes flew wide, your pupils dilating instantly as a massive shockwave of intense, concentrated heat shot straight up your spine and buzzed through your brain. your body reacted instantly; your thighs clamped shut so hard and fast that your knees knocked against the underside of the table with a sharp thud, causing the water glasses to jingle.
the waitress paused, her pen hovering over her pad. she blinked, looking at you with concern. "are you alright, madame?"
you looked at michael in absolute, horrified shock. your heart was hammering against your ribs, and your breath was suddenly shallow. you couldn't believe it. the panties. they were vibrating. and he had the remote.
michael didn't even flinch. his face was a picture of pure, gentlemanly innocence. he looked at the waitress with a soft, reassuring smile. "she's quite alright, thank you, celline. the paris air is just a bit chilly tonight, and she's a little sensitive to the draft. we will gladly take the champagne, please. and perhaps you could keep the ice water coming throughout the evening?"
"of course, monsieur. right away," celline nodded warmly, completely charmed by his polite demeanor, and turned to walk toward the bar.
the very second her back was turned, you leaned across the table as far as you could, your knuckles turning white as you gripped the edge of the mahogany wood. the low, steady hum between your legs was relentless, sending continuous, warm waves of friction directly against your most sensitive spot. you could already feel a heavy dampness blooming in the silk fabric.
"michael," you hissed, your voice shaking so hard you could barely get the words out. "what is this? what did you do to me?"
michael leaned in, resting his elbows on the table, clasping his hands together right under his chin. he looked incredibly handsome, but his eyes were dancing with a dark, wicked amusement that made your stomach flip.
"see why i told you not to wear those, baby?" he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, velvety purr that was meant for your ears only. "you never want to listen to me. you get so stubborn, and i really, really hate that."
he slid his hand back into his pocket. click. the frequency changed. instead of a steady hum, it began to pulse in a rhythmic, throbbing pattern—slow, then incredibly fast, then slow again.
"oh god," you whimpered, your head dropping. you squeezed your thighs together as hard as you could, desperately trying to stifle the physical sensation, but the pressure only pushed the small, hard motor of the toy directly against your swollen clit. you gasped, a tiny, breathless moan slipping past your lips. you had to bite your tongue to keep from making a scene in the middle of the crowded dining room.
"turn it off," you whispered, glaring at him through eyes that were already glazed over with sudden, intense arousal. "michael, i swear to god, turn it off right now. this isn't funny."
"i'm not laughing, sweetheart," michael replied, his voice still incredibly calm, polite, and steady, though his eyes were burning as he watched your chest heave. "you wanted to be a big girl and make your own decisions. now you have to live with them. i tried to warn you, but you just had to walk out that door."
"you're a jerk," you gasped out, your body trembling as a particularly strong pulse of vibration hit you, making your hips twitch slightly against the plush leather booth. "a selfish, impatient, petty jerk."
michael's jaw clenched. the smug, playful look on his face vanished, replaced by a flash of genuine, frustrated heat. he did not like being called names, especially when he was already running on forty-eight hours of sexual frustration from your arguments.
"is that what i am?" he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, becoming dangerously low. "well, if i'm so petty..."
he reached into his pocket to press the button again, but before he could, a loud, booming voice interrupted the quiet tension of your table.
"michael! my good friend! i cannot believe my eyes!"
you both snapped your heads up. walking toward your table was a very famous european film director, a man michael had worked with on a music video project a couple of years ago. he was loud, flamboyant, incredibly chatty, and loved nothing more than the sound of his own voice.
michael immediately stood up halfway, his professional, polite persona snapping back into place instantly. "pierre! what a wonderful surprise. i didn't know you were in paris."
"ah, just for a few days to scout locations!" pierre boomed, stepping close to the table and shaking michael's hand warmly. "and who is this lovely lady? you must introduce us!"
"this is my fiancée," michael said smoothly, his hand resting casually in his pants pocket. he shot you a quick, warning look. it was a silent command: behave yourself and act normal.
you forced a tight, polite smile onto your face, even though your entire lower body was buzzing like a live wire. "nice to meet you, pierre," you managed to say, though your voice sounded incredibly breathy and strained.
pierre didn't seem to notice. he launched into a long, incredibly detailed, and fast-paced story about his new film, his frustrations with his producers, and his love for french cuisine. he was clearly not going to leave anytime soon.
michael stood there, nodding along, offering polite "uh-huhs" and small smiles, keeping up the appearance of a perfect gentleman. but you could see the tension in his shoulders. his hand was still buried in his pocket, his thumb resting right on the remote.
a sudden, wicked wave of defiance washed over you. your stubbornness wasn't gone; it had just mutated into something far more dangerous. if michael wanted to play games with a remote control in a crowded restaurant, then two could play.
slowly, carefully, you slipped your right foot out of your designer high heel. the cool air of the restaurant felt like ice against your bare skin. under the cover of the long, heavy white tablecloth that draped all the way to the floor, you stretched your leg across the small gap between your seats.
you found his ankle first. you slowly slid your bare toes up his calf, feeling the fabric of his expensive trousers. the very moment your foot made contact, michael's entire body went rigid. his polite nod frozen for a microsecond.
he didn't break eye contact with pierre, but his breathing suddenly got noticeably heavier.
you smirked, feeling a rush of power. you kept going. your foot slid slowly past his knee, traveling up his inner thigh. the heat radiating from him was intense. you kept sliding your foot up until the arch of your bare foot pressed directly against the heavy, rapidly growing bulge in his pants.
michael choked on his own saliva mid-sentence. "...yes, the... the lighting in that scene was... very... creative, pierre."
pierre frowned slightly, looking at him. "are you alright, michael? you sound a bit choked up."
"just... dry throat," michael cleared his throat, his eyes darting down to glare at you with a mixture of shock, frustration, and intense lust.
in immediate retaliation, michael’s thumb aggressively mashed the button inside his pocket.
the vibrator instantly jumped to its absolute highest, wildest setting.
"mmph!" you bit your bottom lip so hard you could taste the metallic tang of copper. your eyes rolled back for a split second as a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure crashed over you like a tidal wave. your body shook, your toes curling as the high-powered vibrations literally buzzed through your entire nervous system. your core was pooling with heat, completely soaked, and your body was screaming for release.
but you refused to let him win. you refused to pull your foot away. instead, you curved your foot, gripping his hardness through the fabric of his suit. you began to slowly, deliberately stroke him. you rubbed the arch of your foot up and down his length, pressing hard, letting him feel exactly how much he was affecting you, and how much you were going to affect him in return.
michael's face flushed a bright, deep red. a thick vein popped out on his neck, and his knuckles turned completely white where he was gripping the edge of the table to keep his balance.
"michael?" pierre asked, now looking genuinely concerned. "mon ami, you look very hot. are you having a fever?"
"i... yes," michael gasped out, his voice incredibly husky, thick, and completely ruined. he couldn't keep his composure for another second. his hand in his pocket was shaking. "it is... very warm in here. pierre, please excuse us. my fiancée... she is feeling very ill. we must leave immediately."
"oh! of course, of course! take care of her!" pierre said, stepping back.
before the director could even finish his sentence, michael grabbed your hand, pulled you out of the booth, threw a messy fistful of hundred-dollar bills onto the table without even counting them, and practically dragged you out of the restaurant and into the cool, rainy paris night.
the moment the heavy door of the luxury town car slammed shut, the quiet interior of the vehicle felt like a pressure cooker ready to explode.
before the driver, jean, could even put the car in drive, michael reached forward with a sudden, aggressive jerk and slammed the black privacy partition shut. the sharp clack of the glass sealing you off was the starting gun.
"what the hell was that?!" michael turned on you, his voice deep, angry, and completely stripped of his usual gentle tone. but his eyes were wide, dark, and wild with a dangerous amount of lust. he grabbed your waist with both hands, pulling you across the leather seat until your chest slammed against his. "you almost embarrassed us in front of one of the biggest directors in europe! you are so incredibly stubborn, you never listen to a single word i say!"
"because you treat me like a child!" you yelled back, your voice cracking with a mix of anger and overstimulation. "you left those panties in my drawer on purpose! you wanted me to wear them!"
"i bought them for us to use in bed!" he growled, his gentlemanly restraint finally snapping. "not for you to tease me with under a table in public!"
before you could shoot another smart remark back at him, michael’s lips slammed down onto yours.
the kiss was rough, messy, and absolutely explosive. it was filled with the bitter taste of forty-eight hours of arguing, mixed with a desperate, starving hunger that had been building between you for weeks. you groaned loudly into his mouth, your hands flying to his hair, pulling him closer as his tongue demanded entry, tasting you deeply.
you couldn't take the distance anymore. you needed him. you scrambled up, swinging your leg over his lap until you were fully straddling his thighs, your dress riding up to your hips.
the very second your pelvis slammed down onto his hard length, you both let out a loud, breathless gasp.
the vibrating toy was trapped perfectly between your pubic bones. the heavy, intense vibrations from the high setting were transferring directly through the thin lace of your panties and right into his throbbing erection, while pressing relentlessly back against your swollen, wet clit.
"oh, god," michael groaned, his head falling back against the leather headrest. his grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into the flesh of your waist. "oh, baby... what are you doing to me?"
"now you feel it," you whimpered, your head spinning as the crazy high vibration buzzed straight through your pelvis, vibrating through his hard shaft at the exact same time.
you began to grind your hips down on him in a slow, heavy circle, your wet heat rubbing ruthlessly against his zipper. the dual stimulation was so intense your vision blurred. you could feel him twitching under you, rock hard and straining against his pants.
"i was just so mad," michael confessed, his voice breaking, completely vulnerable as he looked up at you with blown-out, glassy eyes. his hand shook in his pocket, hitting the pulse button again, making the toy beat in deep, heavy thuds right against your clit. "i hated... i hated fighting with you so much. i didn't want us to be like this. i was just being impatient because i wanted everything to be perfect for us, and then you wouldn't even look at me."
you let out a soft cry, your body melting as the sheer pleasure of his words and the heavy thrumming between your legs began to break down all your anger. "i wanted you too, michael. i was just so stubborn... i thought you were just trying to control me, and it made me so angry."
"i would never want to control you, baby," he gasped, his hips bucking up slightly, sending a wave of electric friction right through your soaked lace. "i'm so sorry. i'm sorry i rushed you. i'm sorry i was so impatient."
"i'm sorry too," you cried out, tears of overwhelming pleasure finally leaking from your eyes as you buried your face in his neck, biting the soft skin there as you ground down harder. "i'm sorry... oh god, michael, it feels too good."
"yes, yes, grind on me, sweetheart," he groaned, his hands moving from your waist to grip your ass, squeezing the soft flesh and pulling you down hard against him. "show me how much you want me. tell me you're mine."
"i'm yours," you gasped, your body completely taking over as you began to dry hump him with a fast, desperate hunger. the thick fabric of his suit pants and the silk of your dress created a burning, tight friction that was driving you both insane. you were completely soaked, the wetness bleeding through your lace and dampening his trousers.
every time you slid down, the toy buzzed violently against your clit and his shaft, sending sharp, electric jolts of pleasure straight to your brain.
michael was panting heavily, his neck flushed red, his head tossing from side to side against the leather seat. "god, you're so wet... i can feel you soaking right through my pants, baby. you're driving me crazy. grind harder, yes, just like that."
you moved your hips faster, matching his desperate, upward thrusts. the car cabin was filled with the hot, heavy sound of your wet friction, the frantic buzzing of the toy, and your mingled, breathless moans. you could feel the tight coil of your climax wrapping tight in your lower stomach, threatening to snap.
"michael, i'm close... i'm going to come, oh god, i can't hold it," you sobbed, your hands clutching his broad shoulders, your fingernails digging into his skin through his jacket.
"come for me, baby. rub right against me and let it go," michael pleaded, his voice completely wrecked, his hips bucking up with a heavy, relentless force to meet every single downstroke. "let me feel you shake."
you let out a loud, uninhibited cry as your climax ripped through you. your internal muscles clamped down hard, pulsing in tight, desperate waves against him. the sheer, raw intensity of the orgasm made your entire body tremble, your head falling onto his shoulder as you sobbed from the pleasure.
seeing you undo like that broke michael completely. with a loud, guttural roar, he bucked his hips up hard, his body locking up as he came. his release came in heavy, hot surges, soaking completely through his underwear and the expensive grey wool of his trousers, staining them as he pumped desperately against your twitching body.
you both collapsed against each other, chests heaving in perfect sync, your hearts hammering wildly against each other's ribs. the car was quiet, save for your ragged breathing and the slow, dying hum of the vibrator as michael finally turned it off.
after a long, quiet minute, neither of you moved. you just held each other tightly, the lingering sparks of pleasure slowly fading into a warm, comfortable glow.
then, a soft, bubbly laugh escaped your lips, echoing in the quiet car. michael let out a breathless, beautiful chuckle of his own, burying his face in your messy hair and kissing your temple. "we are absolutely crazy."
"yeah, we are," you smiled, finally sitting up and smoothing your hair back, looking down at his lap. both of your eyes landed on the exact same spot at the exact same time.
right at the crotch of his expensive, custom-tailored grey trousers was a very large, very noticeable, dark wet spot.
michael stared at it, then looked up at you with a mix of utter disbelief, shock, and sheer amusement. "well. i definitely cannot walk through the main lobby of the hotel looking like this."
smiling warmly, he reached over and pressed the intercom button for the driver. "jean? change of plans. please pull into the VIP side entrance. the one with the private elevator."
he clicked the button off, looking up at you with a lazy, wicked, and completely satisfied grin. "because the second we get upstairs, these pants are coming off. and so are you."
･ ꫂ᭪݁ ⋮ AUTHORS NOTE: If you saw my last post where I talked abt drunk Michael being a mess of cake for his bday party then just know I WAS NOT KIDDING. Heres my once a month smut post :) ENJOYYYYYUHHH and COMMENT THIS IS ONLY MY SECOND TIME WRITING FULL SMUT. (kinda proof-read i got lazy halfway through who writes 6k words n actually proofreads not me.)
･ ꫂ᭪݁ ⋮ SUMMARY/CW: Michael decides YOU’RE his birthday gift/cake. w.c: 5.9k (ik alot of words but worth it) fem!reader , implied black reader but any1 can read includes: drunk michael, food play (icing licking), lots of spit swapping and making out, dry humping, michaels an eater guys, switch!michael, needy michael appearance, ass slapping, hair pulling, FOOT KINK GUYS MICHAEL LOVES YOUR MANICURED FEET. I REPEAT FOOT KINK, strong usage of language, voyurism (public-ish sex), blowjobs , he uses the nickname tink/tinka for you lmk if I forgot anything I beg.
Michael had been waiting for this party for months. Not because he wanted to show off or because he loved being the center of attention, though he'd never admit that part out loud.
He wanted to celebrate with everyone close to him. His family. His staff. His fans, the ones who'd stuck by him through everything. And last but not least, his wife. You.
The venue was packed. Lights flashed across the crowd, music thumped through the speakers, and everywhere you looked, someone was laughing or dancing or holding up a drink in Michael's direction.
He moved through the crowd like he belonged there, shaking hands, pulling people into quick hugs, grinning that smile that made cameras flash a little brighter and quicker.
You watched from a table near the stage a drink in your own hand, smile tugging at your lips. He caught your eye across the room and winked. You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling.
He made his way over eventually, sliding into the seat beside you, his cheeks already flushed from the heat of the crowd and the drink in his hand. "Enjoyin' yourself Tink?" he asked, his voice warm.
"I'm watching you make a fool of yourself. It's entertaining" He laughed, bumping his shoulder against yours. "It's my birthday. I'm allowed."
"You're also a lightweight. Be careful with that." He waved a dismissive hand, already tipsy, his words slurring just slightly at the edges. "I got it under control."
You raised an eyebrow knowing he was lying, but you weren't going to ruin this for him by worrying. "Sure you do." He downed the rest of his drink and flashed you a grin. "Watch me." You watched him.
An hour later, he was on stage.
Someone had dragged him up there, handed him a microphone, and left him to address the crowd. The lights were bright, the music had lowered, and Michael stood swaying noticeably, one hand gripping the mic while the other gestured loosely at nothing in particular. His feet kept shifting like he was trying to find his balance and failing.
"So -" he began, his voice echoing through the speakers, slow and syrupy. "Wait, where they takin' my cake?" The crowd laughed. You pressed a hand to your mouth, already laughing and trying to cover it horribly.
Someone from the side called out, "It's right there, Mike!"
He looked down, blinking slowly at the massive cake sitting on a table on the stage. His name written across the bottom in sparkling letters.
He stared at it for a long moment. His head tilted. Then straightened. Then tilted again like he was tryin' to see it from a different angle. "...Oh."
The crowd erupted. You shook your head, still laughing at him. He was making a fool of himself. He squinted at the cake. "Is that... is that my name?" "Yes Michael!" someone from the crowd shouted.
He nodded slowly, processing. "Yeah. Yeah, that's my name. I remember." Someone in the crowd howled with laughter. The DJ played a sound effect, a record scratch before cutting it off.
Michael grinned, pleased with himself, and stumbled across stage toward the cake. He moved with the careful deliberation of someone who knew they were drunk but was determined not to show it. It was actually working surprisingly.
He stood in front of the cake, studying it. He leaned in close, then straightened, then leaned in again. You’d got the cake personally made for him as a surprise so he hadn’t seen it at all before this.
"You okay over there?" you called. He turned to you, eyes glassy and warm. "I'm admirin'." "Admire faster. People wanna eat it, I wanna eat it." He waved a dismissive hand. "They can wait."
Then without warning, he stuck his finger into the icing. Pulling it out, he examined the white frosting and brought it to his mouth. His eyes fluttered shut as he licked it clean.
"They did good," he mumbled to himself. "Real good."
Then he noticed you sitting nearby, and a slow drunken grin spread across his face. He lowered his hand, holding his finger out in front of you, still glistening with the remnants of the icing and his spit.
He looked down at you through fogged, dark eyes, expectant. Waiting. His head swayed slightly as he tried to keep still. The DJ, who'd been providing commentary all night, leaned into his mic. "Ohhh, he wants you to taste it!"
The crowd hooted. You felt heat creep up your neck, but you didn't look away from him.
You stood slowly, smoothing your outfit down before stepping toward him. Your hand wrapped around his wrist gently, guiding his hand closer to your face.
You held his gaze. Then you parted your lips and wrapped them around his finger. Your tongue swirled against the icing, slow and deliberate, licking every bit of sweetness off his skin.
His breath hitched. Eyes staying locked on yours hazy and dark, his lips parted slightly. A soft, barely audible sound escaped his throat. You pulled back with a soft pop, still holding his gaze for just a second longer.
Then you turned toward the crowd, putting both thumbs up and nodding emphatically. "It's good!" The crowd cheered. The DJ laughed, and you swore someone wolf whistled.
Behind you, Michael stood frozen, his face burned pink. He ducked his head, letting out a breathy little laugh into the mic, and shifted on his feet.
He adjusted his jeans. Subtly. Or at least, he thought it was subtle. His hand tugged at the waistband, pulling the fabric away from his body, hoping to hide what was becoming very obvious. He glanced down at himself, then quickly looked away, his blush deepening.
He barely noticed you sneaking up to him. Before anyone could react, you reached forward and grabbed a huge handful of the ice cream cake holding it up. The crowd, sensing what was coming began to chant.
"Food fight! Food fight! Food fight!" You grinned. And then you smashed it right into Michael's face. He stumbled back, sputtering as the cold cake dripped down his cheeks, his nose, his chin. For a second, he just stood there blinking through the mess.
Then he laughed. loud and bright, echoing through the venue as he wiped at his face only succeeding in smearing the cake further across his skin. His hands were a mess now, sticky and covered in icing, and he wiped them down his shirt without a second thought.
"Happy birthday!" you called out, laughing. He was still laughing drunkly at that and still wiping at his face, when you stepped forward again. Before he could react, you cupped his sticky cheeks in your hands and pulled him into a kiss.
The crowd erupted.
It was sweet, messy, and tasting of ice cream and icing and him. His hands still sticky found your waist, pulling you closer despite the chaos. He let out a soft, muffled sound against your lips, something between surprise and contentment, and kissed you back like he'd forgotten anyone else was watching.
When you finally pulled back, you clapped your hands together and smiled bright. "Happy birthday, baby." He stared at you, face covered in cake, eyes soft and dazed and so full of love it made his chest ache.
He blinked slowly, like he was trying to process what just happened. "...Best birthday kiss ever." He tugged at his jeans again, adjusting himself nd hoping the cake was enough of a distraction.
It wasn't. But he'd deal with that later. Michael didn't stay long after that. He was a mess of cake and icing, sticky from head to toe, his shirt ruined and his jeans smeared with white frosting. He thanked everyone he passed, shook hands, hugged a few fans who'd gotten close enough, and made sure to blow a kiss toward the crowd before he let you guide him toward the exit.
"Thank you," he slurred, waving lazily at the people still chanting his name. "Thank you all. Love you. Love you guys."
You smiled, your arm wrapped around his waist, steadying him as he stumbled toward the waiting limo. The door opened, and you helped him inside, sliding in after him as the door closed and muffled the noise of the party.
The moment the door shut, he was on you. Not in a rush. His body turned toward yours, his hand finding your thigh almost immediately, his face buried in your neck.
"You're so pretty." he mumbled against your skin. "So, so pretty. Did I tell you that already?" "A few times tonight, yeah." "I mean it." He pressed a kiss to your shoulder. "So pretty. Best wife ever. Best birthday ever."
You laughed, your hands coming up to wipe at the cake still clinging to his cheek. "You're a mess, handsome." "A very happy mess." He caught your wrist, kissing your palm. "'S your fault. You started it."
"You started it with the finger thing." You played the memory back in your head. He grinned, all teeth and dimples. "Worth it." You shook your head, still laughing and reached for a napkin from the mini bar to try and clean him up. He let you for about two seconds before his hand wrapped around your ankle.
He tugged. You let out a surprised laugh as he pulled you across the seat, your back sliding against the leather until you were in front of him. He didn't stop there. He shifted his knees finding the seat cushion as he turned to face you properly, moving until he was on his knees in front of you.
"Michael, what are you doin’" He didn't answer. He just reached down and pulled your heels off, one by one dropping them onto the floor of the limo without a second glance.
Then his hands wrapped around your foot, holding it like it was something precious. "Mikey." "Hold on." He pressed a kiss to the top of your foot, sloppy and warm. "Just..hold on."
You giggled, trying to pull your foot back. "You look ridiculous. Let me clean you up." He shook his head, still holding your foot. "No." "Michael."
"No." He looked up at you through his lashes, his eyes glassy and dark, and reached for your hand. He guided it down, pressing your palm flat against the obvious bulge in his jeans. "See what you did earlier, pretty? Hm? You gonna take accountability?"
Your breath caught. "Michael, we're still in public." "So?" "The driver can hear us." He pouted, his lower lip jutting out in that drunk petulant way that made him look younger. "'S my birthday."
"I know, baby." "You said I could have whatever I wanted." You raised an eyebrow. "I said you could have whatever cake you wanted." He blinked, processing then shook his head. "Same thing."
"It's not the same thing." He frowned, his hand sliding up your thigh, slow and deliberate. "Would be a good birthday gift."
"Michael." "I'm not asking for much." His fingers traced circles on your skin. "Just you. Just a little bit of you."
You glanced out the tinted window. Police motorcycles trailed the limo. You could see the outline of the driver's head through the partition, focused on the road ahead.
"There are police outside, Mikey." He followed your gaze, then looked back at you, his pout deepenin'. "They can't see through the windows." "That's not the point."
"It could be." He tilted his head, his hand squeezing your thigh gently. "Please? For my birthday?" You stared at him. Drunk, messy, pouty, beautiful and very convincing and sighed because you were being convinced.
Michael's whole face lit up when you agreed.
His eyes went wide his lips spread into a grin, and he let out a little giggle. His cheeks were flushed, his hair a mess, and there was still a smear of icing on his chin that he hadn't bothered to wipe off.
"Yeah?" "Yeah, don’t make me take it back." He didn't waste a second. His hands found your ankle, tugging you forward until you were in front of him fully. You could feel the cake beneath you, cold and sticky against your thighs through your outfit, but he didn't seem to care. He just pulled you closer, his face dropping to press a kiss against the top of your foot.
"Pretty," he murmured against your skin. His lips dragged down slowly from your ankle up to your knee, leaving a trail of warm, wet kisses. He paused at your shin, turning his head to press his cheek against your leg, looking up at you with those glassy eyes. "Look at these nails, mama. French tipped? On your toes? 'S so sexy."
You laughed, trying to pull your foot back. "You're crazy." "Mhm." He nodded, not bothering to deny it. "M’ crazy for you."
He held your foot in both hands now, his thumbs tracing slow circles over your arch. He brought your toes to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the tips, then another ,then another, working his way across each one like he was memorizing them. His eyes fluttered shut a little hum escaping his throat.
"Been thinkin' 'bout these all night," he admitted, his voice low and slurred. "When you had 'em out in them open-toed heels. Couldn't concentrate on nothin' else."
You felt your face warm. "You were lookin' at my feet during your own party?" "Was lookin' at all of you." He pressed another kiss to your ankle, then your calf. "'S not my fault you're beautiful everywhere."
He wrapped his hand around your waist and pulled you flush against him, your thighs pressing against his hips. His hands settled on your waist, fingers digging into the fabric of your outfit as another giggle fell from his lips.
"'M gonna be quiet," he promised, nodding seriously. "Real quiet. Promise." He said it with such intensity that you almost believed him. He was lying. The second your lips met his, he let out a moan that was definitely not quiet.
It rumbled from his chest deep and needy, vibrating against your mouth. His tongue slid against yours immediately, messy and warm and tasting faintly of the drink he'd been drinking earlier. His hands roamed your back, your waist, your thighs, pulling you impossibly closer as if he couldn't get enough.
You could feel him through his jeans, hard and heavy, pressed right against your core. You rolled your hips experimentally, and he whined into your mouth. "Yeah- fuck— yeah, just like that Tinka.."
His hands found the inside of your thigh, fingers trailing up slowly, searching. When he reached the damp fabric of your panties, he smiled against your lips.
"Someone's excited," he murmured, his voice low and teasing. His fingers pressed lightly against the wet spot, rubbing slow circles through the fabric. "That for me, mama? All that juice f'me?"
Your hips stuttered but you didn't stop moving against him. The friction of his belt against your panties sent little sparks through your core, and you rolled your hips harder chasing the sensation.
"Keep goin'," he breathed, his head falling back against the seat. His eyes fluttered open, looking up at you through heavy lids. "Don't stop. 'S my birthday, 'n I want you to ride me."
"Your outfit's getting ruined." You noted, the outfit was worth quite a lot. It was quite literally sparkling. He let out a breathy laugh, his chest rising and falling. "Don't care. 'S worth it. Got money f'more outfits but I only got one of you."
You kept moving grinding down against his belt and the bulge beneath it. His hand slid down to palm your ass, squeezing once before patting it gently. "That's it. Use me, mama. 'S your fault f'being so pretty."
He reached up, his hand sliding behind your neck and guiding your lips back to his, swallowing the moan that escaped you as he bit down gently on your bottom lip. You ground down harder, chasing that friction, and he groaned into your mouth.
"'M not gonna last long," he warned, his voice breaking. "You feel too good." "Then don't hold back." you whispered against his lips.
His hips bucked up to meet yours, and you both moaned. Michael pulled you closer as if he wanted to consume you all at once.
He lifted his head, gazing up at you with those lidded eyes. A smile spread across his lips, slow and drunk and full of love. "'S my best birthday yet."
Michael was close. You could feel it in the way his hips stuttered, in the way his breath came in shorter, hotter pants against your mouth.
"So close, tinka," he whimpered, his forehead pressing against yours. His hands were griping your hips, fingers diggin' into your outfit like he was trying to hold on. "Not gonna last with 'y on my lap. It’s too good."
You hummed against his lips, slowing your movements just slightly. He whined in protest, his hips chasin' yours. "Don't stop! Please —"
You stopped anyway. He blinked, his glassy eyes focusing on your face with slow, confused realization.
His bottom lip jutted out, pushin' forward in a pout that made him look like a hurt deer. "That was mean," he mumbled, his voice slurred and wounded. "Why'd you stop? 'M your husband. It’s my birthday. You're bein' mean."
You smiled, running a hand through his messy hair. "I'm bein' mean?" "Yes." He nodded emphatically, his pout deepening. "Very mean. Meanest wife ever."
You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Stay right there." Before he could protest again, you slipped off his lap and sank to your knees on the floor of the limo. The carpet was soft beneath you.
He looked down at you, his brows furrowed for a second before you reached for the zipper of his pants. He got it immediately. His legs fell open, manspreading to make room for you between his thighs.
He watched with heavy-lidded eyes as you pulled his cock out, already hard and leaking, the tip slick with precum. He let out a shuddering breath as your fingers wrapped around him. "Manicured nails." he breathed, watching your french tips wrap around his length. "Look so pretty wrapped 'round me. 'S not fair."
You smiled up at him, then opened your mouth and took him in. His head fell back against the seat, a loud moan tearing from his throat. His hand flew to your hair, tugging slightly. "Fuck— Tinka…"
He was already close, his hips twitching as you moved your head, taking him deeper. His breath came in ragged pants, his chest heaving, his grip tightened in your hair.
"Please," he whimpered. "Please— m'close—'m gonna—“ You pulled off just enough to look up at him, your lips still brushing his tip, your hand still stroking him slowly. "Then let go," you said softly. "Don't hold back, handsome. You've been so good all night."
His eyes fluttered, his lip catching between his teeth. "Let me see you fall apart, pretty boy." That did it. He came with a broken moan, his hips bucking forward as he spilled into your mouth.
His hand tightened in your hair, his body shuddering his breath came in short, uneven gasps. He was whispering your name over and over like a prayer, half-coherent and completely gone.
When he finally stilled he looked down at you with dazed, watery eyes. A lazy, satisfied grin spread across his face. "...Love you," he mumbled. "Mean it. Even if you're mean."
You laughed softly, wiping the corner of your mouth as you climbed back up to sit beside him. He immediately slumped against you, his head finding your shoulder. "Best birthday ever," he murmured. You pressed a kiss to his hair. "Happy birthday."
Michael was quiet for a moment after he came down.
Still slumped against your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck, his hand lazily tracing patterns on your thigh. You thought he'd fallen asleep, his breathing evening out.
But then he shifted. Lifted his head. Blinked at you slowly those dark eyes glassy but focused, like he was forcing himself to stay present. "You didn't come."
You opened your mouth to brush it off to tell him it was fine, that you were okay, but he was already shaking his head, his brow furrowing with genuine concern.
"No. I felt it. You were close when I…" He gestured vaguely downward, a loose wave of his hand. "Then you stopped. That's not fair to you."
"It's okay, baby. We're almost at the hotel." It was fine, honestly seeing him come was enough for you. He pouted but he nodded. "Fine. But I'm not forgetting. Soon as we get inside, I'm takin' care of you. Promise."
You smiled, running your fingers through his sweaty hair. "I know you will." He hummed, content, and pressed a kiss to your collarbone before settling back against your shoulder. His hand never stopped moving, tracing lazy circles on your thigh his thumb occasionally dipping closer to where you needed him just to tease.
"I'm gonna make you feel so good," he murmured against your skin. "Gonna make you forget your own name." "You're very confident for someone who can barely stand."
He giggled, a sleepy drunken sound. "Don't need to stand. Got a tongue. Got fingers. Got you."
The rest of the ride passed in comfortable silence, Michael's head resting on your shoulder, his hand absently rubbing your thigh. Every few seconds he'd press a kiss to your collarbone, mumbling little nothings against your skin. "Pretty." "Love you." "Best wife." "Gonna marry you again tomorrow."
When the limo finally pulled up to the hotel, Michael stumbled out with your help, his feet unsteady on the pavement, his hand gripping yours like a lifeline.
The driver had already circled around to open the door, and Michael turned to him with a look of genuine apology, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "I'm so sorry," he said, his voice sincere and slurred. "For the mess. For everything. I don't usually I promise! The noises. All of it. I'm real sorry."
The driver laughed, waving a hand. "Don't worry about it, Mr. Jackson. Happens more than you'd think." Michael blinked, his head tilting like a confused puppy. "Really?" "No, not really." The driver grinned wide, his eyes crinkling. "But happy birthday Mr Jackson."
Michael laughed loudly, leaning heavily into your side as you guided him toward the entrance. "I like him. He's funny. Tip him extra." "I will, baby." "Like a lot extra. Double. Triple maybe."
"Whatever you want." He pressed a kiss to your cheek, messy and warm. "You're the best."
The hotel lobby was mostly empty at this hour, just a few staff members behind the counter who nodded respectfully as you passed. A security guard near the elevator gave a small wave, which Michael returned with a lazy, two finger salute. You kept him moving, your arm wrapped around his waist, his hand gripping yours as you guided him toward the elevator.
The moment the doors slid shut, he was on you again. His hands found your waist, pulling you against him, his face burying in your neck. He breathed in deep, a content hum vibrating against your skin.
"Almost there," he mumbled against your pulse. "Then I get to take care of you. Properly." "You're very determined about this." He hummed again, pressing a kiss to your pulse point. "Determined husband. That's me. Cause I love you."
"And very handsome." He pulled back just enough to look at you, a lazy grin spreading across his face. "Yeah? You think so?" "I know so." He kissed you then, soft and warm, his tongue brushing against your lower lip before he pulled away. "Love you."
"Love you too, Michael." The elevator dinged. You guided him down the hall, fumbling with the key card until the door clicked open.
The suite was quiet when you finally stepped inside. Dark, save for the city lights filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The curtains were drawn open. The bed loomed in the center of the room, massively covered in pillows you knew you'd be shoving off the floor within minutes.
The door clicked shut behind you, and Michael turned to you immediately, his hands finding your waist. You expected him to stumble toward the bed, to collapse and sleep off the rest of his buzz.
Instead, he stood there, looking at you with those dark, glassy eyes, his chest rising and falling. "I didn’t forget." he said, his voice softer now, his earlier bravado fading into something gentler. "In the car. You didn't come at all. Told you I wouldn't forget"
You shook your head. "It's okay, really. Tonight was about you Michael I told you. "
"It's not okay." His hands tightened on your waist, guiding you backward toward the bed. "I'm gonna take care of it. Right now. That's what husbands do. That's what I want to do."
You let him guide you until the back of your knees hit the edge of the mattress. He pushed gently, and you sat. Then laid back, your elbows propping you up as you looked up at him. He stood over you for a moment, looking down at you with heavy lidded eyes, his tongue swiping across his bottom lip.
"Stay right there," he murmured, his voice low.
He reached for the hem of your dress, bunching it up slowly, carefully, his fingers brushing against your skin with every inch he revealed until the dress was gathered around your hips, baring you to him completely.
His breath caught when he saw the damp spot on your panties, the fabric dark and clinging to you evidence of how worked up you'd been all night. "Look at you," he breathed, his voice reverent. "So pretty down here, mama. You've been sittin' in this all night, haven't you? All wet for me, huh?"
Your face heated up. "Michael."
"Don't be so shy Tink." His thumbs traced slow circles on your inner thighs. "I'm your husband. I got every right to see what's mine. And this," he pressed a kiss to the damp fabric, "this is mine."
He dropped to his knees in front of you, his hands gripping your thighs and pulling you to the edge of the bed. He shifted, getting comfortable settling in like he planned to be there for a while.
"I'm gonna take my time with you," he murmured. "Gonna taste every inch of you 'til you're beggin' me to stop."
He pressed his mouth to the wet spot on your panties, hot and open, his tongue flat against the fabric. A low moan rumbled from his chest, vibrating against you, and you gasped at the sensation.
"Mmm..—" He pulled back just enough to breathe, his lips slick. "Taste you through the fabric, mama. It's still so good. Sweet and wet. Could drink you up like this all night and die happy." He pressed another damp kiss to your panties.
But he didn't pull them off yet. Instead, he lifted your foot, bringing it to his lips. He pressed a kiss to the top of your arch, soft and slow. Then another on your ankle. Then he opened his mouth, dragging his tongue lazily along the side of your foot, leaving a trail of warm spit in its wake. "Mikey —"
"'S pretty," he mumbled against your skin, his voice muffled. "Every part of you is pretty." He pressed wet, sloppy kisses to your toes, his mouth open and warm, drool slicking your skin as he went. He sucked gently on your big toe before pulling off with a soft pop, his chin glistening.
"Taste good everywhere," he murmured, almost to himself. "Even your feet taste like you." He set your foot down gently and lifted the other, repeating the same ritual kisses, licks, open-mouthed drags of his tongue, leaving you shiny and wet and completely his.
By the time he set that foot down, you were a little breathless, your heart pounding.
He looked up at you through his lashes, his lips swollen and slick. "Now." he said, his voice rough. "Lemme see what's underneath."
His fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down slowly, watching as they peeled away from your slick skin. He dragged them down your thighs, past your knees, over your ankles, and tossed them somewhere behind him without looking. His eyes were fixed on you, dark and hungry.
"There she is," he breathed. "There's my pretty girl. All bare for me. You're so beautiful like this, you know that? All spread out, waitin' for me."
He pressed a kiss to your inner thigh. Soft. Warm. Then another, higher. He worked his way up inch by inch, kissing and licking at your skin, leaving a trail of warmth wherever his mouth touched. When he reached the apex of your thighs he paused, his breath hot against your core, making you jump.
"You good?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. "Michael, just kiss me already." He laughed softly, the vibration tickling your skin. "So impatient. I like that about you."
Then he pressed his lips against you, firmly. He started slow. Gentle. His tongue dragged up through your folds in one long, languid stroke, from your entrance to your clit tasting you like he had all the time in the world. A deep moan rumbled from his chest, his eyes fluttering shut.
"Fuck," he breathed against you. "Taste better than I remembered. All mine." He had you pulled right to the edge, knees slung over his shoulders, your body pressed to his mouth. It was sloppy and drunk and he groaned with every movement of his jaw.
He was using his whole mouth, not just his tongue sucking, kissing, licking like you were a meal he'd been starving for.
His lips pressed against you as he spoke, his words muffled but clear enough. "Could stay here forever. Just live right here between your thighs. You'd let me, wouldn't you, mama?"
A low, rumbly growl tore from his throat. He doubled down on his efforts, pulled your thighs forward until his nose was flush against your clit, his tongue fucking into you with rapid, shallow strokes, absolutely sloppy with it. His grip on your hips left marks.
"You taste," he said between kisses and licks and swirls, "so fucking good, mama. Like you were made for my mouth. Made for me."
His tongue flicked over your clit again and again. You could feel the vibration of his groans, the way his nose pushed into you, and the way your thighs started to shake and squeeze around his ears.
"Yeah, that's it. That's my girl. Squeeze my head with those pretty thighs. Love it when you do that."
His lips closed around your clit and he sucked, gentle at first, then with more pressure, his tongue flicking against it while he did. Your hips bucked against his mouth, and he moaned in approval.
"That's it, baby. Rut against my face. Use me. I'm yours."
You came undone, tipped over the edge with the next roll of his tongue, but he didn't stop. He coaxed you through it, gentling his touch, his tongue slowing to soft, soothing laps as you shuddered above him. He pulled back slowly, his mouth glistening, his lips swollen. He pressed a kiss to your thigh with a lazy smile, his chin slick.
"One more," he said, his voice rough, like he'd gargled gravel.
"Michael…" "One more." He dove back in without waiting for your answer, his tongue plunging into your core.
This time he wanted it messy. Wanted to taste you again, now that he had a fresh coat of you on his tongue. He sucked hard on your clit, drawing a broken moan from your throat as he drove his tongue in and out, into the weeping place between your thighs.
His mouth was on you again, warm and insistent, his tongue dragging through your folds with that same sloppy, drunken rhythm. You were still sensitive from before, every pass of his lips sending sparks through your oversensitive nerves, and when he circled your clit with the flat of his tongue, you gasped your hips sliding up the mattress instinctively.
Too much. It was too much.
But his hand came down on your ass with a sharp slap, the sting blooming across your skin, and he pulled you back down against his mouth without missing a beat.
"Unh uh," he murmured against you, his voice rough and muffled. "Where you goin'?"
"Mikey— 's too much—"
"Don't care." His hand gripped your hip, holding you in place, his tongue diving back in. "Stop runnin'. Take it, acting like you can’t."
He pressed a sloppy kiss to your clit, his chin slick, his eyes half-lidded as he looked up at you from between your thighs.
"You can take it. You're my good girl, right? My good wife?" You nodded weakly, your fingers tangling in the sheets. "Then lay there and let me love you."
He moaned against you, his tongue pressing deep inside, then sliding up. "Cum for me again, pretty mama. Let me taste it. Let me drink every drop." His tongue kept working you, keeping you right there, close, until you shattered again. He swallowed every bit of it, moaning like it was the best thing he'd ever tasted.
The third time because yes there was a third time, he changed the angle.
He lifted your hips onto his shoulders, your entire body pulled flush to his mouth. He wanted to taste every drop. Licking and drinking as you fluttered against him greedy. He didn't relent until he'd took a third orgasm from you, your trembling thighs locked around his head.
"You're so beautiful when you cum," he murmured against you, his voice wrecked. "Best thing I've ever seen. Best thing I've ever tasted. I'm never gonna get enough of you."
You fell back onto the mattress, breathless and shaking, your body humming with the aftershocks of pleasure.
When he finally pulled away, he rested his cheek on your thigh, still on his knees, blinking up at you with those big, drunk, adoring eyes. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and smiled, his lips swollen and slick.
"You okay?" His voice was hoarse, barely a whisper. You nodded weakly, reaching down to brush your fingers through his hair. "Yeah. I'm more than okay." He grinned, proud of himself, and pressed a kiss to your knee.
"Good." He pushed himself up. "Good. Mission accomplished." "It was your birthday, remember?"
He gestured down at the mess he'd made of you. "Best gift I could've asked for." You were too spent to even consider a witty comeback.
He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest, his lips pressing soft, lazy kisses to your forehead, your temple, the corner of your mouth. That was his second language with you slow, featherlight touches after everything.
"Thank you." he said, quiet but sincere. "For tonight. For everything. I don't say it enough but you're my whole world, mama." You pressed a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. "Happy birthday, Mikey."
He smiled, sleepy and satisfied. "Best one yet. Wonder how y’gonna top this next year…maybe you’ll finally let me get you pregnant?" You put a singular hand up to his lips, shutting him up. “Boy. Don’t ruin the moment. Go to sleep.”
ᯓ𑣲 pairing . thriller!michael x f.blackreader 18+MDNI
ᯓ𑣲 premise . you weren’t being satisfied in your relationship with your boyfriend “james” who hated how close you and michael were, he simply wasn’t satisfying your needs so you had to tell your best friend about it…. But what if your best friend wants to satisfy you?
ᯓ𑣲 contains . inexperienced!michael, pussy eating he’s a real eater, p in v, cumming, seeing himself in your stomach, best friends to lovers, missionary, just overall nasty filthy smut.
you and michael were best friends for many many years, way back when he was living in Gary Indiana, that's how many years it's been, you've known michael before the screaming fans, the loud crowds, the tours, the studios, the "moonwalker". The world saw michael jackson, you saw your mike.
you and michael had been glued together since you were kids, the kind of best friends who finished each other's sentences and spent every free hour in each other's space. Everyone jokes that you two might as well date. One day, you were at hayvenhurst in the pool with michael splashing each other laughing when Jermaine suddenly showed, bringing the two of you iced lemonade, "damn man why won't you jus' ask her out?" he pulled michael to the side after he dried off. You were too busy drinking your lemonade to overhear the conversation.
"it's not that easy," he laughs lightly, an awkward laugh escaping Michael's lip, he knew it is wrong to view his best friend in that type of way but could he really help it .... ?, you were absolutely gorgeous, with pretty long legs, pedicured nails & toes always done. beautiful brown skin. the reason he even wrote "pretty young thing" was kind of because of you. "she's my best friend, y'know that." he took a sip of his lemonade, ignoring Jermaines' "mhm"s.
but the thing was, you had a boyfriend, James. James never measured up where it counted, he hated how close you stayed with michael, and he hated even more that he couldn't make you cum with his mouth no matter how long he tried. three days without seeing michael felt like too long, so when you finally got to see him at his encino the second the door shut behind you, the conversation spilled out fast.
you were both on his couch, legs tangled like always, when you started venting. "James canceled again," you said, rolling your eyes in pure frustration. "And when we do, y'know," you tried finding the words without feeling embarrassed, telling your best friend your sex life. Michael is listening, sitting next to you with wide curious eyes waiting for you to find the words that seemed like he was staring in your soul at this point.
"Have sex. He won't go down on me. Says it's gross," you said with an exaggerated sigh, throwing your head back, being genuinely frustrated. then you picked your head back up, looking at michael, "What do you think? Do y'think its gross mike?". Michael's cheeks flushed pink by the sudden question, "w-well i think it's quite... interesting, not disgusting though," he fiddled with his hands.
"he really doesn't eat you out? at all?" he was now genuinely interested onto why your own boyfriend doesn't wanna devour his girlfriend. Hell, in michaels mind, james was even lucky to have a girl like you. If it was michael, he would kiss the ground you walk on if needed. "Nope, and when he tries, it's two licks, and he's done. It's odd because I always make sure i freshen up and I'm very clean, y'know." you said, crossing your arms, the slight movement making your breast push up, and michaels eys darted down for a second before meeting your eyes again.
you watched his throat bob as he swallowed. The air shifted, you teased him the way you always did, "bet you'd be just as clueless, virgin boy." Instead of laughing it off, michael wanted to show and prove to you that he could be better than your boyfriend even if this was his first time. He'd be better.
michael leaned in, "Show me." You laughed it off thinking your always shy soft spoken sweet best friend was totally joking, "don't flatter yourself, mike," you said with a light chuckle, thinking he was genuinely joking. "I'm not joking." He suddenly stood up, grabbing you by your arm leading you towards his room upstairs and once the door locked behind him. Un confessed feelings seemed to come out in another way.
clothes came off in a rush. You ended up in your bra and panties on his bed, thighs spread while michael knelt between them, looking equal parts of nervous and hungry. Rambling and babbling "you don't know how long I wanted this", "he doesn't deserve you", "he won't take care of you how ill take care of you". His hands shook as he touched your panties, his fingers hooking them, his wide eyes looking up at you asking for permission.
you nodded your head, and that was all the approval michael needed. He peeled your pretty pink panties down your legs very slowly. Once they reached the bottom of your feet he threw them to the side somewhere. His hands shook as he touched your inner thighs, spreading you wider. your breath hitched watching him he looked so so good from your view.
"fuck, you're already wet," he whispered, staring at your soaked cunt like he'd never seen anything so perfect in his life. "can I taste you, baby?, please" he rolled slow, deliberate circles in your inner thigh, causing you to flinch a bit, hands curling into the sheets. "yes, start slow... use your tongue flat then suck the clit" you pointed at your clit giving him an idea where the nub was located.
michael followed every instruction. His tongue dragged up on your slit in one long, wet stroke, then circled your clit before he sealed his lips around it and sucked. A moan tore out of you, "that's it michael... keep doin' that" you sighed, trying to prevent yourself from moaning too loud, being aware there were other people in the house. He groaned against your cunt and the vibration made your hips jerk. He licked deeper, tongue pushing inside you, then back up to flock and suck your swollen clit until spit and your juices coated his chin. You grabbed his hair, guiding him exactly where you needed.
"suck harder, use your fingers," you breathed out in a whimper. throwing your head back. "Two inside me, curl them." Michael obeyed, sliding two fingers into your soaked cunt while his mouth stayed locked on your clit. He pumped them in time with his sucking, and your walls fluttered around him, desperate little moans escaping your lips as he moved his head left and right, causing your legs to shake around his head.
He was absolutely pussy drunk, his eyes half lidded. He felt like the luckiest man on earth right now, his fingers still pumping in and out of you at a perfect rhythm. "so tight" he groaned against your clit causing vibrations to send right through your clit. "mmnghm—feels so good baby" you looked down at him devouring your clit like a starved man. You never realized how long his fingers were until they were inside you. your whines filling the room mixed with the sound of your soaked cunt.
He pulled back just enough to speak, lips shiny from your slick juices. His fingers still working in your folds. His tongue invading your mouth, you matched his rhythm, kissing him back tongues fighting for dominance before he curled his fingers again inside your cunt causing you to moan between the kiss. He pulled his lips away and slid his fingers out your cunt.
michael stripped fast. His dick was hard and leaking of pre-cum. It was a pretty sight to see. He was too busy babbling and excited to notice you staring, and when he did, he felt his cheeks fluster pink. But if he got shy now, he knew he wouldn't probably get this again. He pulled you in by your ankle, dragging you towards the edge of the bed while he stood above you at the edge of the bed.
"Dreamed of this, you're so wet f'me mama," he slides his length all over your folds, spreading out the wetness. "All for you," you moaned "its all y-yours," he snickered. "All mine?" lining his dick up to your entrance, the first push inside stretched you open, a loud moan fell out of you and his lips at the same time.
"Oh my god," Michael breathed, sinking deeper. "You so tight squeezing me?" he bottomed out, and you felt the head of his dick press against your cervix, causing you to throw your head back."Oh g-gosh fuuuck," you moaned out. When he started thrusting, you could've sworn you saw stars only a few strokes in.
His hands went down to your clit rubbing firm circles directly onto your clit earning more loud lewd moans to fall from your lips. He dick continued to kiss your cervix. He lifted your legs up to a V shape. You didn't even know your legs could stretch like that. "this pussy feels s'good f-fuck" Michael threw his hand back Adam's apple babbling. He pounded into you like an animal, "feels fucking incredible, this what y'wanted mama?" He looked down at you, his curls sticking to his forehead from sweat. And gosh, he was beautiful like that.
"yes yes yesss!" You moaned out louder, the sound of skin slapping filled the room mixed with your moans and his groans. He saw the faint bulge moving in your lower belly with every stroke, grabbing your hand and pressing it to your stomach. "You feel that pretty baby? That's me ruining you, something your pathetic boyfriend couldn't do.". Your eyes went wide and knowing that your boyfriend couldn't ruin you like that made michael fuck you harder.
he looked down at your cunt, watching his dick disappear in and out of you. You pulled him down for a messy kiss, tongues sliding, spit swapping while he pounded into you. His hips snapped forward, skin slapping loud and wet. Every thrust made filthy squelching sounds from your soaked cunt.
"Talk to me, baby," you begged. "Tell me how good my pussy feels" you moaned. "so a-amazing holy fuck" he couldn't stop, he didn't wanna stop. His hips snapped harder against you keeping your legs in a V shape. "So warm, so tight gripping me every time I push inside, you're taking me so well baby, such a good girl f'me, huh?" he cooed praising you.
you moaned louder at his praise. Michael noticed and kept going, "That's it, let me hear you, girl." he wrapped his free hand around your throat, applying a little bit of pressure. "You're so pretty when you moan like that" he shifted angling deeper, and his dick dragged over that perfect spot inside you with every thrust. Your nipples were hard and sensitive. Michael leaned down and sucked one into his mouth, tongue flicking while his hips kept moving.
"Oh my gosh—michael!" You moaned out louder, even if that was possible. You'd probably lose your voice tomorrow by the way he was drilling inside you. he switched to the other nipple, biting gently before soothing it with his tongue. Your back arched off the bed. The combination of his dick stretching you and his mouth on your tits had you shaking.
michael reached for the phone that sat next to the nightstand without slowing down, he dialed james while stil buried inside you, then put it on speaker.
James answered on the second ring, "...hello?" Michael didn't stop thrusting. The wet sounds of your cunt taking his dick filled the rom, "hey is this James right?" he said, voice steady even as he fucked you, "listen your girl told me all about how wack your sex is" he thrusted deeper inside you causing you to yelp out.
You moaned loud enough for James to hear. Michael brought the phone down between your legs, right next to where his dick was disappearing into your dripping cunt. The squelching was obscene. "Hear that?" Michael asked "that's what her pussy sound like when it's actually getting fucked right. You couldn't satisfy her, obviously"
James was silent for a beat, "are you fucking kidding me?" Michael kept the phone close to your soaked cunt as he drove into you harder. "You couldn't do it right, so I'm doing it, listen to how wet she is" he angled the phone so James could hear every slap of skin, every squelch, every moan falling from your lips, michael leaned down and kissed you again tongue deep in your mouth while he kept fucking you in missionary.
his hips rolling slow and depressed so James could hear everything. "Tell him," Michael whispered against your lips, "tell him how much better I am." your eyes rolled back. "so much better," you gasped loud enough for the phone. Michael ended up hanging up after you said that.
His thrust grew rougher, the headboard knocking against the wall. You were so so so close, clenching around him, and michael could feel it. "cum for me," he urged, thumb finding your clit "cum all over this dick baby, give it to me come onn" your orgasm hit hard. Your pussy spasmed around michaels dick, soaking him even more you cried out, back arching, nipples tight as michael kept rubbing your clit through it.
Michael wasn't far behind, he buried himself to the hilt and came with a broken moan, flooding your cunt with hot ropes of cum, you felt every pulse. His dick twitching inside as he filled you up. He shook with every rope of cum that spilled out of him. Groans escaped his mouth, his head threw back trying to catch his breath.
after a while, he pulled out of you with a loud wet pop, his juices flowed out of you. "Was that okay?" He said softly, checking in even after everything. His concern focused on you seeing your fucked out aftermath.
you smiled, pulling him closer. "More than okay, round two?"
req sent by ? anon : can u please do another like dads best friend michael? but said daughter is way more bratty when it comes to him and likes to watch him from afar and loves putting on cute fits for when he comes over. that one was too good
❛ dbf!michael jackson 𝑥 𝒻 black woc!reader ❜ ╱ 𝓶.list 𓂋 mdni . can be seen as a continuation of this . & again i'd want to preface that michael did not know reader while she was a child, he met her father when she was 21+ . reader is a spoiled brat . stern!michael agenda . sneaking around . drinking . oral (m! and f! receiving) . pussy spanking . video call mutual masturbation . lowkey dumbification . cockwarming. raw penetration . reverse cowgirl . ℘ 3.481k
𝓻𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬⠀ ⠀𝐚𝐫𝐞⠀ ⠀𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝⠀!
dbf!michael . . . who knows what a massive brat you are. your father talks his ear off about how he raised a spoiled, entitled monster, seeking advice from his friend. which is exactly why he doesn't give into you, not even your freshly manicured hands (curtesy of you father's pockets of course) tug at the collar of his button up, glossed lips in a pout, and breast pushed plush against his chest. "uh huh, sweetheart, you've gotta work f'me."
dbf!michael . . . who can feel your eyes on him at all times. you're too stubborn to admit it, but he knows that if he's in your vicinity your eyes will be on him. and eyes tell a story he always reminds you, and yours beg for the attention of the older man. even going out of your way to barge yourself into your father's study, waltzing over and perching yourself on the desk. lazily tracing a finger over the wood pattern as you interject yourself in their conversation . . . it never takes you long to leave just as you came, but not before you look over your shoulder to see if michael is eyeing your exit.
dbf!michael . . . who as easy as he loves to deprive you is quick to seek you out. call it cat and mouse, but michael will always find a way to excuse himself and catch you to play the little game the two of you have been playing.
it's been all afternoon, the glances you and michael have been giving each other. starting from the moment you stepped foot on the bricked concrete of the back patio, flip flops clapping and attitude in your walk as you make your way to the lounge chairs lined against the pool. paying no mind to michael and his shielded gaze from where he and your father are seated in the expensive wicker chairs your mother had insisted on getting years ago when the backyard was getting renovated.
only when you're rubbing tanning oil onto the lengths of your legs do you raise your gaze to be met with the distant view of michael. his lap as inviting as ever as he manspreads, an arm thrown over the hair of the chair and you can already tell his fingers are absently tapping as he nods along to whatever your father is talking about. clearly not paying the most attention to what is being said as the only movement his mouth remotely does is clench and unclench from the gum he's toying with in his mouth.
his attention only gets worse when you flip about an hour into tanning, and his it a dangerous game he's playing as he allows his sunglasses to slight the smallest bit down the bridge of his nose to get a clearer view of you flipping your body over. teeth nearly breaking the skin of his bottom lip when your as recoils as you shift and get comfortable once again.
it takes you taking a dip in the pool and retreating inside for michael to excuse himself to the 'bathroom', following the water droplets from your dripping body to the kitchen where your back is turned, fiddling with the top of a contain full of fruit. body bronzed and glowy from the tanning oil and sun, you're just irritable as he comes up from behind you, large hands on your waist to pull your back flush against him chest, not caring if you get his top wet. hands feeling up all on your torso, even daring to slip beneath the tiny triangles of your bikini top, enveloping the entirety of your breast in his grasp, "we gotta be quiet 'nd quick, baby. know you're achin' for me like i'm achin' for you."
dbf!michael . . . who is only on your side when it comes to your fashion. muttering, "she's a grown woman" when your father disapproves of your scandalous clothes. maybe it's his own perverted selfishness, seeing you prance around in skimpy tank tops which enunciate your pebbled nipples, skirts so short that when your purposely bend down michael can get the perfect view of you puffy cunt confined within your panties, or dresses so tight and low cut that it leaves nothing to the imagination. and boy, would your father hate to learn that he's the one enabling your fashion habits.
ּ❥ : you think this is too much mikey ? ( image )
michael : You look very gorgeous, Baby. I think it's perfect. ּ❥ : you're only saying that because it's showing off my ass
michael : All the more reason it's perfect, I think.
dbf!michael . . . who's eyes widen when you lift your shirt, so baggy it's falling off your shoulder, first his eyes fall on your plump ass, tracing the bedazzled juicy on the signature velour fabric . . . until his eyes catch the cling wrap taped to your lower back. leaning closer from where he's sat on the couch, legs spread to fit you between them. large hands finding their familiar spot on your hips, thumbs tracing over the edge of where the smooth plastic covers the tattoo and your soft skin. he'd always tell you to wait for tattoos, to think hard and long about it, 'cause it's permanent. nothing like the temporary tattoos that come off with water and a little scrubbing. but this? he's choking on his words, a million thoughts popping up in his mind and poofing into thin air before he can process them. the only thing that consumed him is the is the small tramp stamp being none other than a butterfly.
michael is a gentleman, even in bed. he loves⎯thrives off of making his woman experience the best she's ever had when she's with him. which is exactly why he prioritizes making love with you, and he'll give into whatever you ask within the confines of the bedroom walls . . . well that is unless that's asking to do any position where he can't see your face. he finds it intimate to be able to see you and all the ways your face contorts in pleasure. but ever since you've showed him the delicate tattoo on your lower back something has been simmering low within him⎯the want? the need? to see you sat on his dick, backside facing him as his eyes stay trained on the butterfly as your hips roll.
"'m gonna come, mikey," you moan out, all desperate as your movements becomes rigid as you reach your peak. head lulling to the side when michael's tip hits gummy spot that makes your eyes roll to the back of your head.
michael hums, hands sliding down from where his fingers pressed into your plush hips. a pair of helping hands for your tiring muscles. "go on, mama," he urges, all while gentle fingers trace around the inked wings of the butterfly, "i've got ya'."
dbf!michael . . . who becomes your makeshift chauffeur. and the man rarely drives, but the moment you say you want to go somewhere, whether that's a strip mall or your favorite overpriced restaurant he's picking up his keys, following the sound of jingling as you waltz after singer. and it's truly sight a see, michael driving. he used to be beyond diligent when driving, seat straight up, both hands on the steering wheel, and no music because it distracted him too much. michael now is far more relaxed, one hand on the steering wheel and one hand resting on your thigh. you spend most of the drives just staring at him inbetween your belts as you sing the latest pop song.
and what better way to repay his acts of kindness than a sloppy blow job in his rolls royce? is it classy? absolutely not, but you never cared about being classy with michael, not when you can be messy and passionate.
"that mouth of yours⎯"
you had managed to butter michael up just enough. and by enough, which is just peppering kisses along his jaw as a manicured hand rubs up and down his chest, stopping just below his belt before your hand makes it way back up. and now with his casual slacks and briefs pushed haphazardly halfway down his thighs, your swollen lips wrapped around his dick, and the same manicured hand stroked whatever length you couldn't take in your mouth. drool escaping your mouth as your head bops, falling down your chin just to dribble onto your fisted hand.
michael's chest raised then falls as he watched you past heavy lidded eyes with a hand in your curls. when your you glassy gaze meets his you pull up from off his length with a pop, still pumping at his base. flashing him a love (dick) drunk smile just before you duck back down. except instead of taking him back in your mouth you kiss down the underside of his shaft, licking your way back up, planting a kiss on his leaking tip. only then do you take his tip into your mouth once again, all while maintaining eye contact.
"it's dangerous, girl," he rasps out. throwing his head back against the headrest when you take him further down your throat.
dbf!michael . . . who is known by your homegirls. and i mean like it was an eye bulging reaction when a rolls royce pulled up along the curb of the club, and a not so discreetly dressed michael exits the drivers side, jogging over the passenger's side to open the door for you. the cherry on top that left their mouths agape was the kiss planted on your glossy lips, then another, and another, until words are spoken that can't be deciphered from the loud music booming within the club. it's safe to say that wasn't the last time they'd see michael. and it's only fueled their amusement that you have the michael jackson saved in your phone as mikey and they're even more amused that the award winning singer puts up with your antics. giggling and waving off their comments because as much as you never expected how easy and how soon you had the man wrapped around your finger, you never expected how deeply in love you'd be, "he's a good man, a real sweet one at that" ⎯ moving on from the conversation as they berate you further for your mushy comment about the man.
dbf!michael . . . who becomes touchy when he's tipsy at a dinner party. he knows he shouldn't, there's still common somewhere in the back of his mind, especially with eyes around everywhere. but he can't help it, not when you look so pretty ⎯ already having pressed his face into you're coils greeting you when he had first arrived, lips brushing against the shell of your ear, "lookin' so gorgeous t'night, baby" giving your waist one final squeeze before he releases you from his grasp and walk away with your father ⎯ and he's only escalated from there, his presence seemed to follow after you, much like a ghost binded to its prized possession. you didn't mind one bit, you were thankful for it because was the one carrying these conversations he'd follow you to, hand coming up to rest on your shoulder as he joins you and the other guest, only for it to fall lower and lower all while he's nursing another glass of champagne.
dbf!michael . . . who is stern with you. it isn't out of the ordinary for michael to have dinner with your family throughout the week, and it isn't out of the ordinary that he'd always find his spot at the dinning table right in front of where you. diverting your teases about how he just can't not be as close as he can to you by playing it off that the seat he sits at happens to be be the only seat open ⎯ knowing damn well there are at minimum five other open seats he could've chosen to sit at. but michael didn't know that by choosing that seat would give you the best access to mess with him, as you currently have your foot ⎯ removed from your heel, of course ⎯ pressed against his crotch. ignoring the tight grip he has around your ankle, while his free hand remains above the table, knuckles turning pale from his grip on the silverware. or turning your head every time michael tried to get your attention to grit some kind of warning past his teeth, only applying more pressure to his semi as you engage in conversation with your family or cut another piece of food to shove into your mouth.
the heated impact against your wetness causes your body to jolt and your hips to buck. michael's hand is large enough to perfectly cover the entirety of your pussy, applying just enough pressure to have you whining after he's delivered the pleasure filled slap, just as you'd done to him during dinner in your act of teasing. but never enough pressure, keeping you at a frustrating medium of teetering on the edge of release and dissatisfaction.
he's still michael though, so a large hand is cupped around your jaw to allow for his thumb to brush away any stray tears that might've fallen out of frustration. and he's still nice enough to give you a break in between each smack, coos that mock your ruined form fall from his lips. eyes darting down for just a moment as he removes his hand, pupils dilating further at the sight your pussy's sticky strings of arousal still connecting you to his hand. and when he delivers another smack, he's already doing damage control, pressing his lips against yours to swallow the moans your cry out. you're a hiccuping mess when he pulls away from the kiss, "this is gonna be a long night, swee'heart," he muses. delivering another blow to your puffy pussy as you attempted to seek further pleasure to ease the ache by grinding against his hand.
no amount of sorry's could get you out of this.
dbf!michael . . . who revels in you turning into a babbling mess. whether that's him making you flustered from saying all the right things that causes your body to heat up and your heart to run rampant. stumbling over your words as you try to think of something to combat what he just said ⎯ which you almost never succeed at, and it proudly amuses michael to get of you guarded and wide eyed. or whether it's when he's got you below him, all sweaty and mindless as you babbling nothing else other than his name past your plush lips. and better yet when it's his mouth that's dumbed you down this far already. precise licks against your sopping entrance as his nose nudges against your swollen clit. all that work to witness you gasping for air, thighs clamping his head in place while your hands clench and claw at whatever is closest in your vicinity. it's all worth it for the mess he makes you for the mess you make on his face in return.
dbf!michael . . . who manages learn tech from you, you're twist with your legs sprawled over michael's lap while you're body is pressed as close to his as possible, his phone clad in hand. it's difficult because after you're done showing him something he'll immediately ask "how'd you do that? show me again, baby, please" and it doesn't help that michael's large hands and thick fingers miss click the little buttons on his phone. the same hands to smooth up and down your legs, tracing shapes and patterns onto your skin as you help set up his voicemail, humming along to what you have to say.
"jus' like that, mama," michael purrs, voice slightly staticy from beyond the other side of the screen. his fist lazily stoked his dick as he admired in the sight of your hand between your spread legs, "take your fingers f'me again."
you circle your clit a few more times before you sink your fingers back into your warmth, heat creeping up your neck when when the enter with a squelch. you'd be on your back normally, but you want to be able to see michael pleasuring himself at the same time as you from where your laptop is propped open. so you've opted to put all your body weight on the arm that's fisting the wrinkled bedsheets in its hand. through a heavy gaze and a wide mouth you pump your fingers in and out of your slicked pussy, "wish they were your fingers, mikey."
michael exhales through his nose, shifting from where he sits in the arm chair in an empty hotel room across the world from you. being able to hear your beautiful noises and pliant body in front of him, but not being able to touch you is something cruel ⎯ torturous, even he thinks. and it's selfish, to want you to by his side wherever he goes, and maybe if it was a normal day, one where he didn't need you as bad as he needs you right now, he'd agree. but today is not that day. "i know, i know, baby. doin' s'well though, jus' keep doin' that. and i'll be home soon t'give you the real thing."
at least technology gives him the privilege of seeing your body contort every which way as you please yourself. the phone would confide him just hearing you and his imagination.
dbf!michael . . . who gives in when you've begged enough. just like how he isn't above making you work for what you want, he isn't above making you beg either. but it never comes easy, not when you're as stubborn as you are, it'll take hours of the silent treatment and boredom before you result to the tiniest bit of begging. but once you've started, you don't stop. and michael knows you think you're the one in charge, you've got him all wrapped around you're finger and that it'll only be a matter of time before he gives into you. it's a tortuous game when you have yet to realize that michael is making all the right moves.
"mikey," you huff, "let me move."
you shuffled just the smallest bit and michael's hand plants itself on your hip, stilling your movements. "whole lotta demands with no use of please in sight," he murmurs, not bothering to look up from his book.
disbelief is what someone would call the face you made. you don't even know how long you've been sitting on michael's dick, but far too long for you liking to not even have moved an inch at all within the span you've been sat on top of him. and that damn book in his hand is getting on your nerves, every time he flips a page, reaches a new chapter, fucking sighs, you think he's finally done reading. yet every time nothing happens, and you're fed up. "could you please put the book down and fuck me know, michael?"
your attitude laced tone caused michael to close the book, using his thumb as a bookmark. looking up at you ⎯ face adorned with a pout and squinting eyes ⎯ past his glasses that have now fallen a smidge down the bridge of his nose. his mouth opens and closed as quickly as it opened, watching you for a moment before he opens his mouth once more. "that please didn't sound genuine enough," he concludes. opening his book once more to leave you helpless and begging.
dbf!michael . . . who can't help it when his heart skips a beat when he comes home and sees you lounging in his bed. he had an extra key made for you forever ago, before the two of your entered a relationship, just in case of emergencies and you've been abusing it ever since. always finding a need to come over, so it's no real surprise to see you in this state, milky white satin slip with the little lace trim detail and a silk scarf protecting your curls, clay mask slathered on your face while you lazily flip through a magazine. it's the intimacy of seeing you like this, the way your head lifts and a smile instantly stretches your lips that's got him feeling fluttery. you'd beat him to it and ask out his day, flipping the magazine shut and getting out bed, making a beeline to michael to steal a few pecks before heading to the bathroom, where he'd follow and tell you all about his day as you wash off the mask. this is what he wants, someone to exist with, someone who makes them crack a grin when they look utterly ridiculous attempting to wash off their face while maintaining conversation. you give him a hard time ten times out of ten, but he wouldn't want it any other way. michael wants the long run with you.
⠀⠀ 𝒾.⠀ 𓂅 ⠀·⠀⠀⠀ 𝒕𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⠀ : @ebvnydesires @cherisboring @smoothcriminalgf @princesspluuto @curlypytclubx @tinydreamerpillar @thelittletobsterthatcould @itsnaikou @mikedotorg @sugacor3 @blkkbratt @dottedseven @kitten-bell @looenx @siighrns @watamotee33 @ifthistown 𐔌 to be added to the taglist , comment under this post or fill up the form ꒱
ೄ ◞♡ Imagine pervy bsf!michael giving light spanks to your cunt because he swears up and down you showed up wearing the skimpiest bikini he’s ever seen just so you could purposefully get a rise outta him.
Nearing the end of July in California still brings the sun on full blaze, but tolerable enough where it has you think nothing else other than dipping your toes in a pool to relax and enjoy the last bit of summer you have left.
Too bad for you though, as you’re a withering mess in Michael’s arms with your back against his chest, the distant laughter of his brothers out in the backyard becoming more concealed the higher your whines get.
“You did this to yourself, girl.” He whispers into your ear after another smack down, always quick to rub right after to soothe the sting that doesn’t miss an inch to travel across your reddening cunt.
“I-I’m sorry..!” Is all you could really mewl, sorry over something you never did with a motive behind like he’s convinced. You save your breath to try and tell him otherwise, being this far in there is no getting through to him.
And also because he just slipped two fingers inside without much of a warning, reaching places your own fingers wouldn’t be able to get to, eyes rolling back from the unfamiliar pleasure he’s giving.
The curl of his fingers nearly has you lose your sight, pumping with relentless speed, getting him addicted to the wet squelches he’s able to pull from your sopping pathetic cunt. Until he slaps his other hand down to your thigh, you being far from off the hook.
“You don’t have a clue what you do to me, do you?” He refers to your bikini, which the bottoms are now lost in the mess on his carpet floor, your top having one breast spilled out because Michael can’t choose just one spot to touch you.
It’s okay if you didn’t. Michael is more than happy enough to show you, with each slap to your puffy clit to pull a yelp that goes straight to his dick, and the perfect rhythm of his fingers dragging along your sensitive walls that has your body have no choice but to respond to him.
𓂃 pervyboss!michael x secretary!reader anyone?.. (18+)
𝓬ontent ❤︎ invincible!era (gif is 2007, lets pretend this is 2002), explicit themes, age gap implied (28, 44) mentions of masturbation, sexual fantasies, p in v, unprotected sex, michael's a power dom ouuu, michael's a bit stern in the bedroom, not proofread, just smutty asl alright
masterlist ౿ ݁ .
ᢉ𐭩 ֹ . pervyboss!michael who couldn't stop staring when you waltzed in, hips naturally swaying in your tiny pencil skirt. sure, the amount of leg you decided to show off in the office was extremely unprofessional, but was michael going to say anything about it? absolutely not. he loved to watch you sashay through the corridors of the maze that was cubicles, constantly looking up from his paperwork to catch a glimpse of your perky ass struggling to breathe behind the fabric.
ᢉ𐭩 ֹ . pervyboss!michael who palmed himself during meetings whenever you peeked in the conference room to tell him something. your luscious hair, your breaking even blazer paired with your lowcut shirt that cupped your breasts just the right way, your smile. lord, your smile. when he'd return to his office, he'd quietly groan in pain from his aching erection, looking up to make sure you weren't facing his direction. you made his body ache with your presence alone.
ᢉ𐭩 ֹ . pervyboss!michael who deliberately would call you into his office multiple times a day just to get a look at you. he'd make up faux tasks such as fixing the position of his pen bucket, or picking up something he dropped on the floor purposefully—of course, just to watch you bend over innocently, biting his bottom lip in return.
ᢉ𐭩 ֹ . pervyboss!michael who slides you hints about just how smitten he truly is. things like:
"you look pretty today."
"i might need to get hr on the phone if you keep looking at me like that."
"wish you could be in my office all the time, y'know that?"
ᢉ𐭩 ֹ . pervyboss!michael who dreads just how fast you catch on. ever since you did, every interaction became more anticipating. you purposefully unbuttoned your blazer when visiting his office, his gaze immediately locking with your cleavage and roaming down to your waist. you were such a tease.
ᢉ𐭩 ֹ . pervyboss!michael who fantasizes about fucking you dumb at work. if only he could bend you over the copier, stripping you of everything but your silver initial necklace and your pink pumps, taking you in front of the whole office. oh, he'd have a field day. imagining you moaning his name loud and clear for everyone to heed, all while in reality he sat slouching at his desk with a pile of papers beside him.
ᢉ𐭩 ֹ . pervyboss!michael who asks you out at the office christmas party, to which you obviously oblige. he had been playing eye-tag with you the entire night, and finally gained courage after your co-worker girlfriends pushed him to make a move.
ᢉ𐭩 ֹ . pervyboss!michael who finally gets into your panties after a countless amount of dates, realizing his dreams have come true. he gets to lay down and watch in awe as your utterly sublime body work your magic on his cock. he knew it was morally wrong—a boss and his secretary—but, how could he not help himself? your perfect tits bouncing in his face all whilst your body did the same. michael's hands resting on your hips, rapidly moving up and down as you did.
ᢉ𐭩 ֹ . pervyboss!michael who makes you call him "mr. jackson" while he relentlessly pounds into you. he loved hearing your gorgeous cords scream and whine his name while you embodied his fantasy, your necklace and heels being your only articles of clothing.
"who's in charge again, dollface?" his mouth spat out, working your pussy to the max below.
"you, mr. jackson! it's always you-mmh!" you obediently yelped out, your core hot and worn. you didn't think someone of his age could fuck like such a young man.
"you're so bad-damn-such a good secretary for mr. jackson.."
ᢉ𐭩 ֹ . pervyboss!michael who makes you kneel all pretty in front of him while he comes in your mouth. his seed sweet and thick, maintaining his locked gaze as you swallow everything received. he pulls you up gently, index and thumb along your jawline as he smashes his lips against yours. your sweet lips mixed with a tinge of his semen. it was heavenly.
ᢉ𐭩 ֹ . pervyboss!michael who teases you at work ever since that night, mimicking your moaned words any time it was the two of you alone. he would occasionally pinch your rear, planting a small smack on your ass before pretending as if nothing happened. he became the tease.
"what? why aren't you answering the phones like i asked?" he would playfully smile, sticking his tongue out at you.
"sorry, mr. jackson." you frowned, exiting his office.
"attagirl."
i hope you loved reading this as much as i loved writing it lmao. sometimes i cannot fathom how this man never got panties thrown at him on stage because girll 😭 anyways, love you guys with all my heart!!
