~Perv!bsf!Mike never cared about you having a husband II~
part 1
~A/N: for the dolls who love manipulation, dubcon and inspection kink~
!MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!
“T-thought you wanted to see the designs-?”
“I’m lookin’. Just taking my time, peach…”
Michael shushes your panic and aches in anticipation for the next round of it, listening to the quiver in your breath at his special little nickname for you. He thought peach was always so fitting because you were the sweetest. You never told him no, and the name stuck when he finally saw you naked for the first time.
It’s been many years since then, and your ass has only gotten plumper since.
That happy weight. He’d experienced it with his ex wife. Your relationship with another man he did not know has certain parts of you filling out and growing softer. Michael is sure to familiarize himself with those parts under the guise of inspecting your dress.
You don’t physically fight him when his inspecting turns to intentional fondles, letting him touch on your waist and breasts. So sweet of you. Your fiancé was a fool for leaving you out of his sight, especially with a man like Michael.
Michael knew what to say to get what he wanted. With so many years of being your best friend he could read and manipulate you with ease, softening you up so you always told him yes and let him do what he wanted.
But there were tiny moments in between where you tried to resist his advances. He’d be a liar to say he didn’t like it. He ached for it, all just to be able to watch you melt from his words and touch anyway.
“C-can’t Mikey…” You whimper through the quiet of the closet as his hands fondle your tits. The dress isn’t loose enough to let your breasts spill out entirely, but within minutes Michael’s worked them enough to expose those pretty areolas and hard buds from under the delicate collar. He leans down, pretending to admire the patterns threaded through the fabric, then begins to lick at your nipples. Every breathy gasp from you makes the crotch of his pants tighten further until it was almost painful.
“Can’t do this…no more…”
The first time you said that was six summers ago when he’d gotten married. When he’d had your legs wrapped around his waist an hour before the ceremony, tongue in your mouth to muffle your moans of delight. You’d told your best friend many more times after that that it had to stop.
“I have a husband.” Well not quite yet, but you say it with enough firmness to satisfy yourself. Michael smiles against your nipple, departing from it with a slow, lingering lick.
Then he grabs your soft waist with his large hands to turn you around, making you face the wall.
You plead and argue under your breath but stay put in this new position. Michael listens, giving soft hums of agreement at your guilt ridden commentary, idly grinding his erection against your ass.
“This dress is so beautiful on you.” He says with a gentleness that makes you gasp. His long fingers reach for the delicate zipper at your back, bringing it down with a low purr until it rests right above your ass. You go completely silent when his hands work on gathering the skirt of your dress, lifting it up high.
“Hold it for me.”
Every command of his is softly spoken, making you listen even while actively protesting.
Can’t keep doing this…getting married in a couple of days…don’t you wanna look at the designs a little more…wait…Mikey…stop it, Mikey…please…
Your words trail off to a helpless little moan as he spreads you open from behind with two fingers, your panties now neatly tucked in the pocket of his blazer. Then they continue, interrupted by whimpers of delight as he spreads your wetness around. Poor thing, needing some dick deep inside of her while her mouth tries to block her blessings.
“He spent so much on this dress, Michael. Don’t ruin it. Please.” You hold onto the skirts of your dress more possessively, not quite meaning to give him better access to you.
“I can buy you another.”
“But not like this one. It’s custom.”
“Not gonna ruin it. Just let me fuck you, girl.” His soft spoken vulgarity sends a pleasant shock straight to your center. He knows this as he watches a single drop of your honey slip from between your plump folds. It travels down slow to your clit and he watches with heavy breaths, free hand reaching down to try and stroke himself through his pants.
It carries on for long enough to get the both of you pulsing and hot. Michael still plays along, still inspecting your wedding dress now hiked up your curves with low murmurs of appreciation.
“He’s got good taste if it’s custom.” His fingers part you open, eyes already trained on the beauty of your sex while softly toying with you. He’s got you visibly contracting and twitching. Another tempting drop of arousal budding between your plump lips brings him back on his feet. You’ve got his dick thick and heavy between his thighs, accentuated through his pants in all the right places. It’s clear the both of you are eager to fuck.
“Can I put it in?” He asks anyway, the gentle clink of his belt louder than your breathy yes. It’s enough to stroke his ego, and in just a few seconds the weight of his dick comes down to slap against your ass.
Michael uses his knee to part your stance wider. His hand sneaks to the small of your back to deepen your arch, and he takes one more moment to really look at you.
So beautiful and indecent in your pure white wedding dress, hands tangled in the clumsy mess of your skirts as you present your pussy to him. Michael lets a string of spit fall from his mouth onto his shaft and effortlessly slides himself in you with a single move, knocking a quiet symphony of whimpers from the both of you.
“Oh, yes-“
“Nnngh-“
The no forming at your lips trails off in a high pitched whimper. Michael holds himself still against your ass, feeling your growing desperation as you clench around his dick tight, subtly pressing yourself back and grinding on his pelvis. He throbs just as you clench and the breath is knocked out of you when he starts a steady, deep pace. You hold your skirts up higher, face and tits pressed against the wall as your only leverage, taking him with an eagerness that didn’t align with your previous protests.
“F-fuck it hurts-!” And still you keep yourself spread open, arched, and indecent, drooling around his stiff dick and producing little wet noises with each stroke.
Michael’s goal every chance he got to fuck you was simple- ruin every other man for her. All your flings, casual dates, serious relationships, and now marriage, all tainted with the secret of your best friend having his way with you when no one else was looking.
He digs deep in you, stroking your most secret sensitive place while shushing your half pained cries.
Stop running. You can take it, look at you take it…
He watches you bounce back against him helplessly, stuck between his body and the wall. All those sexy little sounds you make has him gripping the dips in your waist to fuck you much faster, much harder, the walk in closet now filled with sounds of your round ass clapping off his pelvis and the needy moans knocked from you.
“Right there, papa-“ that word always slips when he’s fucking you right. You must have really needed it on the rougher side as you writhe and shake under his heavy thrusts, pussy soaking and squeezing him. And you still keep your dress up, determined not to stain the purity of it, letting him give you much needed backshots until a string of sobs leave you.
Michael listens as you cry to the wall, trembling against him while your pussy clenches and wets him until it trickles down his own thighs. He listens to your incoherent praise and dirty talk, feels the rhythmic clenching of your tight walls, the wetness of you, and fucks you right through it and then some.
You’re practically limp by the time he fucks you with wild abandon, grunting and whimpering softly as you milk his dick for what it’s worth. Like the good friend you are, the best of a friend, you take it without complaint, keeping your dress hiked up until he pulls out. Your legs close before a drop of it can spill and your skirts flutter back down gently when you let them go.
He’s right there to fix the front of you, helping your pretty tits back inside your dress with a comment that stirs your guilt and excitement.
note: this is based on the doc series michael did with bashir. ummm thick dad bod michael was sumn so serious !! he just looks yummy.
In the studio, the air was stifling, thick with the suffocating heat of the camera lights and the relentless, disorganized demands of Martin Bashir's crew. It had been a grueling day of filming, and you could see the malicious picture he was trying to paint; beneath Michael's composed exterior, a dark, turbulent anger was fiercely brewing .
Every time he managed to steal you away into a quiet corner, the tension rolling off his warm body was palpable. He was already starting to take his frustrations out on you in the only way he could during these brief breaks...with sudden, punishing intimacy. Each stolen kiss he pressed to your lips was hungrier and much more aggressive than the last.
Finding a momentary respite from the incompetent crew, he cornered you once more. His brows were drawn together in a fierce scowl, his dark eyes stormy, and his breath carried the faint, sharp bite of alcohol.
"I'm sorry this is taking so long, baby," he groaned, dragging a large, heavy hand down his face in pure exasperation. He was visibly agitated, ready to snap, rambling under his breath about every little thing that had angered him on set.
Without asking, his long fingers expertly hooked into the waistband of your skirt, his heavy-handed grip uncompromising and tight. With a sudden, forceful pull, he dragged you flush against his body. The solid, full heat of him radiating through your clothes elicited a quiet gasp from your lips as you leaned into him. He dipped his head, his lips brushing right against your ear, making it clear with his body language that he was in no mood for games.
"I know it's late, but I need you here so I have something to ground me," he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, commanding register.
His grip tightened almost painfully on your waistband, the unspoken promise of a relentless release hanging heavy in the air between you. He needed an outlet for his anger, and you knew exactly what was coming the moment he finally got you alone. His eyes burned into yours as he delivered a final, thrilling warning of what to expect behind closed doors: "You'll have to wait just a little longer for bedtime tonight; I need to calm down before I can sleep".
Your eyes looked up at his, nodding as he spoke. Or rather, as he talked at you. He was rambling under his breath about every little thing that had angered him in that moment, his frustration boiling over. You knew better than to run from it or try any antics; he wasn't messing around, and you already knew that when he was this mad, his dominant, heavy-handed nature was fully taking over. With a final, possessive growl, Michael crashed another few bruising, aggressive kisses onto your lips, before tearing himself away to find his seat on the couch to continue filming.
The suffocating camera lights flared back to life, illuminating the carefully composed mask Michael slipped onto his face. Bashir began again, his questions laced with that same insidious, calculating tone meant to build a picture that wasn't in Michaels favor.
Michael answered them with practiced grace, but you knew the turbulent truth of what was brewing underneath. As he spoke, his dark, heavy-lidded eyes kept darting past the miserable, incompetent crew to lock onto yours. Every time he was asked a particularly intrusive or unorganized question, Michael's jaw would tick, and his burning gaze would instantly seek you out in the shadows of the studio.
Those heated, stolen glances across the room weren't just seeking out a grounding presence; they were a predatory promise. His eyes would darken as they dragged over your form, visually undressing you while he casually answered Bashir, silently reminding you of his uncompromising, tight grip on your waistband just moments ago. With every subtle flex of his large hands resting on his knees, you could feel the demanding energy rolling off him.
You already knew exactly what was coming once the cameras stopped rolling. His piercing looks held you captive, conveying a clear, unspoken message: the madder they made him right now, the harder and more relentless his inevitable release on you was going to be. Every time his eyes flicked back to yours, it was a thrilling reminder that you were his only outlet.
The oppressive heat of the studio felt even heavier as the interview dragged on. You continue to watch from the shadows as Michael reached down, his large hand wrapping around a bottle of liquor sitting just to the side of his feet. He took a quick, desperate shot, trying to loosen up and numb the mounting irritation from Bashir's relentless, grueling production. You knew he already had a hint of alcohol on his breath from earlier, and seeing him so flustered broke your heart, but you also knew exactly how these people operated. You couldn't let them spin his drinking into something malicious to use against him, knowing the picture they were trying to build wasn't in his favor at all.
Catching his eye across the room, you frowned in deep disappointment and explicitly mouthed, "The cameras."
The moment the words left your lips, you instantly regretted it. The flash of dark, unfiltered fury that crossed Michael's features was terrifyingly thrilling. It was bad enough that this highly unorganized crew was irritating him, but having you silently reprimand him? That pushed his already paper-thin patience right to the edge. You knew firsthand how relentless he was going to be later that night.
Instead of hiding the bottle, he responded with a blatant, breathtaking display of dominance. His position on the sofa shifted abruptly, his long legs spreading wide open in a predatory sprawl. Your breath hitched, your eyes instantly drawn to the thick, heavy bulge resting between his spread thighs. It was a stark, visual reminder of the heavy-handed, aggressive release he was promising, and the realization that he wasn't even fully hard yet made your pulse pound everywhere.
Bashir droned on, asking another calculated question. Michael answered smoothly, but his dark, stormy eyes kept darting back to you as he spoke. Every time he glanced your way between answers, it was a heavy, commanding stare that practically stripped you naked where you stood. You could see his jaw ticking as he rambled slightly under his breath, a clear sign of how much every little thing was frustrating him in that moment.
Those piercing, stolen looks weren't just seeking you out to ground him anymore...they were a silent, thrilling threat. With his legs spread wide and his eyes burning into yours mid-sentence, he was visualizing exactly how he was going to slut you out the absolute second he got you alone. The unspoken promise of punishment hung thick in the stifling air.
Your legs squeezed together instinctively; seeing him this mad was terrifying, but in the absolute sexiest way possible. The heavy, pooling honey between your thighs was entirely for him. Desperate to soften the blow of what was coming, you tried to catch his gaze, giving him those wide, pleading doe eyes you always used to lighten his mood and ensure his inevitable punishment wouldn't be quite so unforgiving.
Ignoring your silent plea, Michael stood up, his large hand casually but deliberately brushing over his slacks to adjust the heavy, straining bulge pressing against his zipper. As the grueling interview finally came to a wrap for the night, you immediately scrambled into action. You desperately tried to keep busy by herding the miserable, disorganized crew toward the door, knowing it was your only way to stall. You knew the second you were alone, Michael would order you upstairs, he never hesitated to fulfill the promises he made to you.
Just as you thought you'd successfully avoided him in the chaos of the packing crew, you felt the sudden heat of his warm, thick body press flush up against your back. You froze, letting out the quietest gasp as his solid frame caged you in against a nearby table.
The lingering crew members were still peppering him with final, annoying wrap-up questions about tomorrow's schedule. Michael casually made small talk with them, his public mask firmly in place, but his dark, heavy-lidded eyes kept cutting sideways to glance at you as he answered their questions. Every time he responded to a producer, he cast another heated, predatory look your way, visually promising that your little stalling tactic had only made him madder.
While smoothly answering a question about the lighting setup, he leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear so only you could hear him over the chatter. "I didn't tell you to talk... I told you to wait," he murmured, his voice a low, commanding rumble that sent a shiver straight to your core.
His heavy-handed grip slid onto your hip, his long fingers unapologetically tight and uncompromising as he kept up the conversational facade for the crew. He didn't even bother to ask for permission; his body language made it perfectly clear that he was going to take his frustrations out on you the moment the room was empty. As he casually answered Bashir's last question, his thumb stroked your hip bone in a silent, thrilling warning. He was already rambling under his breath about every little thing the incompetent crew had done to anger him today, and his stolen glances promised a session of backshots to help him calm down before he could sleep. You knew better than to try and test him again, because that would only get you spanked. His piercing looks held you captive, silently assuring you that you were going to be completely slutted out the second the front door clicked shut.
His grip on your hand was uncompromising as he dragged you down the hall, completely ignoring your breathless, nervous pleading. He wasn't in the mood to hear your reasons for speaking out of turn earlier; his paper-thin patience had completely snapped, and the time for reasoning was over.
He roughly pushed his bedroom door open, shooting you a dark, commanding look that signaled for you to get inside. The moment you nervously crossed the threshold, his large hand came down in a sudden, stinging smack against your ass. The hard spank drew a sharp gasp from your lips, a thrilling physical reminder that he was heavy-handed as fuck when he was mad, and he was ready to take all his built-up frustrations out on you.
That stinging slap wasn't the end of it. The heavy click of the lock sealing you in echoed through the room. Michael needed an immediate release from the grueling hours of filming, and you were the only one who could help him with this task. His dark, stormy eyes locked onto yours as his long fingers eagerly began unbuttoning his shirt, silently signaling for you to sit on the edge of the bed and wait for him.
You knew exactly what that heavy gaze meant: your mouth was going to be his first outlet. As he stripped his top off, he began a low, punishing lecture about your defiant mouth on set, his voice a deep, vibrating rumble. His reprimand seamlessly bled into him pacing the floor rambling about every little thing that had angered him today and how utterly ignorant Bashir's miserable, incompetent interview was.
"Do you have any idea how unorganized this whole production is?" he growled, stepping closer to you. "You know the picture they're trying to build isn't in my favor, and then you decide to give me attitude in front of the cameras?".
Suddenly, a soft knock came at the bedroom door. "Michael? Sorry to bother you, just a quick final question about tomorrow's wardrobe," a muffled producer's voice called out from the hallway.
Michael didn't miss a beat, entirely unfazed by the interruption. He stepped right between your parted knees at the edge of the bed, his imposing, warm body towering over you. As he smoothly called back through the closed door, casually answering their mundane questions with his practiced, polite tone, his dark eyes kept darting down to glance intensely at you.
The juxtaposition was intoxicating. While he politely answered the producer's questions, his large hand reached down, his long fingers threading roughly into your fresh silk press to forcefully tilt your head back. Every time he paused to give an answer to the person on the other side of the door, his burning gaze would visually undress you.
As soon as the producer's footsteps finally faded down the hall, his public mask vanished, replaced by raw, predatory hunger. He looked down at you, his grip tightening in your hair as he prepared to effortlessly slut you out. His eyes darkened with undeniable intent as he issued his final command: "Open your mouth for me."
The producer's voice called out again through the heavy wood of the door, asking another intrusive, unorganized question about the filming schedule.
Without hesitation, your trembling fingers reached for the waistband of his slacks. You quickly unbuttoned his pants and freed his heavy, strained erection, eagerly taking him into your mouth to give him the immediate release he so desperately needed. Michael’s breath hitched, a low, guttural groan rumbling deep in his chest, though he was incredibly careful to keep the sound muffled so the crew outside wouldn't hear.
"Yes, we'll start at eight tomorrow," Michael called back through the closed door, his voice remarkably smooth and steady for a man whose hips were currently caging you against the mattress. But as he spoke, his dark eyes glanced down at you, burning with a mix of fiery frustration and intense physical pleasure.
You kept your gaze entirely focused on him, your eyes locking with his stormy stare before tracing down the hard muscles of his stomach to fixate on his happy trail. As you took him deeper, your nose brushed against his warm skin, gently tickled every now and then by the dark, coarse hair as he did shave as much as he used to down there.
The producer outside carried on with questions becoming increasingly ridiculous and outrageous, further proving how incompetent Bashir's crew truly was. With every outrageous question that came through the door, Michael’s grip in your hair tightened, and his hips snapped forward, thrusting deeper and much harder into your mouth.
You had to take every punishing, aggressive thrust in absolute silence. You didn't dare make a peep, fighting to swallow down your own sounds, because you knew if he felt like someone else outside could hear your muffled moans, he wouldn't be happy and you were already acutely aware of how heavy-handed he was when he wasn't happy.
Michael was using your mouth to relentlessly take out all his built-up frustrations. He smoothly answered another question about the camera angles through the door, but his dark eyes constantly darted down to watch you, clearly thrilled by the sight of you getting completely slutted out for him on the edge of the bed. He let out another quiet, breathy groan, his long fingers unapologetically tight in your hair, silently promising that this steamy, secret release was just the beginning of what he needed to do to calm down before bed.
The footsteps in the hallway finally faded into total silence. The barrage of intrusive, dumb questions had stopped at last. He looked down at you, his dark eyes ablaze, deciding your mouth had taken enough for now. With a commanding look, he hooked a single long finger, silently motioning for you to get up.
The second you were on your feet, the raw force he had been holding back unleashed completely. With no hesitation, his large hands gripped your waist and forcefully spun you around, pushing your head and shoulders down hard against the mattress. Because of how dangerously fast he had spun you and bent you over, your skirt was already hiked high up your thighs. Michael didn't even bother wasting time taking your clothes off.
His other large hand immediately grabbed the thin material of your panties, roughly pulling them to the side to clear the way.
He drove himself thick and deep inside of you with a single, aggressive thrust that instantly shattered your forced silence. A loud, breathy moan ripped from your throat, but this time, he didn't care how loud you were. You were finally entirely alone behind a locked door, and he was ready to take full advantage of this opportunity.
The relentless backshots were punishing and breathless. His heavy-handed grip on your hips was much tighter now, his long fingers practically bruising your skin as he anchored you in place. Just as you had feared and anticipated, the madder he was, the harder he went. He thrust furiously into you, his deep voice echoing in the bedroom as he began yelling and rambling angrily about the dumb questions and every little thing that had irritated him during the miserably incompetent interview.
"Do you hear the garbage they were asking me?" he growled with a brutal snap of his hips, the sheer force of it pushing your face deeper into the mattress. "Trying to build a picture against me in my own home!".
With every frustrated shout, a stinging, heavy-handed slap was placed precisely onto your ass as he saw fit. The sharp sound of his palm hitting your flushed skin echoed through the room, a thrilling, painful reminder of exactly how heavy-handed he could be. The intense combination of his punishing spanks and the sheer, unrelenting pace of his thrusts was completely overwhelming.
You gripped the twisted bedsheets, whining and struggling not to run from his thick length as he relentlessly drove into you at a punishing pace. Your instincts begged you to scramble forward to escape the intense depth, but you knew better than to actually try and crawl away…running from it would only get you spanked even harder. He needed this aggressive release to ground him. Michael effortlessly slutted you out and kept you firmly pinned beneath his warm, heavy body until every single ounce of his anger was finally spent.
But the relentless backshots weren't enough for him. He forcefully pulled out, his large hands grabbing your hips to quickly flip you over onto your back. He pushed your knees wide and pinned them back, ensuring you were completely exposed to his stormy gaze. He didn't just want to take his frustrations out on you in the dark; he needed you to watch.
He drove back into you with a powerful, breath-stealing thrust, filling you completely. "Keep your eyes open," he commanded, his deep voice vibrating within the room. "Don't you take your eyes off what I'm doing to you until I'm finished."
He wanted you to witness every aggressive inch of your punishment, but he was also getting incredibly turned on just by watching you take it. He watched your face flush and contort in pure pleasure, his dark eyes tracking every gasp and whimper that left your lips. This was secretly your favorite thing he did when he was angry; no matter how heavy-handed and demanding he was being, his intense focus always ensured he made you finish at least twice.
As his tight grip anchored your hips, the rhythmic pace of his strokes pushed you right to the edge. The moment you finally cried out, your body clenching and shattering around him, the dark anger that had been fiercely brewing inside him all day suddenly melted away. Just for a fleeting moment, his intense expression softened into something tender.
"That's it, baby. You're doing so good for me," he praised, his voice dropping to a low, breathless whisper. "I'm so proud of you for taking it so well."
His rare, mid-punishment praise only made your core clench tighter around him. You were throbbing heavily from both the blinding pleasure and the sweet, dull ache of his thick length stretching you out so deeply. You could feel the tension coiling tight in his warm, full body, signaling he was finally getting close. His thrusts became even harder and more desperate.
With a final, deep guttural groan, Michael buried himself to the hilt, his hips locking flush against yours as he surrendered to a powerful climax. He poured every ounce of his stress into you, finally achieving the ultimate release he desperately needed.
Completely spent, his large frame toppled heavily on top of you, his chest heaving as he pressed you into the mattress. The weight of his warm body caging you in was incredibly comforting. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, his breathing ragged as he pressed soft, lingering kisses to your flushed skin.
"You look so damn pretty underneath me," he murmured softly, his tone completely transformed from the angry man on the interview set. He wrapped his long arms securely around you, his voice filled with genuine relief. "I'm so lucky you're here to help me... thank you for letting me have my moment, baby. Now we can both get some sleep."
wanna sit on michael’s lap while cockwarming him, his stomach pressed against my back as his fingers rub against my clit while calling me his good girl. any time i squirm, he grips my hips and calms me down with gentle thrusts, it’s always only three thrusts in me to shut me up, sorta. michael will go back to doing whatever task he has in front of us while i try to keep quiet, but i can’t help but be a whimpering mess for him.
Reader starts her cycle in the middle of the night and bleeds through the sheets. She’s so embarrassed that she tried to spot clean it. Michael wakes up because he doesn’t feel her in his arms anymore, and reassures her that everything is fine and that they can wash the sheets. She has nothing to be embarrassed about it’s a natural thing, and accidents happen.
This was hella cute I loved writing it !! Thank you anon🥹
“Fuck.” You murmur under your breath, you switch the lamp by your beside on, warm lighting hovering over your blood that was absorbing the white sheet.
You look at the spot, tears daring to brim from your eyes, it was embarrassing to you, to say the least. This had never happened before, especially with Michael. You wipe your teary eyes and attempt to control your sniffles as you make your way to the bathroom grabbing a towel.
You attempt to scrub the red spot but it just wasn’t coming off, you see Michael stir and you immediately put a blanket over the area. “Baby?” He rose up staring at you, knees tucked to your chest as you sat on the hardwood floor avoiding his eyes.
“Hey.” He whispers softer, “Get back in bed, I couldn’t feel you in my arms—I got worried.” He softly snickers, you would laugh too but—you couldn’t find it in you, the embarrassment started to kick in, you couldn’t find a way to tell him. You stand up, meeting his eyes.
He lifts the blanket up inviting you in, your eyes shoot to the red spot, “Michael I—” You begin, your words swallowing themselves. His eyebrows furrow in confusion, but then his eyes slowly travel down.
“Why didn’t you wake me?” Is the first thing that flies from his mouth, “It’s embarrassing.” You bury your face in your hands feeling yourself heat up. He makes his way towards your side in an instant bringing you into a tight hug.
“It’s really nothing to be embarrassed about I grew up with sisters, y/n.” He kisses the side of your face. “And it’s a natural thing mama, I don’t want you to be embarrassed to tell me these things.” He begins to strip the sheets off, you stand to the side, arms hugging yourself.
He throws the sheets aside, before spinning around to you. “Stop that, mama—you’re getting into your head about this situation, it’s really nothing at all, I promise you.” He takes your hand pressing a kiss onto it. “I’ll run you some bath water.”
A small smile glides across your face, “Okay.” You grab one of Michael’s big t shirts along with a new pair of underwear. You make your way towards the bathroom as you enter you see rose petals in the shower along with a bath bomb and some bath salts. “Michael!” You snort, “this is too much.”
He takes you in by the waist, trailing kisses all down your neck. “Nothing is ever too much for m’lady.” You catch his lips, “it’s 4am, Michael.” You protest, “time doesn’t ever exist with us.”You playfully nudge him, “so sappy.”
taking care of michael, who is utterly exhausted but still wants to be ridden and touched. wc: 460
slow/sleepy sex , riding , handjob , dom!reader(?)
had this idea while laying in bed with a migraine.. tired asf.. (ooohhh maybe I’ll create a fluff fic that includes mj or reader experiencing a bad migraine👀??) anyways, enjoy !
the room was dimly lit by candles. a gentle amber glow danced against the walls and soft shadows blended into dark corners.
the bed dipped as you placed your knee closer to michael's stretched out thigh, adjusting your position so that you could lean forward while using you hand to pump his hard and lengthy dick up and down at a steady pace.
the bedroom was quiet except for the wet sound of michael's precum as you jerked him off. as well as the occasional soft, deep rooted groans and whines, and the moist sounds of lips on skin.
michael was laying down, pillows bunched up beneath his head. strands of disheveled curls sprayed across the pillows, some strands falling into his face. you sat in between michael's legs, running a hand slowly up and down his thigh in a soothing motion while using your other hand to stroke his dick.
the pace of the night was very, very slow. and perhaps it was better this way because michael was very, very tired. he had a both physically and mentally demanding day. you knew this from the way his shoulders and eyes were heavy when he came back earlier. yet despite that exhaustion, he still kissed you into the mattress and roamed his hands all over your body. that was when you had suggested taking care of him for one night.
michael let out a moan from beneath you— a small, involuntary cry that sounded closer to a whine than anything. you kept your pace steady and gentle, leaning forward to place tender kisses on his neck and chest. michael hummed softly as you did so, eyes lidded as he watched you from underneath long lashes.
you laughed softly at his expression, "sorry, baby. I know you're tired." you said, taking your hand off of his dick and moving up more to cradle hik and line yourself up with him. michael places his hands on your waist, rubbing his thumbs in gentle circle similar to the way that you were rubbing his thigh.
having been prepared already, you sunk down onto his dick gently and smoothly, letting out a choked out gasp once you took him fully. michael sucked in a breath, letting out a small curse.
"..god, you feel s'good, mama." he sighed out. his eyes fluttered closed in a way that you couldn't tell if it was from pleasure or if he was genuinely falling asleep with his dick in you but you quickly begin to move. he groaned, eyes opening again just to watch you bounce up and down with growing desperation.
"fuck, you feel so good, mike.. s-so fuckin' good. ah!" you jerked, curses spilling from your lips with every inch swallowed into your wet pussy….
~Perv!bsf!Mike never cared about you having a husband~
!MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!
Michael took pride in knowing what color panties you wore before your husband did.
Today you’d went for something more comfortable and cute- a pastel purple pair. He loved how good they looked against your skin and how well they clung to your center as he licked it.
“He don’t like conversation, Mikey…” you always seem half worried in these stolen moments, always glancing at whatever door he’d trapped you behind until he licked you just right.
Michael watches you shudder and look down at him, pretty features twisted with raw pleasure while your back arches gently from the wall. He wants to praise you for being so quiet, the both of you not stupid enough to ignore the shadows that pass under the closed door. Instead he keeps his mouth busy, tongue working quick over your stiff clit.
“He’ll only give them…mm…five minutes.” Michael ignores your panic, pulling back to admire how your pussy visibly aches through your panties. The fabric is ruined with spit and arousal and he takes pride in how you’d have to walk around with it throughout the day, the wet press a reminder of your little secret.
He leans back in with a deep sigh, sucking you into his mouth and drawing a low whimper from you. Wetness blooms at the tip of his neglected dick but he ignores it, massaging your clit in his mouth until uncontrollable whimpers slipped from you.
As if you didn’t already have a man that tasted you on a daily basis.
Married women~ Michael thinks, his smirk hidden in the swollen lips of your pussy. You’re no longer panicking, past the point of caring about your husband’s return with the pleasure your best friend’s tongue gives. He watches your small hands reach to caress your breasts and his move without thinking. You gasp in ecstasy as his large hands knock yours aside, massaging your breasts before taking care of your pebbled nipples.
Michael keeps his eyes on you, noticing the little twitches of your hips whenever he dug his tongue as deep as your panties would allow. He parts from you for a moment, eyes lit up with lust and encouragement.
“Go on, sweetheart. We got five, remember?”
You shudder, hands grabbing onto his wrists as you buck against his mouth.
By now the fabric of your panties is like a second skin, granting just enough friction to make your heart race. He feels it against his hand, using it as a guide to the orgasm he needed to see you have. His dick throbs impatiently, the movements of it limited under his clothes. He’d use his jacket after this to hide it away until he could find relief in the memories of you right here, grinding on his face, body retreating from the wall to eagerly use him of his services.
Michael’s tongue finds a way underneath your vigorous humping to sneak in. You feel the sticky retreat of your panties, then the slippery warmth of his tongue on your clit.
Your best friend has you cumming hard in three minutes, licked up clean in four. The last minute is spent kissing him, tasting the traces of you on his wet lips. Just as you reach to palm at his dick, familiar footsteps and voices ring out close by, forcing respectable distance between the two of you.
Michael loves to watch your budding nervousness as you greet your husband with a small kiss. He holds onto you with pride, not noticing the tiniest of orgasmic tremors coursing through your body or the way you shift on your feet in attempts to loosen your panties.
Your husband didn’t notice a lot of things when it came to you. Not your tremors, not the slight sex flush on your pretty skin, not the way your eyes silently searched for your best friend like a habit.
Michael always catches your parting glance, right before your husband takes you away from him. A look of something guilt ridden and thrilled and wistful. When your husband was dumb enough to leave you in his proximity again, he’d give what you secretly asked for with just your eyes.
“That Virgo sun makes him strict. If you’re his woman waiting on him at home, he expects you to answer the phone when he calls. And if you don’t…well…”
or
After making the mistake of not answering your man’s phone call, he verbally cuts you off. Of course you’ll do anything to get back into his good graces.
warnings ~ explicit content, plot is involved but my heart is in the porn, established relationship, no use of y/n, toxic Michael activities, silent treatment, arguing, oral sex, unprotected sex, dada is strict in this one, orgasm denial, wet & messy
A/N ~ Mature era Michael because I need that
MINORS DO NO INTERACT
It was a mistake. Honestly.
The time hadn’t been on your side. You’d just wanted a quick bath. Your ears didn’t catch the familiar ringing of the phone somehow. He was just a minute late with his call but it didn’t matter.
You failed to pick up.
The consequence of your folly is swift and silent.
When Michael finally returned home no more than three hours later, you tried to greet him with sweet sensuality in hopes it would spare you from his disapproval.
“There he is. Are you okay?”
Michael didn’t react to the sight of you like he normally would; satisfaction laced with the exhaustion of the day on his features. Apathy takes its place this time around.
“Mhm.” Is his low response. You try to assist him in shrugging off his jacket but you’re left stunned as he takes a quick step backwards. “I got it. Gone get to bed.”
You’d nearly forgotten how rejection felt.
“Okay. I’ll wait up for you.”
Michael doesn’t respond to that but it doesn’t deter you. Fine. Let him get through his passive aggressive rut. It won’t last forever. When he crawls into bed beside you later on he’s careful not to touch you, keeping to his side, not bothering to wish you good dreams.
The sting of it keeps you up through the night, mentally crafting up ways to get back in your man’s good graces.
You hadn’t a clue that they would all be rebuffed.
Michael stopped calling from that day, a clear retaliation for your mistake which you took on the chin. He was still your husband and you both lived under the same roof. He couldn’t ignore you being physically present.
And he proves your assumption to be foolish because he does just that. Any chipper beginnings of conversation started by you were met with a tired glance from him. The look made you feel like an annoying little sibling, even more so when he’d get up and leave you where you stood without a word. On the other side of the coin he’d happily respond to small talk from anyone else. Nannies, maids, guests. Even answered phone calls with enthusiasm. Some days you’d hear him blabbering for hours about god knows what.
It doesn’t just sting, it hurts.
You conclude that sweet talk wouldn’t get you anywhere, but what a mouth can’t fix, a tempting body could. You plan accordingly, booking appointments to tend to your feminine care. The results of this is what any man would fold over; your body soft and inviting, skin shimmering, hair and nails done just the way Michael liked them. Delicate clothing that flowed in certain places while hugging you in others, showing off the flirtation that were the tops of your breasts and curve of your behind. You kept these special pieces for his eyes only, ensuring that the first thing he saw was you whenever he entered the bedroom.
The first night of it failed.
And the second night.
You thought he would fold by the third, heart picking up speed when he actually paused to look at you, all for it to fail as he left you pretty and dolled up on the bed without a compliment.
The hurt starts to vibrate with irritation, but you swallow it down to see through your last attempts at getting your man.
Gestures of course.
Knowing Michael, he was old school when it came to his woman. No, he did not expect you to take on the duties of a traditional wife as he respected your autonomy, but there’d been moments in the past when you did something as simple as cook one of his favorite meals and watched him melt with adoration when he saw it.
You dismiss the staff for the night and get busy in the kitchen, feeling like a five star chef as you prep. This would work. It’s not very often when you prepare a meal because you didn’t have to, but Michael would appreciate your dedication and effort despite the convenience at your fingertips. He always appreciated hard work.
Your plan is meticulously carried out. By the time Michael returns home, the dining area is glowing with a romantic golden ambiance, the table is set properly, and two piping hot plates rest atop the white cloth.
Michael wanders in, not looking as exhausted as he usually did. You admire him for moment, insides lurching at the sight of his casual wear- a simple black tee with matching joggers, his hair pulled back into a half messy ponytail while the rest was left to frame his face. You can tell his curiosity pulled him towards you and his brows raise when you greet him.
“Baby.” You croon softly, watching a flicker of adoration cross his features before he schools himself. “It’s been forever, you know. Come share dinner with me. I made your favorite.”
You gesture behind yourself to the table, taking a hopeful step backwards. He meets you with one step forward but pauses.
You look him in the eye, watching the little shimmer in them fade away to onyx before he squares his shoulders.
Then he turns his back to you, making his way to the fridge without a word.
A slap in the face. A heavy handed one as he simply grabs a bottled water from the fridge and opens it, back still turned to you. Your heart sinks into a vat of defeat and most definitely, rage.
You splutter, turning to look at all your hard work sitting on the dining table growing colder by the second.
Fuck this.
“Don’t eat it then. I’m useless to you as a wife, aren’t I? I’ll just go.” You say quietly, hauling your ass away from the kitchen because you know he won’t answer, probably didn’t care. You’ve never moved through this house so fast, set on packing a bag and get missing.
You don’t hear his arrival to your shared bedroom as you do so.
“What are you doing?” Oh he speaks now. You don’t even glance in his direction, the room a blur as you pack with haste.
“You ain’t hear what I said? Of course not. You keep ignoring me.” You snap, shoving away two of your favorite shirts.
“You’re not going anywhere.” He mutters but you’re too animated to hear him.
“All this over the fucking phone, Michael? Really? You’ve ignored me for almost two damn weeks without listening to anything I had to say to your ass!” You continue, voice trembling with every word. “So listen to this. I’m leaving, and you’ll never have to worry about me picking up any more phone calls!”
He’s at your side in the blink of an eye, snatching the luggage from your grip and letting it drop to the floor with a heavy thud. It stops you in your tracks, chest heaving with your tantrum and surprise.
“Put it down and watch your mouth.” His brows are knitted tightly together, the corners of his mouth down in disapproval. “You know why this is even happening? Because you don’t listen.”
You pay close attention to the furious curl of his lip as he speaks, blinking away the visions of kissing him. He’s angry. You’re angry. And you want to kiss him.
“I don’t ask you for anything but to answer that phone when I call. Answer the phone. Not jump off the damn Eiffel Tower.” He emphasizes this with a harsh kick to your luggage, sending it skidding across the floor. You try to turn and look but he grips your wrist, forcing you to focus.
This aggression was subtle and new. It left you tingling more than it alarmed you.
“Instead you play me, knowing I was going to call you. For what?” He pulls you closer and cuts in before you can fix your lip. “When my wife doesn’t answer the phone I get worried like any other normal husband. You knew that though. Wanted to fuck with me on purpose while I’m all stressed out.”
“I didn’t-?”
But he’s caught up in his own rambling, brows still furrowed, a dangerous look of irritation and want on his features. “Can’t do what I tell ya. Can’t answer the phone, you don’t listen. Now I gotta make you listen.”
The frustration and isolation boils over. The two of you are heated and pulsing, feeling the effects of no contact despite not being far from one another all this time.
“Close the door and lock it.” He grits out, releasing the grip on your wrist. “Do exactly as I say. Don’t get cute.”
You suck your teeth, pretending to be angry even though it’s dimming quick as you move past him to do as he says. Shut the door. Lock it. You do it slowly, turning around to give him a phony nasty glare that falters immediately.
Because he’s right there, crowding you against the door, his cologne making your joints buckle.
“I’m leaving,” He actually mocks you, fingers teasing at the hem of your blouse. “When you’ve been begging for my attention this whole time. Showing that pretty ass out knowing I’m mad at you. I got you.”
“Fu-“
His free hand darts up to cover your mouth. It’s not aggressive in the slightest but it still shocks you to silence.
“We gone fix that potty mouth of yours, girl. One day at a time.” He mutters. “Get down.”
Michael was strict, not like those exes of yours. The look in his eyes left no room for disobedience. You only exhale with a hint of attitude, sinking down slowly and assuming the requested position. You actively ignore the twitch of interest in his track pants and the heartbeat between your thighs.
“Keep actin like that. You know you’re right where you wanna be.” Michael says, his lengthy fingers teasing the elastic hem of his pants, enjoying how you focus on such a thing. His thumb does the trick, tugging them down and allowing his dick to spring forward with excitement. It brushes your cheek all hot and heavy and you can’t resist turning to kiss it him in greeting.
He gives a heavy pulse of approval, shuddering when your tongue darts out to trace the swollen vein that runs under him.
“Look at you, this what you wanted?” He’s cut off by his own soft grunt as you suck him in wetly, already drunk off the taste of him. He’s so heavy in your mouth, throbbing and flexing with each slow bob of your head. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve had to suck the attitude out of him, but he’s not the usual whiny mess this time. He keeps himself quiet, a grunt here and there, and soon the low and wet schlick schlick schlick as he fucks your mouth.
It’s still got you dripping wet, every shift of your thighs revealing how your panties cling to your pussy. Curiosity has you glancing up his lithe frame, moaning around his dick at the sight of his eyes already on you. His gaze is low lidded, his pretty bottom lip trapped between his prettier teeth, his cheeks and neck twinged with the slightest red. You moan again, louder, an unspoken plea for him to come in your mouth.
He pulls away instead, exhaling shakily.
“Bed. On your back.”
He gives you space to scramble away and make it to the bed, his approach behind you quick and eager. You play like a ragdoll, letting him manhandle you until you’re naked for his viewing pleasure.
“You’re dripping.” Michael remarks quietly, met with a quiet sigh in response from you. “Needed my attention that bad, mama?”
You nod as he bends down to take a long, slow lick at you, gathering your arousal on his tongue. He moans softly as he straightens his back and takes the spot between your thighs, feeding his dick to you with insistent pressing.
“So deep!” You let out a shattered gasp as he strokes within you sensually. The blunt head of him forces you open in ways that has you reeling between pleasure and pain, knocking repeatedly against your most inner parts. His big hand reaches down to press against your belly, fingers pressing just underneath your belly button.
“There he is, right there.” he murmurs, hips jolting forward harder. “And you’re just takin it.”
He snatches one of your smaller hands down to press against your own tummy, making you feel just how deep he was, invading your soft walls.
“Baby, yes!” You pout, body ricocheting against his strong hips. The quiet of the room is interrupted by your whiny moans, his mumbles of admiration, and the wet plap plap plap of his pelvis meeting your soft thighs and ass. He’s fucking you so hard and full you feel the beginnings of a liquid rush building inside, threatening to spill over and soak him.
You claw at his shirt, fingers digging into the firmness of his abdomen and watch his dick disappear within you. Each reappearance of him was slicker than the last and your heart begins to race with the intensity of it all.
Tears prick your eyes, moans turning to quiet sobs and hiccups of his name, and in between, little warnings that you were close.
“‘M cumming!” You sob, the heat just about there. “Mikey…please baby-“
But Michael fucks into you two more times, then with a whimper half hidden behind the bite of his lip, he buries himself deep. You can feel his dick spazzing within your walls, wet heat painting the inner pink, pushed much deeper as he gives you wild, orgasmic thrusts. You’re almost right there with him, the pulsing of his dick stimulating but not quite enough. Michael goes still with a whimper of relief, hips still flush against you.
“Baby…” you moan, quivering when his thumb finds your clit to rub in tight circles. You clench around his half hard dick, desperate for whatever to get that orgasm you needed.
Your back arches in warning, the heat tumbling over.
And you’re left shuddering weakly on the bed as he pulls himself away entirely, leaving you to ride through the weakest of orgasms by yourself.
“Come Saturday I’m calling you at nine twenty pm. Saturday. Nine twenty pm. You gonna answer the phone when I call?” He asks your trembling body, tugging his pants up and not moving until you manage to give him a weak nod.
“Good. Stay right there.”
You’re still pulsing weakly by the time he returns to you, running a cool towel over your hot skin. He takes delight watching you jerk when the fabric rubs against your puffy pussy.
“I could go for some of that dinner you made. Join me?” Michael tilts his head with a dazzling smile, the hair framing his face following elegantly. The nerve of him.
But you nod your head without a word, satisfied but not quite, knowing that this was your man’s way of getting his point across.
Warnings: 18+ minors dni, suggestive, slight age gap (4 years, 20 and 24), reader inspired by 1978 Chaka Khan (she is TEW fine), intimate touching.
Wc: 900
The air backstage at Soul Train was thick with the scent of hairspray, expensive cologne, and anticipation. You were still buzzing, your skin glistening with a fine sheen of sweat after your debut solo performance of "I'm Every Woman." The crowd's energy had been intoxicating, but as you stepped off the stage and into the chaotic sanctuary of the wings, your eyes immediately began searching for one person.
You found him leaning against a equipment trunk, looking like a celestial being dropped right into the middle of a disco. Michael was draped in that iconic blue metallic jumpsuit that clung to his lean frame, the fabric shimmering under the harsh fluorescent lights. Those platform boots gave him an incredible height, making his legs look endless, and his Afro was a perfect, soft halo around his face. Even from a few feet away, you could smell him. A clean, sweet scent that made your stomach flip.
As you approached, you noticed the way he was fidgeting with the cuff of his sleeve, his large eyes darting toward you and then quickly away. You loved that about him. You were a force of nature, blunt, honest, and unapologetic, and Michael was the gentle breeze to your hurricane.
"You were incredible," he whispered, his voice soft and melodic. He finally looked up, his gaze locking onto yours for a split second before he blushed, a deep warmth creeping up his cheeks. "I mean... really, truly incredible. You owned that stage."
You didn't stop until you were deep in his personal space, the hem of your mini skirt brushing against the metallic fabric of his legs. You leaned in, tilting your head back to look up at him. Even in your platforms, he towered over you, forcing you to crane your neck.
"Is that so, Michael?" you purred, your voice low and honeyed. You reached out, your fingers grazing the smooth material of his chest, feeling the rapid thrum of his heart beneath the jumpsuit. "I could tell you were watching. I felt your eyes on me the whole time."
Michael let out a small, shaky breath, his shoulders hunching slightly. He didn't pull away, though. In fact, he seemed to lean into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. "I... I couldn't help it. You're just so... captivating."
You let your hand slide upward, your thumb tracing the line of his jaw, feeling the softness of his skin. You leaned closer, until your lips were just inches from his ear, your breath hot against his skin. "You know I've got a thing for you, baby. I don't think it's a secret anymore. The whole world probably knows by now."
Michael let out a soft, embarrassed giggle, the sound airy and sweet. He finally dared to put his hands on you, his touch tentative and light. He rested his palms on your waist, his fingers barely gripping the fabric of your gold tube top. He looked like he was afraid you might break, or perhaps he was afraid of how much he wanted to pull you closer.
"You're so bold," he murmured, his voice trembling slightly. "I don't know how you do it. Just... saying things like that."
"Because I want you, Michael," you replied bluntly, stepping even closer until your chest were pressing against the metallic blue of his chest. "I wanna know if you feel the same way when you look at me. Do you?"
He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. His gaze dropped to your lips, lingering there with a longing that contradicted his shy demeanor. For a moment, the noise of the bustling backstage. The shouting stagehands, the distant sound of the band tuning up, faded into nothing. There was only the heat radiating between the two of you.
"I do," he whispered, his voice gaining a sudden, raw edge of honesty. "I think about you all the time. I just... I get nervous."
You smiled, a predatory but affectionate curve of your lips. You slid your hand up into the softness of his Afro, your fingers curling into the thick curls. You gently tugged his head down, forcing him to meet your eyes.
"Don't be nervous with me," you whispered. "I'll take care of you."
He let out a shaky sigh, his grip on your waist tightening just a fraction, pulling you flush against him. He didn't kiss you, not yet. But he pressed his forehead against yours, closing his eyes and breathing you in. The tension was a physical weight, a shimmering cord stretched tight between you.
"Michael!" one of his brothers shouted from across the room. "It's time! 'Shake Your Body' is up!"
Michael jumped slightly, the spell breaking. He pulled back, though his hands lingered on your hips for a second too long. He looked at you, his eyes wide and shimmering with a mixture of desire and bashfulness.
"I have to go," he said softly.
You stepped back, giving him a slow, deliberate look from his platform boots up to his face. You winked, your voice a sultry promise. "Go out there and shake it, sweet thang. I'll be watching. And when you're done... I expect you to come find me."
Michael beamed, a genuine, dazzling smile that lit up his entire face. He backed away toward the stage, his movements fluid and graceful, but he never took his eyes off you until the curtains swept him away.
(a/n: im sorry but Chaka Khan is tooo pretty like omg)
SYNOPSIS: Michael's driver calls out sick so reader wife drives him around for the day. And boy, does she have a serious potty mouth and a serious case of road rage.
CONTENT: Super sweet fluff, strong language used, wife!reader, era 2007, Mature era!Michael
Author's Note: I be driving to the beat of the music not the speed limit sometimes, girl. Reader can relate 😂
The call came when you were already lacing up your sneakers at the front door. Michael’s voice drifted down the hallway and he spoke quietly, trying to handle the scheduling change before you got any ideas.
When he stepped back in the room, his eyebrows were creased. “Driver called in sick, baby. I got somebody else on the way—”
But you didn’t let him finish. You had already heard the entire conversation. A mischievous smile tugged at your lips as you jingled keys in your manicured hand. Not just any keys. The keys to the big-body escalade Michael had bought you last year for your birthday. It was outside gleaming like a chariot awaiting its queen.
“It’s local, Mike. Don’t be silly I’ll just drive us.”
Before he could protest, your fingers slipped through his, warm and sure. You tugged him toward the door with that restless energy that always made his heart do a funny little flip. You truly were fearless. He allowed you to pull him as a reluctant smile broke through even as his fear started to build.
Now, it wasn’t that you couldn’t drive. You could.
Just, not the best— or in the safest manner.
The escalade rumbled to life under your hands and the radio came on automatically, shaking the cabin of the car from the bass.
Michael looked over at you with raised eyebrows. You had a habit of playing your music terribly loud, and he always worried you wouldn’t be able to hear what was happening around you.
Being Michael Jackson’s wife came along with needing to possess a constant sense of vigilance, which is something you were still growing accustomed to. So, you can understand his concern.
Michael buckled in on the passenger side and his right hand came up to grab the handle on the roof. He was already prepared to anchor himself.
“Seatbelt, baby” he reminded, you shot him a devilish grin as you quickly buckled in and peeled out the driveway so fast his back flew against the seat.
The music pulsed through the vehicle heavily and you nodded along. In Da Club by 50 Cent came on and you immediately looked over at Michael, giving him a knowing look.
He loved this song, he’d always been a sucker for a good bass-line. The beat vibrated through the seats as 50 cent’s cocky voice came through the speakers, and Michael couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. Instantly, his body started moving and bopping along. Ever since he was a little boy, he had never been able to keep himself still when a rhythm moved him.
His smiled faded quickly when the light flipped yellow up ahead and you didn’t even tap the break with your big toe. You gassed straight through it as it flicked red. The car behind you laid on the horn but you didn’t miss a beat. You slammed your palm down on your own horn and stayed there obnoxiously long while you fussed as if the other driver could hear you.
Michael’s hand flew to the oh-shit handle and his foot stomped the floorboard like he had imaginary brakes on his side of the car.
“Baby—”
“Shhh just relax, I got you papa.” You patted his thigh and kept rapping the song word for word like you wrote it. Your free hand was pointing and cutting through the air as you delivered each line. Your hips rolled against the seat in sharp little bounces, the kind of rhythm that said if you weren’t currently behind the wheel, you’d be shaking that ass.
Michael turned to look at you and even through his stress the most amused smile broke out across his features. He thought you were so damn cute when you got like this. Completely in your element— and hilarious in a way that only your husband could find funny even while actively fearing for his life. He chuckled to himself and shook his head, hand still locked on the handle.
He rubbed his temples with both of his index and middle fingers. He squeezed his eyes shut for a second like he was asking Jehovah for patience.
“Girl,” he muttered, voice low and laced with stress “You makin’ my nerves bad already and we ain’t even two blocks from the house.”
You just grinned and kept dancing, reaching over to squeeze his knee reassuringly.
A car cut you off a few blocks later and the driver flipped you off out his window as he sped past. You didn’t hesitate,
“Hell naw.” You huffed to yourself. Down went your window and the wind whipped your hair as you leaned out just enough to clear as day yell:
“Fuck you too, BITCH!”
Michael gasped as if you’d slapped him.
“Baby!” he yelped, lunging across the center console. His hand shot past your lap and fumbled for the window button, accidentally locking and unlocking the doors twice before the window rolled up with a soft whir. You were still mid-tirade, but the rest of whatever you were about to say was cut off as the window sealed shut.
He stayed leaned over you for a second, one arm braced across your body like he could physically shield you from the consequences of your own mouth. His head dropped to your chest as he breathed in your perfume.
You side eyed him, still grinning with amusement. “What? He started poppin’ it first.”
Michael dropped back into his seat, one hand pressed flat to his chest like he was checking to see if he still had a heartbeat.
“GIRL,” he said, voice high with a mix of exasperation and helpless affection. “You tryna kill the King of Pop, oh my god.”
You hard belly laughed and turned the music up even louder. The bass kept vibrating the car, and you kept driving the speed limit of the music. And Michael— his hand stayed velcroed to the oh-shit handle and his foot kept pressing his imaginary brakes every time you rode to close to another car.
But every so often— when he thought you weren’t paying attention— he was glancing over at you with a soft, lovesick gaze.
He was stressed, and no doubt you had risen his blood pressure. But looking over at you gyrating to the beat of the music and exuding confidence made something in him feel young again in a way nothing else did.
And even while he rubbed his temples and muttered about you toying with his blood pressure, he never once told you to slow down. He just held on for the ride.
Man, you really loved driving.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
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he's so ridiculously handsome it makes me mad. just fine as hell for no reason. did yall know he originally picked me to be in the video with him but they switched my name out??
𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ after you finally teach mature!michael how to facetime, you can call for special reasons! 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅
description 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅: michael would be gone a lot these days, and before he left this time, you taught him how to facetime! he’d do it all the time, talking to you while he was alone in his hotel room, but this time, it was a bittt different :)
warnings 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅: phone sex, fingering, michael has a daddy kink :), use of dildo, masturbating, no use of y/n, use of names such as, ‘baby, princess, sweetheart, etc’ dirty talk, squirting, praise
pairing 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅: mature!michael x controversiallyyounggf!reader
michael was in tokyo, and he left you at home all alone. you were so upset, and you missed him so so much. it was about 12am, and you felt like you were the horniest girl ever..
you were thrusting your fingers into your puffy cunt, trying to imagine they were michael’s instead, but your fingers couldn’t curl and hit the spots that he did. you needed him so damn bad, and couldn’t have him!
you knew he was still awake, so you grab your ipad, and you facetime him. after letting it ring for a few times, he answers, his face close to the camera like he’s still tryna figure it out..
“hey princess, what’s the matter? you look like you’ve been crying..” he says, holding his phone in his hand.
you felt like you were gonna faint, he had his glasses on, and his hair was kinda messy.. he looked absolutely delectable.
“mikey, i know it’s late, b-but i n-need you.. i can’t cum, v’been trying for like thirty minutes..” you whined, propping your ipad up at the bottom of the bed ..
“baby, what d’ya mean you can’t—“ he starts, then his eyes widen behind the lenses..
“my fingers won’t work, can you j-just talk me t-through it? please, i needa release..” you softly beg, spreading your legs to show him.. once he gets a view of your puffy cunt, and swollen clit, his whole demeanor changes..
“ohmygod.. girl you better warn me before you do somethin like that..” he muttered, smirking.
“mike, seriously.. i need help..” you whine..
“okay okay baby.. it’s aching that bad?” he coos, his hand already traveling down to the bulge in his silk pajama pants.. you nod and lift your legs a little..
you start to thrust your fingers slowly in and out, softly panting..
“there you go, baby.. lemme see you..” he says, biting his lip afterwards
after about 10 minutes of you fingering your self, and michael watching and talking, it still wasn’t working..
“mikey it’s still not working!” you whine is frustration, tears welling up in your eyes..
“i know baby, i know.. it’s okay, how bout this? go in my bottom drawer, princess. nightstand.” he coos, still stroking his cock.. you crawl over and reach down, grabbing something..
it was one of the many birthday gifts he’d gotten you, extra special. it was an exact replica of his dick, a dildo made especially for you..
“mikey, you said we—“ you try
“i know what i said, sweetheart.. you can use it.. give daddy a nice show..” he says, his eyes darkening
you lay back, lifting your legs up and running the tip up and down your slit.. you push the first few inches in..
“oh my gosh.. yes..” you whimper, biting your lip..
“ all the way, baby. just like how daddy gives it to you, push it in all the w-way..” he growls, whimpering at the end, because he was stroking his tip just right .. his head tilts back..
“j-just like daddy…” you whimper, pushing the rest of the length into you.. your toes curl, and you moves it a little..
“unt unt, what’d i just say? do it how i would, stroke it just like daddy does..” he groans, grinning when he sees your cheeks flush..
you pull it out slow, then slam it back in, exactly how he’d fuck you if he was here right now.. “y-yesyes..” you sigh, finally getting the pleasure you needed..
“there you go, baby.. there’s my good girl.. legs wider, sweetheart, let me see..” he coos.. he spits on his hand, and brings it back to his tip, panting ..
you notice that he’s jacking off to you, and it makes you even hornier.. “i wanna see..” you whine, thrusting the toy deeper into you soaking cunt..
“you wanna watch me, baby? yeah?” he says, propping the phone up on the bedside table’s lamp.. you bites your lip, watching his hand slide up and down his cock, his wrist twisting everytime he brung it down..
“f-feels just like you..” you whine, the dildo moving faster once you see his cock.. “wish you were here, daddy..” you pout, rubbing your clit with two fingers..
“ fuck.. i know, pretty baby.. ‘m sorry i had to leave you, daddy’s so sorry..” he hisses, his hips starts to buck up, meeting his downwards strokes..
the dildo was bulging in your stomach, just like he would! you whined, thrusting it harder.. “ohmygod i feel it.. it’s hittin my spot..” you whimper, your eyes crossing for a quick second when the toy hits the sensitive spot against your walls..
you fingers smack your clit, and michael gasps.. “good girl.. y’fucking yourself so good with that toy, baby, i’m so proud of you.. “ he whined , his other hand gently rubbing down his body and going straight to his heavy balls.. he squeezes and massages them, and his toys start to curl..
“you look so good daddy.. don’t stop.. don’t stop..” you gasp, your legs trembling a little .. you feel yourself starting to get close, so you start thrusting it in the familiar rhythm that michael does when he knows you’re gonna cum.
you thrust it fast a few times, then hold it inside you, before repeating the cycle over and over.. michael recognizes the rhythm and smirks..
“y’gonna cum, princess? gonna cum for daddy? hm?” he coos, stroking his base and squeezing his balls.. he lets out a low whimper, his eyes rolling back for a small second..
“yesyes, ohmygosh… daddy i wanna cum all over your dick, i miss you.. m’gonna cum all over it!” you whine, fucking yourself dumb..
“let go, sweet girl, i’m gon cum with you, i’m right there with you, pretty baby..” he whined, his toes curling in his socks ..
“oh goddd! fuck!” you whimpered, your pussy clenching down tight around the toy as you squirt, all over the toy and your ipad..
“that’s it baby, i’m c-cumming.. oh god, squirt for daddy just like thattt..” he whimpers, squeezing his balls while his cum spurts out against his stomach..
you rub your clit to ride out your intense orgasm, then you slowly pull out the toy.. “shit.. i got the sheets all wet..” you murmur, softly panting..
michael giggles on the line.. “did that satisfy you, baby?” he says, his cheeks flushed ..
“ mhmm.. you sleepy?” you coo, you could already tell by his voice.. he’d always get sleepy after a good orgasm..
he nods a few times.. “ okay baby.. go to sleep, i love you, call me tomorrow..” you says , blowing a few kisses at the screen..
“i love you more, sweet girl, i promise i’ll be home soon.. bye bye..” he says, then he hangs up..
you stare at the soaked ipad screen and the soaked sheets.. “ohmygod..” you huff, before getting up and starting to clean your mess..
princess’s note!! > this is filthy… i know i write a lot of smut, but i got some fluff in my drafts, so do yall want it? okay i hope you guys like this one, i love you all! <3
