i’m just critically thinking about things because I had a very strong drink.. and genuinely being in a relationship with michael would be so fucking hard dude. fuck. 😭
⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢 a/n: I’m writing like 5 things at once, so heres smth quick.
The window exhaled in small breaths. The slight breeze lifting the sheer curtains just enough for the sparkling sunlight to scatter across the bed in shifting blotches. Tiny particles of dust floating through the air, only partly visible in the areas where the sun shone through.
A saxophone dancing through the air as your favorite jazz vinyl spun on the record player. The smooth tones singing wordlessly as you quietly hummed along. Your body sinking comfortably into the sea of fuzzy blankets and plush pillows.
Michael’s body laid against yours, his head comfortably resting on your chest with arms wrapped around your waist. Your back curving slightly to accommodate the space behind you where his hands rested. Your own hands tracing and scratching different parts of his body.
One hand coming up to the nape of his neck, slightly twirling his curls between your fingers before rubbing down, and slightly massaging the tight muscles under his skin. You felt him sigh into you, relaxing a little deeper as he continued his small snores. You brought your hand back up, tangling deeper into his hair as your nails scratched the back of his head.
The other hand’s fingertips trailed his upper arm, writing out words and designs against his warm skin. You spelled out, “I love you,” “Michael”, “Mikey”, and other variations of nicknames. Occasionally separating the phrases with a heart or star while watching him.
His back moved up and down in tandem with his breath as he napped. A slight river of drool spilling out of his mouth and onto your shirt, slightly dampening it as you laughed softly.
You craned your head down to give him a small peck on the head, pausing to inhale. Your nose scrunched, the initial smell of the curl activator wafting upwards before being replaced with the familiar scent of his skin and faint laundry detergent.
Sighing, you leaned back. Your thumb moving to wipe the drool from his chin before swiping it on his own shirt. He snorted a little then, his breathing interrupted by the tickle of your fingers against his lips. His body tensed before returning to his previous state of relaxation.
Suddenly, you jumped at the loud sound of his snore cutting through the air, getting caught in the back of his throat.
Michael jolted awake, his head ripping up, looking around as if he didn’t know where he was.
“Well g’ mornin’ sunshine,” You giggled at his confusion and tired eyes.
He didn’t respond, just moaned low for a second before reaching to place a light kiss on your lips with a quiet, chu, and dropped his head back down.
You looked down at him, a soft smile on your face as you questioned, “Oh? Goin’ back to bed?”
“No,” Michael said, simple and firm. You felt his thumbs circling on your waist.
“Goodness, I didn’t realize sleeping beauty was such a grump,”
“Mm,” He replied, the sleep heavy in his voice as you felt the vibrations from his chest, “Jus’ restin’ m’ eyes, sweet girl,”
“Ohhh…I see,” A small lilt on your voice as you replied. Clearly not believing him.
“‘m bein’ serious baby,” Or at least you think he said baby. You couldn’t really tell with the way his voice was altered by a yawn interrupting his sentence and his face smushed against you.
You felt his lips peppering small kisses against the bare skin your low cut top revealed, “That tickles, Mikey,” you giggled.
“Mm,” He sleepily repeated, nuzzling his face into the curve of your neck and kissed once more into where he felt your heartbeat.
You wriggled your toes, making sure your legs hadn’t fallen asleep from his lower half pressing onto you. They only tingled slightly.
“Alright angel face, go back to sleep,” you murmured, hand resuming scratching against his scalp.
His leg moved upward, his thigh grinding solidly against your core. You inhaled briskly as you felt yourself throb faintly in response.
“‘m not goin’ back to sleep,” His voice was laced with fake irritation as his fingers trailed up from your sides to your stomach. Pushing the comfortable shorts you were wearing down slightly to lay his hand flat against the lower area. His fingers teasing along the high area of your pelvis.
Your breath hitched, feeling his fingers dip down slightly, Michael’s middle finger running down the top of your clothed slit.
He lifted himself and propped his side up with his other arm, angling so he could get a better position above you as he leaned down to kiss you. His other hand reaching further down to trace the outline of your lower lips.
You moaned into the kiss when you felt his thumb put a slight pressure onto your clit, panties wetting with each movement.
He pulled back, a slight smirk on his face, “I told y’ I wasn’t goin’ back to sleep,”
You huffed, air lightly blowing between you two, “I didn’t realize you were up to no good,”
“Up to no good?” He teased, slipping his hand from your shorts. He crawled and placed both his hands over your head, caging you in before pressing a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth, “Y’ seem to like it well enough,”
You rolled your eyes at him, legs wrapping around his waist. Giving a slight roll of your hips before biting your lip and looking back up at him, “Please, Mikey?”
Michael groaned at your seduction, “Since y’ asked so nicely baby, guess I just gotta give you what y’ want,”
He made quick work of your shorts and cotton underwear, tugging them down as you shuddered at the cool breeze against your wetness. Michael leaned down, breath hot against your core as he kissed up your thighs. Alternating between each one as he moved.
Michael pulled apart your sticky lips, strings of slick spreading before breaking apart in front of his face, “y’ got this wet jus’ from me touchin’ you over your panties?” He tsked.
He moved a finger through your folds, catching on your clit as you softly whine, a small shudder going down your body.
“You get so wet f’ me,” Michael’s gaze was fixed on your center, his finger going back down as he circled your entrance. prodding it for a moment before shallowly fucking his finger in.
“mmph, Mikey…I need more,” You gasped out, pouting down at him.
“I got you baby love. ‘m gonna take care of you,” You felt his finger sink further in, going down to the hilt as he curled it slightly up. The squelch at his movements made your face heat up in embarrassment. You whined and turned your face to your pillow.
“Aht, mama, I need y’ to look at me,” his other hand reached up, grabbing your jaw to reposition your head.
You felt the slight stretch as another finger entered you, he kept his movements dizzyingly slow. Your hips rolling against his hand.
“F-fuck, feels s’ good,” You moaned out, voice carrying through your room.
Peering down, you watched as he brought his lips down, tongue swirling your clit before sucking down, “Michael hng,”
“This all f’ me? hmm?”
“Yes-oh shit, it’s all f’ you,” Your lip quivered as your tongue came out to wet it, “please,” you whimpered.
“That’s right,” He pumped his fingers faster, “Listen to her, y’ hear her talkin’ to me?”
The schlick sounds of his fingers fucking in and out blending with your moans as you cried out. Michaels gaze refusing to look anywhere else but where he was entering you. He watched as your cunt greedily sucked him in, a slight reluctance as your walls pulsated around his fingers each time he pulled back.
“so messy, practically droolin down here’” He let spit gather on his tongue, before lowering his tongue and it landed with a quiet splat on your clit. You felt his spit drip downwards, mixing with your own juices.
He let his tongue slide down to where his fingers were slowly pumping in a steady rhythm, before removing his digits and taking over with his tongue.
You felt the wetness slide against you and push forward as your hips bucked into his face, your hands reaching down to grab and hold his free hand. Fingers entwined as he ate you out like a starved man.
Michael moaned back in response, the vibrations shooting through you as your legs wrapped around his head, trapping him in.
“‘m gonna…’m so close..mike,”
“Yeah? Y’ gonna cum?” He lapped at you faster, his thumb going to your clit to rub it in small circles.
“Go ahead mama, cum all over my tongue. Taste so sweet, need to feel you cum on me,”
“‘m cumming oh- s,shit!” You felt the coil tense and snap, juices spraying out against his face as he licked you through your orgasm.
“That’s it, baby, let it all out,” he continued to run his tongue across your slit, flicking up and over your clit as you whimpered.
“N-no more,” a whine ringing out as you writhed against his hold, “I can’t take it,”
His hand came down in a light slap against your pussy, before holding your legs down exposing your core.
“Yes you can, y’ got one more f’ me,” He licked a stripe straight up from your oozing hole, before settling his tongue on your clit and flicking it over and over again. Only occassionally dipping down into your entrance.
You felt yourself rapidly approaching another orgasm as you arched off the bad, legs shaking.
“‘m cumming,” you weakly whimpered out, as his mouth continued to massage your clit.
When you came down from your second high, Michael removed his mouth from you only when he heard your moans turn into overstimulated whines. He leaned over to grab your discarded shorts, slipping them up and over your legs with a light kiss on your pelvis before moving himself up towards you.
You gazed up at him, a bashful look on your face as your wiped some of your essence off his chin.
“You’re a mess, Mikey,”
He only smiled at you, his fingers warm as the brushed the stray hairs back behind your ear. You felt the faint drag of his skin against yours before he leaned down, pressing a slow kiss to your temple. It was soft and lingering, causing your eyes to flutter shut for a moment.
He gathered you into his arms and rolled, the mattress dipping beneath you both. Your face pressed into the steady warmth of his chest, his cheek settling against the top of your head.
You wrapped your arms around his middle, curling in until your body fit neatly against his. Michael’s leg slid between yours, solid and snug, anchoring you in place. The weight of him was comforting—heavy enough to feel real, and gentle enough to calm your racing heart.
His breathing began to slow, each inhale was deep and steady, his chest rising beneath your cheek like a quiet tide. You felt the warmth of his breath exhale across your skin.
“Michael?” You whispered, barely louder than the rustling of the sheets beneath you as you shifted. No response. When you tilted your head up, his face was already slack with sleep. Lashes resting softly against his cheek, lips parted just enough for a faint breath to escape.
“You have got to be kidding me,” You muttered, the words dissolving into the quiet room, swallowed by the weight of his body and soft hum of the still spinning record.
๋࣭ ⭑ Pinky (though not my real name), 18+, She/Her, Scorpio, and I love to write. I’ll write in any form from full novels to poetry.
๋࣭ ⭑ In love with the color green
๋࣭ ⭑ probably off listening to music somewhere. Jazz, neosoul, R&B, and disco are my favorite genres. Please ask me for music recs!! – I am known for my music taste ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡
๋࣭ ⭑ an avid “Jack of all trades, but master of none”. Currently learning how to play guitar and piano.
— ᨳଓ . Other hobbies include drawing, rollerskating, reading, writing (duh),
— ᨳଓ . I hope to take an acting, pottery, and music production class soon!
────୨ৎ────
Writing tidbits
๋࣭ ⭑ Currently writing for: Michael Jackson
๋࣭ ⭑I do take requests, however im very picky about what i feel comfortable with writing. but feel free to also leave suggestions and I might bite if something piques my interest enough! If I do accept your request, I’ll let you know (>ᴗ•) !
→ I won’t write rape, incest, pedophilia, etc and reserve the right to turn down any requests I don’t feel comfortable writing. Any extremely disturbing requests will get you blocked.
๋࣭ ⭑ Minors: I can’t prevent you from consuming my content, but please do not interact with my page. This is intended to be an older audience space, so please respect that.
๋࣭ ⭑ AI statement: I do not support the usage of ai in any sort of creative writing form. I believe it harms the integrity of the work and will never use it, nor do I agree with my work being fed to ai. Please respect that.
→ In addition, I do use the em dash. While that is an indicator of AI-generated writing, please understand my use comes from my own understanding of grammar and preference, not from the use of AI.
⤷ ゛ ˎˊ˗ This lil page is subject to change, with my ever changing interests and more importantly what I’ll write, so please come back!
⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢 Summary: As Michael’s girlfriend you take the role of his chef very seriously, and you’ll do anything to sneak in a few extra calories. Including harming a dead fish.
⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢 wc.: 2k
⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢 Byi: Fluff, older sister core reader but not explicitly stated, reader is very motherly and took care of her siblings, mentions of an eating disorder and habits, read with caution,
⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢 a/n: It takes a second to get good, but I like the end. Don’t ever be afraid to reach out for help <3
Your hands gripped along the edge of the kitchen counter, notepad and pencil tightly clutched in one hand as your eyes searched the grocery bags in front of you. You weren’t just deciding on dinner, it wasn’t that simple. Cooking couldn’t even be described as a hobby to you, it was much more intense than that. The sound of the sizzling pan as it seared smothered steak, vegetables, or elaborate late night snacks cleared your mind in ways meditation could never. It became your sole focus as you would smell different herbs and seasonings, weighing them in your mind as to which tastes would work best with the rest of them.
Even without your passion, choosing what ingredients to use for dinner every night was something you had to think long and hard about. While Michael never told you directly, you could tell he struggled with eating. The way he’d avoid gatherings that he knew would have included food, or politely declined offers to go out to restaurants with the excuse of having eaten not too long ago (which you’d known was a lie). There were countless other things you’d noticed that made you come to this conclusion, but it was fairly early in your relationship. It’d make sense he hadn’t told you yet, and you weren’t going to push the topic unless he was ready.
You’d met in September of 1988 during his Bad Tour, helping as a favor for your friend who’d needed the extra help when one of the other crew members unexpectedly had to break from the tour for one and a half months before returning for the remaining time.
You had no idea that accepting that favor so many months ago would ever catapult you into a relationship with the Michael Jackson. Sometimes you laughed to yourself about the absurdity of it all while, especially when you’d driven to the airport the first time to pick him up. Michael hadn't even bothered to go back to California just so he could see you sooner.
Spending time with Michael outside of the performances meant you’d learn his preferences, so now you’d always have to pick up vegetarian ingredients and have multiple cartons of orange juice in the fridge when you’d known he was coming. It also meant you’d learn his habits, like when he’d take two bites of food before setting it down and would insist he’d finish the food later, but never did. You’d never be upset at him for not being able to finish your food, really, you did understand it was his need for control that caused him to toss your food. Nothing personal against your hard work, love, sweat, and tears as you worked in the kitchen for hours. Yeah not bitter in the slightest.
You lived for cooking and watching people as they took that first bite of whatever mouthwatering meal you’d conjured up, but you’d have to admit it partially came from your upbringing. You were raised in the kind of environment that encouraged you to take care of others, to notice small emotional cues, and cook dinner for your siblings even when your parents were home. It might’ve been a tough expectation for a kid but you enjoyed loving on others. It made you feel a special warmth in your chest that would linger far longer than any superficial act would.
You had a motherly air around you. The comfort radiated off you easily, even towards people you’d just met. That’s why your personality had drawn Michael in with no resistance. He’d grown up independent with not many people to rely on, and you’d offered love so freely in areas where he’d been taught it had to be earned. The way you’d furrow your brows and wave his efforts off to “return the favor” seemed to always send a wave of relief down Michael.
And from your perspective, it crushed your heart the way he’d still get surprised at your actions. Especially when you realized the small ways Michael punished himself. You heard the mutters under his breath when he’d make mistakes, the distant look in his eyes whenever he felt he’d disappointed anybody, and the worst of it when he’d push away your food despite knowing your efforts.
Earlier that morning you’d decided to do some serious research, heading to the library with an empty bag in one hand and the determination of a warrior in the other. You’d searched the recipe section, picking out a few books that you could still use—even with the adjustment to Michael’s diet, some generalized mental health texts, and one specific book that was titled, “Recovery for Eating Disorders,” the small print emphasizing, “Strategies For Family and Friends,” You’d checked out, bag slung over your shoulder as you walked back over to your car.
You looked down at the notepad, squinting at the hastily scribbled handwriting that had notes of how to pack a significant amount of nutrients into minimal food, ideas of other ways Michael could consume calories, and then also just generalized groceries you’d noticed you’d needed for the upcoming week. After evaluating all your options, you’d decided salmon, rice, and broccoli would have to do.
Michael opened the door to your apartment, the first thing he smelled was the zesty hint of grilled lemon, no doubt whatever it was you were cooking. Then the slight burning of incense and lavender wafted through his nose that was the familiar smell of your home. Michael strongly correlated it with your warm, dimmed lamp lights that banished away any darkness. The cozy atmosphere successfully being achieved with the touch of music that you’d play on your vinyl table. Whatever jazzy sound you opted for before getting started on cooking, playing smooth and deep through the apartment.
He walked through the door, padding his way in as he shuffled out of his shoes, setting down his things from his meeting that day. Michael had been fortunate enough to have some business that wasn’t too far of a commute from your place, and you’d been more than happy to offer him a place to stay.
Your hips swayed to the music, humming to yourself as you pushed around whatever it was you were cooking inside a hot pan, steam coming off and dancing in front of your face as you smelt the progress.
“Baby,” Michael prompted softly, a dizzying look of love planted in his eyes and on the smile he hadn’t even known he was wearing. He watched peacefully as you lightly danced around, back turned to him not recognizing the sound of his voice. Just like you were getting to know Michael’s habits, he’d been patiently learning yours. If you were cooking, it took a little more than the sound of his voice to get your attention.
He watched a moment longer, committing the sight to his memory before coming up behind you and slotting you in his arms. Swaying with you as you danced.
You hadn’t gasped, or even made a noise or realization at the fact Michael was now inside. You just peered up at him, calmly holding his arms against you as you smiled, the words, “welcome back lovebug,” came from your lips in barely a murmur, refusing to break the soft atmosphere.
“How was y’ day?” Michael questioned, lips pressed against your temple.
“It was alright, I thought about you lots and ran some errands. Had to get some groceries for dinner tonight,” You turned around, placing your arms around his neck as his hands settled on your waist, the small sways continuing as you talked.
Michael's heart fluttered, his gentle smile deepening into a giddy grin at your comment. He loved that about you, the way you’d say such affectionate things without even batting an eye. He brought another kiss to your cheek, “well it definitely smells good. Could smell it outside the door, and ‘m pretty sure your neighbors are incredibly jealous,”
You giggled at that, “they better be, I’ve been in this kitchen for…” you peeked at the clocked displayed on the counter, “a little over an hour,” Michael pressed another kiss to the other side of your cheek.
“Your food always tastes amazing, I don’t think y’ need to worry baby,” He placed another kiss on your nose, leaning back for a second to look at you.
His sweet actions caused your heart to melt and ache all at the same time, unable to contain the love you felt for him you grabbed his face, peppering it in kisses all over as he laughed. Pulling back only to glance over at the still simmering food on the stove, before looking back at him.
You had to muffle your laugh at the lipgloss shine that’d been left all over his face, taking your sleeve and trying to wipe it off. Michael dodged your wipes, “leave it, ‘s fine lovely,” so you placed your hands to each side of his cheek instead, stroking your thumb tenderly against him,
“Gosh, you’re so sweet Mikey,” You dropped your hands to his, and spun around again. You held your hands there for a second so he’d get the hint to not let go before returning to your craft. Grabbing the butter and oil, as Michael rested his chin on your shoulder.
“Angel, I know that’s a fish, but ‘m pretty sure y’ don’t have to drown it now that it’s dead,” he chuckled.
You scoffed, shooting him a glare, “Well if you have to know, it helps bring out the flavor,” You continued, adding another splatter of oil in spite, “Plus you dunno the first thing about cooking, I don’t wanna hear it from you, sir,”
Michael laughed under his breath, yielding to your defense, “y’ right baby, shouldn’t have ever questioned your expertise,” His hands coming up, spread flat against your tummy as his fingers lightly tapped you.
In this one tiny moment though, Michael was right. You had been using too much oil, probably disrespecting this fish and professional chefs in the process. But for Michael and calories sake, it was worth it. Originally your first instinct was to pound your food in butter and oil, but you’d read in the book that while calories were good, overloading can cause a lot of discomfort. However avocado oil helped minimize that, plus there were anti-inflammatories in the other food options you’d made, so it was safe to have a few extra tablespoons of oil.
Turning the stove off with a click, you moved out of Michael’s arms, grabbing plates while he grabbed utensils and cups. You grabbed smaller plates, hoping to create the illusion of the portions looking smaller, and plated the food before setting them down on the couch. You turned on the tv, watching whatever had been on air before getting comfy with your blanket, leaving enough space in Michael’s spot. You reached your hand up to take the utensils and glasses of orange juice from him so he could settle in without spilling anything.
You’d drape your feet across his lap, leaning with your back to the armrest as his legs were splayed out against the ottoman. While you ate, you both said minimal words, a comfortable, intimate silence following the chewing of food and occasional gulp of juice.
Michael didn’t finish the entire plate, but there was comparatively more gone than when you’d first started making meals from him. And you hadn’t even brought out your secret weapon yet. You’d spotted it at the store and immediately thought of him.
“‘y done eating?” he’d asked, grabbing your plate when you hummed back an mhm. You got up off the couch, following him into the kitchen and heading towards the freezer.
“Actually, I got you somethin’. I saw it at the store and thought of you, figured you might like it,” You said bashfully, hands hiding behind your back playfully.
“Oh yeah? ‘n what’s that y’ got f’me sweet thing?” Michael leaned back against the sink, playfully wiggling his brows at you on curiosity.
You giggled before revealing the tub of orange juice ice cream.
“Look!” you excitedly shook the tub, already pulling out a bowl and spoon.
Michael pressed his lips together, hesitating slightly before speaking, “Ain’t that just orange flavored ice cream?”
“Oh hush you, no. It’s specifically orange juice flavored. Entirely different,” you rolled your eyes, and scooped three big lumps into the bowl.
“Well, I’ll always appreciate my lady thinkin’ of me,”
“If you appreciate me, then you’ll try it and admit you’re wrong,” you looked at him, challengingly.
“Okay, fine. Here, hand me the spoon,”
You tutted, scooping some icecream from the bowl onto the spoon, before walking over to him. Your hand teasingly waving it in his face.
Michael attempted to take the spoon from you, but you pulled back.
“No, I’m gonna feed you it,”
“Baby, I can feed m’self”
You tsked your tongue, “You gonna let the ice cream melt or what, Michael?” tone exasperated.
Michael raised his brow at you, before sighing and giving in, mouthing closing around the spoon and swallowing.
“So? Tastes like orange juice, right?”
“Yeah, you were right baby. Tastes completely different,” You hummed in satisfaction. A triumphant smile over your face as you went for another scoop and held it to his mouth expectantly.
Michael shook his head, chuckling before taking another bite from you.
“C’mon lets sit on the couch,”
You sat in Michael’s lap this time, both of you giggling as you’d occasionally feed him and yourself.
You’d kissed him on the corner of his mouth, licking off some of the ice cream that you’d accidentally stabbed into the side of his face, “oops, i missed,” you laughed as Michael poked into your sides as a response.
Michael took the bowl from you, setting it on the coffee table, before holding the back of your head in one hand, his other hand pressing flat against the small of your back as he pulled you into a deep kiss.
Your mouths moved in rhythm together, finding the perfect flow with one another as you made out with tongues licking away the slight sticky orangeness.
You tilted your head to the side, a small gasp escaping your lips when you’d felt Michael’s hand travel underneath your shirt as his fingers traced small spirals onto your skin.
You fell backwards on the couch, arms wrapped around Michael taking him down with you and bonking heads when you landed.
“Oof,” You’d said while rubbing your forehead, looking up at him before you both burst out into a fit of stifled laughter.
Michael kissed you between both of your laughter and his words, “You tryin’ to give me a concussion girl?”
“Maybe if it means you can lay with me all day instead of leavin’ for work,” you said earnestly, reaching up and tucking a curl behind his ear, trailing your fingers as you rubbed his lobe.
“Thank you,” he murmured softly.
“I didn’t do anythin’ yet,” you suggestively quipped back.
“Y’ know what you do,” he paused, fingers going to direct your chin so you’re looking at him, “with the food ‘n all that stuff, it helps,”
“I dunno what you’re talking about sweetheart,” you replied, tugging his head down to your chest, secretly smiling at his praise, “Just giving you the love you deserve Michael,”
Michael didn’t respond, eyes closing as his breath evened out.
Your thoughts drifted a bit as Michael quieted down.
“…That ice cream just tasted like the orange flavored stuff,”
𓈒❤︎︎࣪˖ in which america’s journalists are very eager to deepen the widespread theory that you and michael 𝓳ackson are in love, and your flustered reactions only propel the rumours further 𓈒❤︎︎࣪˖
➳♡ childhoodbsf!popstar!reader x 𝓳acksons!michael ;
{ 1.1k } all fluff! zero content warnings. reader is interviewed about her friendship with michael >,<
American Bandstand, October 1972...
"And do you think perhaps you might have just a little crush on Michael Jackson?" asked Dick Clark, mid-way through your interview prior to the performance you'd been booked for. As a thirteen year old girl, the constant theorising over your possible relationship with a fourteen year old boy was very inappropriately intrusive in retrospect—very 'of its time'—but the interviewers knew what the public were most interested in, and there was nothing more adorable than the potential love story of America's two most promising stars.
"No..." you giggled shyly.
"Well, lots of girls do—I hear he's very popular with the ladies at school—and since you're with him all the time, getting to see him up close 'n personal..."
"Um, he's just my best friend," you murmured with a smile, fighting the urge to cover your face in your awkwardness because then you'd look even more suspicious.
Truly, you believed you had nothing to hide, but your outward appearance told otherwise—and just why did you keep getting butterflies every time his name was mentioned? Shyness you decided it must be—but the truth was that you were never shy on television, and at the time you never really minded interviews as opposed to how Michael disliked them. Everybody watching knew that too. Your demeanour always changed whenever the topic turned to your best friend, and that didn't go unnoticed by the public.
"So, no blossoming love story here then?" The interviewer's voice snapped you out of your daze.
"Uh, no," you replied, still smiling and still flustered. "Not between me and Michael, no..."
"But we'll see, right?" he grinned.
You rolled your eyes lightheartedly. "Nothing's gonna happen."
The Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson, April 1976...
"Well, Michael has lots of girls runnin' around after him," you laughed, in response to that age old question that had followed you into its fifth year; now as a sixteen year old girl, Michael aged seventeen. "He's a pretty boy—he's handsome, y'know, I can see that—but there's nothin' romantic between us."
"You sure?" Johnny teased. "We have some pictures here that suggest otherwise."
"Oh God..." you giggled nervously, leaning your chin on your knuckles. The media loved to make something out of nothing, and you were well aware of how many pictures there must be of you and Michael behaving exactly like a couple. "No, I swear, there's nothin' goin' on," you insisted, while Johnny took out a set of pictures from a drawer.
"Well, take a look at these first, because I'm sure everybody here and everybody watching at home would like to see. The papers don't seem to buy that you're not together, even after the years of denial."
"Listen, they'll print what they want—" You began to say, but your words were cut short by the sight of the first picture. "Oh."
Everybody laughed, and you immediately knew you'd made a mistake. Reacting only made it look even more like something was going on between you two, because the picture you were currently looking at was determined by everybody other than you and Michael as an almost definite image of pure romance, plain and simple.
In the photo, you were both cuddled up on a couch at Hayvenhurst, and whoever had taken it—most likely Katherine or one of Michael's siblings—had chosen the exact moment where Michael had pressed a kiss to your cheek, as he often did.
"Well, that's not—it looks way more intimate than it actually is."
"Indeed, it does look very intimate," Johnny agreed, and the audience laughed again.
"Oh my—why are you feedin' into this?" you chuckled, cheeks heating up, although you had no idea why this conversation always rendered you so nervous.
"Well," Johnny continued, "take a look at the next one."
Now before you was a picture of Michael holding your hand in the street, arms interlinked as you entered a movie theatre on Ventura Boulevard, surrounded by paparazzi. Then, another in New York, under the falling snow where Michael's arm was wrapped tight around your waist as you fed him a s'more, wiping chocolate from the corner of his mouth. Fourthly, there was the two of you sleeping almost directly on top of each other in the studio, after a day of recording your duetted version of I'll Be There. And finally, two separate pictures of the same kind: one of Michael staring at you as you looked in the other direction, and, to your surprise, one of yourself staring at Michael in the exact same way. Since when did you look at him like that? No wonder everybody thought you were in love.
"Who is takin' these?" you laughed in shock.
"So, you admit that you do look very much like a couple in the pictures," Johnny pressed on.
"Alright, yes, I know we do, but we're just friends, really," you insisted with an airy smile.
"Well, when I interviewed the Jacksons not too long ago, it seemed Michael's brothers were all in agreement that you're in love."
You rolled your eyes, shaking your head in amusement. "That's 'cause they're his brothers 'n they're idiots. They love to tease."
"So, you swear there's no truth in that?"
"No, there really isn't!" you chuckled. "What did Michael say when they were talkin' about me?"
"Well, Michael refused to comment. Just sat there grinning all flustered, which many believe spoke for itself."
You continued to shake your head slowly, so naive to the truth that even all these strangers had grasped long before you ever grew to.
And Johnny wasn't done with his anecdote of the Jacksons' interview. "His brothers seem to believe that you're both head over heels, and that neither of you will admit it. But y'know, if you only would admit it, that might be beneficial for your careers. Two of America's biggest young popstars falling in love is one hell of a headline."
"Well," you sighed of light heart, "it seems you guys have already made it your headline."
"You're right about that, yes," he chuckled. "The papers seem very confident in the theory, and if the statements by the Jacksons are anything more to go by, perhaps we'll see you guys married just a few years down the line."
"Oh my God..." You had to cover your face now, laughing while you cringed with the force of the butterflies dancing around in your chest and floating down to your stomach. "That will not happen. You're all gonna be eating your words, I'm telling you."
But of course, time would tell that only you would be proven wrong, because the year 1981 would see that same flustered, giggly young girl tie the knot with Michael Joseph Jackson after three years together—falling in love no more than two solar circuits after that interview in '76—and for once, believe it or not, it became apparent that the media had actually been right.
⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢 Summary: Michael’s brothers can cross too many lines sometimes, and Michael knows his girl looks good, especially when she wears jeans.
⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢 wc.: 2.3k
⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢 Byi: mdni, 18+ smut established relationship, curvy/thick reader, P in V, unprotected sex, interrupted sex, thigh fucking,
⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢 a/n: Inspired by Bobby V.’s “Tell Me”, and the fact that I think I own maybe 3 pairs of jeans that aren’t bellbottoms, lol.
Bellbottom jeans were absolutely one of the best fashion statements of the 60’s-70’s, however, by ‘79 the fad had started to die out.
Not for Mike’s girl though, and definitely not for his eyes when he shamelessly watched your heartshaped ass swaying as you walked. Or when it’s a late fall afternoon, and you’re reaching out for a glass that’s just slightly out of reach, very subtly having to jump to grab it.
What’s not subtle is the way your ass still jiggles even in the rough material. Bouncing through the strained material as it struggles for dear life not to split. The edges of the pair of jeans showing had already started to fray, the wear after only a few months of you owning them.
The jeans held your ass perfectly, showing off your curves and plump thighs as you walked through the Encino household. Michael’s brothers were very aware of just the type of girl Michael had managed to land. Her sticky sweet lipgloss and strong floral perfume wafting through their doorways every time she came over.
“Damn girl, you gonna tear those things or what?” Tito called out to you, a light whistle under his breath as he leaned back against the counter.
You scoffed, turning your head towards the older brother, “Tito, watch your eyes. There’s nothing down there that’s for you,” your teeth showing in a grin, as you slapped the brother’s arm, scooching your way over to the ice box.
“Yeah, Mike’s gettin’ all that. Ain’t that right Mike?” Tito called out to the younger brother, laughing, as he pushed an exhaling Jackie.
“Damn right he is, look at him,” Marlon gestured over, “actin’ all shy like we don’t hear them gettin’ it on at night. Ooh, Mikey, you hittin’ it so good,” He mocked in a whiney voice, dodging as you hurled an ice cube at him, the cube’s target instead becoming Michael when it hits him in the face.
“Sorry, baby. Didn’t mean for that to hit you,” You said with an apologetic frown before turning to Marlon with narrowed eyes, “I was aimin’ for Marlon,”
Michael rolled his eyes at his brothers’ teases, “Enough out of all of you guys, don’t gotta talk about her like that,” he mumbled out, peeling open the back of Marlon’s shirt and pushed the cold cube down. Watching as Marlon cursed and did an awkward dance trying to get the cold thing off him.
You giggled at that, taking a sip of your drink as you felt Michael’s hand wrap around your free one, dragging you to him possessively.
Mike would never admit it, but sometimes his brothers’ teases did cause him a little upset, a ball of heat rising in his chest. Only getting bigger with each joke. He didn’t like it when they’d speak about you so vulgarly knowing they each had their own girls. The boys’ talks would mention recent music updates, the current sports teams they’d been betting on, and whatever sex topic that had happened to them of late, whether with groupies or the same ladies that were a few feet away from them having their own discussion.
When those conversations took place, Michael stayed silent, hands fidgeting as his responses died in comparison to the previous conversations. He was uncomfortable with sharing the details of your private life, wanting to keep that for him and himself only.
When you first started coming round the house more often, his brothers tried to ask him invasive questions, “you tap that yet?”, “but how well does she suck it?”, and inappropriate hand gestures, but he’d always shake his head, stammering a, “I don’t see how that’s any of y’alls business,” followed by his brothers exclaiming how their sweet ‘nd innocent angel of a little brother Michael couldn’t possibly handle, “all that”. He’d huff and storm off towards you and the girls, head propping onto your shoulder as his arms snaked around your waist, sighing when you leaned back into the familiar frame of his body.
You’d tilt your head up at him, acknowledging that he was there with a light peck on his temple, before returning to your conversation. You heard the distant, “He ain’t know how to take care of business,” as they all shuffled into the main room, joining in on the conversation. You laughed quietly under your breath when you realized what had gotten your usually shy boyfriend, all touchy. Michael usually choosing to refrain from much physical affection when others were nearby.
That had become the pattern whenever the brothers flirted with you, and while everyone knew that you were Mike’s girl and never meant any harm, it’d never stopped Michael's possessive side to come out.
He swiped his thumb across your knuckles as he held your hand, his other one coming up to the side of your hip to guide you away from the kitchen and upstairs, ignoring the whoops and knowing whistles from his brothers.
“Mikey baby, where we going?” You murmured, making your steps onto the plush carpeted stairs, knowing damn well.
“Jus’ goin’ to my room. It’s quieter anyways, they’re all bein’ stupid,” He said, eyes locked in on the way your ass pushed against your pants, hips rocking side to side as you continued your way up the staircase. The slight swishing of the denim rubbing against each other as your fat thighs connected to the other.
Mike loved your curves, he loved watching when you’d stand up, brushing your pants off and the way your shit would move. It was so sexual and you weren’t even doing anything. Not really. Though you might’ve exaggerated some movements when you felt his watchful gaze.
He loved when you would suffocate him, thighs closing around his head as he ate you out. He enjoyed struggling to breathe against you as you moved your hips across his face, not really caring about anything but the pleasure he was bringing you.
He loved when you’d be sitting on the couch together, legs thrown over his lap as his palm came down to rub on your thick thighs. Groping the fat of your skin as he squeezed it in his hand, fingers playing in your pussy as you sighed.
And right now he had an idea forming that he knew he would love as well.
Michael had your legs splayed out as he sat in the space between your thighs, bellbottom jeans torn off and thrown somewhere onto his bedroom floor as he'd stripped both of you down to nothing.
“Michael..stop teasin’,” you whined at him, wriggling your hips trying to get him to move. But Michael remained still, his own legs pressed against the backs of your plush thighs as he lazily drew the tip of his dick through your folds. Occasionally tapping it against your clit as you pouted at him.
“Jus’ be patient girl, ‘m gonna get you there. I always do,”
He gently pushed his hips, teasing your hole as he watched the tip of his dick slip in easily, shallowly thrusting. The obscene schlick from your wetness, made you bring your hands up to cover your face in embarrassment. Your desperation slipping out through your voice as you whine, begging him to go deeper.
But Michael didn’t push deeper, in fact he slid right back out with a pop, and you cried out in frustration,
“Mikey, just fuck me, please. I feel like ‘m dyin’” The heat surrounding the two of you was unbearable, your damp body sticking to his wherever your skin had made contact from the light sheen of sweat.
Michael just let out a quiet, “hmm” at you, grabbing your hands away from your face and leaned down to press a kiss to your lips, fingers brushing away the few tears that had managed to escape from your welling eyes.
“I wanna do somethin’ different, is that okay sweet baby?” He asked you, hands going to the back of your thighs as his thumbs rubbed circles against them, lightly squeezing trying to push you into a response.
You peered up at him, biting your bottom lip as you nodded your head yes,
“‘m gonna need words from you babygirl,” he trailed his hand up, moving his thumb from your thigh to your clit, applying a dizzying amount of pressure as you tried to respond.
“Yes, fu-, Michael, it’s fine, please just do somethin’,” You moaned out, hands weakly pushing at his wrist.
As soon as the words of permission escaped your mouth breathlessly, Michael went to work. He removed his hand from your clit, ignoring your protests against the loss of sensation, and grabbed your ankles. He hoisted them up in the air and slung them both over his shoulder, bracing himself against you as he slid his dick in between your hot thighs, hands moving to push the fat even tighter against his dick and he let out a soft moan.
“Mm, baby you feel so good like this, feel like this where ‘m meant to be, right in between y’ legs,”
You moaned out at the feeling of his dick sliding in between your thighs, the sounds of his hips hitting yours filling the room with a light slap, slap, slap. You hadn’t known this is what he was asking you to do. It was filthy.
Looking up at Michael, his eyes screwed tight as he lost himself in your thighs, moaning shamelessly as his movements got more erratic, the brief rhythm he had set being forgotten as he whined.
“How ‘bout that, mama? Am I fuckin’ your thighs good? Hmm?” He asked, opening his eyes as he looked at your slack-jawed expression. He slowed his thrusts, when you didn’t respond. Tapping your ass and watching it jiggle.
“C’mon girl, answer me,”
“Y-yes, Mike, fuckin’ my thighs real good,”
“Yeah? Want me to be inside you for real now?” Michael paused his movements as he grabbed one of your legs that had been laying on his shoulder, pushing it up against your chest as he slotted himself back into you, pushing slowly in as you squirmed beneath him. Finally getting what you had been wanting so badly.
“That’s it, takin’ it so well f’me,” Michael praised as he entered you completely, your sopping cunt swallowing him down to the hilt. He let out a few experimental rolls of his hips, stroking into you deeply before picking up his pace.
He fucked into you relentlessly, holding the back of your knees up, as you reached back to grip the pillows. All but crying out in pleasure as he hit that spot deep inside you.
“Right there, oh you’re hittin’ it so good” Maybe Marlon hadn’t been too wrong about what you screamed during sex.
The headboard loudly knocking into the wall, but that sound seemed to not break through both of yalls sex driven daze, ignoring how loud you two had unknowingly been, forgetting all about the few brothers that had been downstairs just moments earlier. Or maybe Michael knew and he didn’t care.
“Feel so fucking good mikey oh shit, ‘mm gonna cum,” you moaned out.
“Baby, watch your mouth,” Michael frowned, hypocritically criticizing your language as a string of quiet curses spilled out.
Your eyes widened as you heard the sound of the boys’ low voices and heavy footsteps approached the door.
“Wait-mm, Mike stop,” you patted his arm that had caged you in, trying to grab his attention. But he didn’t stop, instead continuing to pound into you even deeper, dragging out moans you desperately tried to cover up.
“I know y’all not in there fuckin’ like animals,” Marlon teased, as the laughter of the other brothers followed.
“C’mon Marlon, leave ‘em alone now,” Jackie smacked his teeth.
“All y’all needa leave, ‘m busy,” Michael called out, his thrusts not slowing as he spoke. “Don’t need an audience when ‘m with my girl,” he muttered frustratedly, fingers going to rub his eyelids
Tito and Marlon cackled, “Yeah Mike, ‘m sure you’re real busy right now,”
Michael rolled his eyes, attention switching as he turned his gaze back over to you, hand reaching down between the two of you to rub lightly on your clit.
You were shameless at this point, mostly because it hadn’t been the first instance that the annoying brothers had gotten in the way of you and Michael’s alone time. Hell there were too many of them to get any real privacy. The tension that had been built up was so high, and with Michael’s parents out of the house for a few hours, you’d-in prenut clarity- decided you didn’t care about the boys outside the door, and Michael? Well Michael thought he’d show out.
“Oh fuck! ‘m so close baby, please. Don’t stop, oh don’t stop, ‘m gonna cum, ‘m cummin’” you moaned, fucking back against him,
“Oh shit,” Marlon’s voice quieting as he looked at his other two brothers, “Guess he can take care on business”
The slap of skin was heard outside the door, Jackies voice following, “Marlon leave ‘em the hell alone,”
“What? ‘M jus’ sayin’” Marlon reached his hand up to rub at his neck awkwardly.
“For real though Mike, we ‘s’posed to be leavin’ soon, hurry it up,” Jackie yelled out, ushering Marlon and Tito back downstairs, the fading sounds of footsteps following.
Michael laid back against his bed, arms folding over his chest as he stared at you.
While Michael had decided to take his time with getting dressed, you were already up. Back turned to him, with your panties and bra on as you stepped into your jeans. Jumping into them as you tried to get the fat of your ass inside the pair of pants.
He watched you struggle to pull them on, wiggling your hips around, ass just jiggling tantalizingly in front of him, unknowing of the hardness you were causing.
He swung his feet over the side of the bed, feet padding against the floor as he made his way quietly over to you, wrapping you in his arms, voice low in your ear,
“Y’ know, we ain’t gotta leave right now…” he planted a kiss behind your ear, pressing himself into you.
You rolled your eyes at his words, turning around to face him as your arms went around his neck, pulling him in for a light peck, “No baby, we gotta go-mmph,” he interrupted your sentence, placing light kisses on your lips as you spoke, “Your brothers are already, mmph waiting for us. Don-mmph wanna make them late too,”
Michael pulled back and stared at you, a gentle smile on his face as he looked at you with such devotion and love, it made your heart melt, but you’d known this boy and his little tricks.
“No, we are leaving, get dressed c’mon,” You removed yourself from his hold, turning over to grab his clothes that had been on the floor.
Feeling the hard, smack, that had landed right on your ass as you bent down.
⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢 Summary: What Michael does to be comfortable in his own time, in his own home is his business, of course unless you’re there. Then it’s both of yalls business.
⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢 wc.: 3.5k
⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢 Byi: mdni, 18+, smut, switch!michael, oral f!receiving, cursing, talks of alcohol, manipulative!reader, childhoodbsf!reader, reader lowk a bird and in a situationship, (slight) coercion + manipulation, mention of pubic hair (its the 80’s, no one shaved cmon)
⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢 a/n: inspired by the pic above. I think the idea that he was just walking around unzipped is hilarious.
Michael, though often dressed in elaborate costumes and denim bottoms, hated jeans. He hated the tight material that restricted his body’s natural instinct to move, always itching to be dancing in some way. He hated the painful tug as it usually got caught on his unruly pubic hair. And most of all, he hated how tight it felt on his lower region.
A loud exhale breezed past Michael’s nostrils as he stepped into his room at the Hayvenhurst estate, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. He softly thudded his way deeper into the room, sluggishly sitting down onto the floor, back leaning against the end of his bed.
Rolling his head back, Michael let out a small whine, trying to force the tension out of his neck while his hand absentmindedly trailed down to the top of his jeans. The sounds of his button being popped, then the slow clicking of metal being released as he lazily unzipped his pants and shimmied them slightly down. The slight tease of his underwear and bulge peeking through the small opening that had been allowed free.
The stress of his long 14 hour work day had caused him to forget all about your guys’ plans for that night, the forgotten promise of watching the latest rerun of whatever had recently piqued both of your interests had since been pushed to the back of his mind. So Michael’s mortified expression at his door being thrown open as you dragged yourself, and your towering stack of boardgames into his room, made sense to him.
Of course you would let yourself into his family’s home, he still remembered catching your eyes in between the fence, twinkling in excitement as the new, sensational, family had moved right next door to you and your own family in Encino, California. And after a few days of spying on the enticing new neighbors as they slowly transitioned in, you had decided who would be your newest boyfriend. In your little 11 year old mind, you declared Michael as the cutest one of his brothers, and carefully planned an “accidental” run in, as Michael routinely walked one of his pets at night.
That was only the beginning of yours and his close friendship, and it wasn’t long before you had become a normal presence in the house. His family loved you, especially his sisters. They mentioned something about it being nice to have another feminine presence to try and outweigh the rank smell of testosterone and boys who hadn’t learned what hygiene was.
Much to your dismay though, Michael had never become your boyfriend. He was too busy with his booming career and was worried about Joe’s influence on what little romance he could’ve had. The possibility of Joe forcing you away if you became too much of a distraction was not worth it to him.
But as you guys had matured through puberty and entered into adulthood, your bodies and feelings changed into something further than simple, innocent, childhood curiosity.
Michael still remembered the night that Katherine and Joe had left the boys unattended at the estate; the bottles of alcohol being brought out – that Michael had never known existed until then – and him being pressured into drinking further than his limits.
Fortunately for you, a drunk Michael was a whining, lovesick mess, and when Marlon called your phone, laughing into the receiver as he put Michael on blast, Michael had taken the phone from him and slobbered out a drunken confession. One he had only miserably remembered the next day when you showed up on his doorstep with hangover remedies. You spent the rest of the day kissing away his headache and pains, and enjoying the few remaining hours of peace from Joe’s absence. Being surrounded by the knowledge that Michael did have feelings for you (and you weren’t just being delusional), the warm feeling of your insides jumping whenever you remembered his voice as he slurred out a, “Jus’ wan…kiss y’pretty face sweet thing,”
The reluctance to becoming official didn’t stop the two of you from stealing late night kisses, and wandering hands as your hangouts ventured a little too late into the night. But nothing had gone past teasing squeezes under your shirt, or the occasional grinding of hips as your tongues licked into one another.
Things that leave a girl a little frustrated after a few years of only teasing, and maybe a little bit manipulative.
“Mikey, I couldn’t remember which ones we played last time, so I just grabbed whatever I thought would be fun if the movie got boring,” A brief pause as you kicked the door shut, hands too full to shut it normally, “I don’t know how you’re able to watch stuff over and over again,” grumbling out the last part. Clearly displeased with the fact that this was your guys’ third or fourth time watching this particular film. But you loved Michael and would put up with his antics if it meant you got to sweetly kiss him that night.
Michael stared at you, eyes wide and body frozen, the realization that you’d see him in such an awkward situation was enough to want to bury himself into the ground, lay there, and die forever.
He dumbly watched as you bent over to set the stack of games on the floor, and at his lower angle and your wonderful decision to wear a skirt, he got the perfect view of your panties. Only worsening his predicament as he felt himself slowly harden, his body feeling an increase in temperature, before you stood back up straight and turned to face him.
You blinked at Michael, confused by his silence. He usually would’ve been up and grabbing you into a hug, a long ramble of complaints from his terrible day of interacting with terrible people, as you slowly stroked his head comforting him.
That brief moment of ignorance didn’t last long as you fully took him in, eyes immediately finding the cause of his uncharacteristic quietness.
“Oh,” You squeaked out, a breath hitching in your throat. Gaze locked in on the sight of him as you shut your jaw shut. You weren’t sure you could trust yourself not to say anything idiotic right now, and it was better safe than sorry.
He sat there, hair damp against his forehead, eyes wide and darting around as his hands gripped the rug beneath him, not even bothering to cover up himself with his jeans haphazardly shoved down
Your eyes had a mind of their own as they studied his groin shamelessly, roaming across the expanse of his stomach, following the slight happy trail that transformed into the denser tufts of curls that had peeked out of his underwear.
Michael's tongue nervously darted out to wet his lips, looking up at you with a pained look on his face. One he only hoped to convey just how embarrassed he was at this predicament. as you realized he caught you staring very intently at his covered dick.
“Oh shit! Michael,” The words tumbled out of your mouth as you slammed your eyes closed, and you brought your hands up to your face trying to cover your eyes to make a point of attempting not to look.
But your first instinct was to walk forward and apologize, taking a step forward before remembering that you couldn't see, and one of Bubble’s toys had been so inconveniently in your way as you tripped and tumbled forward. Your hands reached out, bracing your fall only for your face to land right where you had been staring earlier.
You peered up at him, breath heavy and hot as he met your gaze. A small hiccup escaping his chest. Your gaze traveled back down, watching as his dick stood to full attention, slightly nudging you as it laid flat against his stomach, the tip poking out of the top of his underwear just slightly.
Michael tightly took a breath, “‘m sorry, really I didn’t mean for you to see me like this. I’m bein’ honest,” Chest rising rapidly. Though he didn’t really do much to prevent you from seeing him either. If he wanted to play dumb, you could humor him.
“Do you usually have your pants off before someone comes and visits you, Mikey?” You questioned incredulously.
Michael’s thoughts were almost written on his face with how easy his expressions were to read. His attention aimed towards your face as it hovered his, very obviously, hard dick. The fact that you hadn’t even bothered to move either, only turned him on more. Seemingly more than comfortable in your accidental position.
Deciding to test the waters, you nuzzled your face into the small v shaped space that the zipper had left, inhaling softly at his scent. Your fingers going up to lightly trace the trail of hair leading down to the curlier bush. Dragging your index through the unkempt hair as you heard him loudly swallow.
“What? No I’d-oh” his voice died in his throat, an uncomfortable ball seemed to have bubbled up from his diaphragm. Michael coughed and tried again, “I’d forgotten about our uh,” he shivered as your lips left small pecks on the surrounding area, but never touching directly on his aching dick, “ah, hangout” At the last part of his sentence, Michael was barely able to get the word out above the loudness of whisper.
You brought yourself up, legs moving to straddle his lap, dramatically pouting at his admission as your manicured finger drew lines in replacement to where you had been leaving kisses, tracing up his abdomen to his chest, “Well that’s no good, how could you forget about me? That makes me sad, thought I was your girl..”
“Y’are,” he quickly replied, scared to disappoint you as you bat your lashes sadly at him
.
“I dunno, Mikey. I feel like someone else woulda remembered,” Michael tensed, eyes narrowing at your words.
You stopped your fingers and planted your hands on his shoulders as you looked at him, watching him process the image of you with anyone but him. The expression that came over his face, with his furrowed brows, had you giggling a bit.
However, Michael found the idea less than “giggle worthy”, the idea of it being someone else? Besides him? Your Mike? No that couldn’t happen.
You watch the idea take root in Michael’s mind, the ends of his mouth curling downwards in displeasure.
He needed this push, you thought. Like he said, you were his girl. And being his girl means that you know what’s best for him.
“Of course you could always make it up to me,” you offered him a way out, “…but you don't have to if you don’t wanna. I’m just gonna have to see someone who will,” Your hands moved from their position on his shoulders, going up the base of his neck as you lightly tugged his curls, forcing him to look at you as you slowly moved your hips.
“C’mon girl, y’know I’d do anythin’ for you, j-just, hold on,” He mewled, the thin fabric of your panties not doing much to conceal the slick that had gathered on your core, the friction of feeling him so much closer than ever before had you softly moaning as your eyes squeezed shut.
“S-shi, shoot, m’baby this ain’t fair,’ he whined as you stopped, your hips planted firmly down on his.
His hands moved to grip your waist, trying to get you to move again. His lip quivered in frustration before he tucked it under his teeth. Biting down to try and get himself more controlled in the moment.
“You just gotta say it, lovey. Say you want me,” You sweetly murmured, grabbing his chin in your hand as you directed his face back to yours, taking in his lips as he tried to reply against your mouth.
“Okay, okay. I’ll do any-mmph-thin’,” His voice muffled against your kisses.
“What was that angel baby? I didn’t hear you,” You said, smiling into his lips.
“Stop teasin’ me mama, y’know I said I’d do anythin’,”
Michael knew you were manipulative, the way you drawled out certain words, or looked prettily up at him whenever you wanted something. And in moments where you wanted something bad enough, yeah, you’d threaten him to get your way. But Michael’s too nice, and too sweet. Especially to girls, and if his girl wants the world, he’d just have to go get it for her.
“Alright, alright I’m sorry,” You giggled, reaching for his hand and placing it under your shirt. His fingers going to swipe, and tug at your nipple beneath your bra. The babytee you were wearing getting smushed up your chest in the process.
You leaned in, kissing him slowly as you continued grinding against him, his movements getting jerkier as he took a shaky breath. Face contorting into pleasure as you rode him through the clothes.
“See? I got you, handsome face, it’s okay,” you moaned into his ear. His hips ramming up in response to your sounds and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the way your tits bounced in his face. The heat of your slick suffocating him as he tried not to cum too quickly.
“‘m s’close, please,” He whimpered, his head falling into your chest as he lazily drew lines on your cleavage with his tongue.
“You gonna come for me?” you teased, and that’s all it took for him to unravel, cumming with his jeans still (mostly) on.
“Ah-ah, please, oh fu-, ‘m cummin’ mama,” His hips pistoned uncontrollably beneath yours, “‘s all f’you. ‘s all f’you,” He stuttered as you felt the sudden gush of warmth and liquid spill between your connected parts. The gooey mess dampening your own underwear.
You grabbed his hair, pulling his head back gently and watched as he gasped for air, thick beads of tears dripping down his eyes as he looked at you. It went perfectly with the thicker spurts of cum that pulsated out his other end.
“You made a mess,” you murmured, slowing your hips, and dragging him into a deep kiss before you felt his hand slowly hooking your underwear to the side. He pulled back from the kiss to look between you both. Rapidly glancing from where his hand was to your face, watching your reactions as he lightly touched you between your wet folds.
“‘s this all f’me mama?” He whispered in awe, still sniffling, “Y’so wet, its drenchin’ my hand,”
“Mm, Michael, don’t tease,” The warning tone in your voice made him chuckle, fingers tickling your side as he peeled off your skirt and sticky underwear. Setting them neatly to the side before he put his two fingers to his mouth, tongue slipping between them, moaning softly at your taste.
Michael looked downright crazy, his hair ruffled from you pulling on it. The slight stains of lip product on his jaw that had transferred from you kissing on him. The eyeliner that’d been messily sweated off. It drove you wild.
Your jaw dropped at his actions, “That’s gross, baby don’t-”
“Ain’t nothin’ gross about you, girl. Taste so sweet,” His, now wet, fingers dragged through your slit, one pad of his finger prodding at your entrance, “ Mikey, need you so bad,” you whimpered, swaying your hips slightly trying to get more from him.
“I know, ‘m gonna give you what y’need. Jus’ wait a moment, need a better angle,” He flipped you both so your back was against the rug gently cradling your head to the floor before moving himself downwards.
Your legs snapped closed at the sudden vulnerability of the new position. The cold air sending a shiver down your spine, suddenly very aware of Michael watching you
He tutted, “Mama, keep your legs open,” he said as he grabbed the back of your thighs, pushing them up and spread apart so he could get a better look at your clit. Lightly blowing air onto your clit.
You watched as he lowered his head, eyes not breaking from your entrance as his thumb came down to rub tight circles on your clit. He let his tongue lick a small stripe, starting from your entrance, following back up to where his thumb was, and right back down to your hole. The schlick, schlick, sounds from him eating you out had your heart hammering inside your chest in complete embarrassment from how wet you were.
Your hips bucked against his face, a loud moan escaping your mouth, “Nghh, Michael, oh fuck!” The sudden feeling of his tongue had you fighting to stay quiet.
Michael lightly swatted your ass at that, a light warning for cussing his mouth couldn’t give you. You felt his tongue swirl around your entrance before thrusting it inside, pushing your legs deeper into your chest at an angle you didn’t know your body could be maneuvered into. His thumb still rubbing tight circles onto your clit at the perfect pace.
“Wait, Michael,” you panted, the sensations becoming too much, too soon for what little experience you had. You tried pushing his head away, only to be met with his grip on your legs tightening and yanking you closer to him, his eyes looking up at you with a glare.
“Oh fuck, Michael I’m gonna-, shit, Mikeyy, ‘m cumminnn’” You sobbed out, thighs clenching around his head, shaking as his tongue fucked you through your high. It felt like it was never gonna end with his tongue leaving your hole, moving back up towards your clit, lightly sucking and twisting around the abused nub.
“Enough now, baby,” you blubber out, hot, wet tears streaming down your face as you gasp for air. The stimulation overwhelming you for just having orgasmed before being throttled towards the next one. When his head refused to move you twisted your hips, trying to break free from his hold, but it was useless. Your body had become nothing but a weak, crumpled mess under his touch.
“Don’t run from me now lady. You the one who wanted this, and now you gonna take it like a pretty thing,” his voice vibrated against your core, causing that stinging feeling to intensify as you wailed in response. His tongue continuously flicked over your clit as he brought his hand down, gently massaging open your hole before sliding his finger in.
You looked down at him, watching his gaze as his eyes looked entirely fucked out. Michael wasn’t even eating you for your pleasure anymore, this was entirely for himself and he knew it too. He buried his face even deeper, his nose bumping over your clit as you let out a yelp.
“S-stop, ‘s too much, hngh,”
“‘s okay mama, let go f’me. You can give me jus’ one more. I know you can,” He continued pumping his finger in and out of your sopping hole, the obscene squelch taking over the whole room as you whimpered helplessly. His finger kept entering at different angles, searching for a certain spot and when his fingertip nudged right into it, you cried out.
“Feels so weird Mikey,” Your legs seized as he bullied his finger over that spot repeatedly.
“‘s okay, pretty. ‘m right here,” He curled his finger one final time, before you came all over him. His mouth covering your mound, trying not to waste a single drop.
“Oh fuck!”
You cried out, liquid gushing from you as your back arched off the floor. Michael slowly pulled out his finger, with a small, pop, lightly tracing it around your clit before you pathetically slapped away his hand. Unable to take anymore, and watched your slick that had dripped all the way down to his wrist, get licked and swallowed right in front of you.
You blinked slowly, and closed your eyes. Too tired to comment on his little show, your body finally being left alone after being tensed for longer than it was used to. There was exhaustion forming deep in your bones, barely awake enough to recognize the distant feeling of a cool rag being pressed against your clit, relieving the sore sensation.
You opened your eyes to watch Michael cross his room, the creaky sound of his drawer being pulled open as he rummaged through the fabrics. Feeling each shirt and comparing them, trying to discern which material was the softest of them all before finally deciding on one and returning to you. He sat you up, sliding in behind you as you leaned back against his chest. He removed the babytee that was barely holding onto you, and unclasped your bra, leaving you completely nude.
He set down the items of clothing he had removed from your body, as you felt his calloused hands rub up your back, his touch deep, but still gentle, massaging out the aches. His hands slid from your back, gently squeezing up your arms before kneading right at your neck, working out any tightness that had been there.
Once he was done, he gently lifted your arms as he slipped on one of his old touring shirts. His scent filling your senses before helping you up and sliding into his bed with you.
It was silent for a beat before you spoke,
“You read those weird books Marlon keeps hidden under his bed, didn’t you?”
๋࣭ ⭑ Pinky (though not my real name), 18+, She/Her, Scorpio, and I love to write. I’ll write in any form from full novels to poetry.
๋࣭ ⭑ In love with the color green
๋࣭ ⭑ probably off listening to music somewhere. Jazz, neosoul, R&B, and disco are my favorite genres. Please ask me for music recs!! – I am known for my music taste ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡
๋࣭ ⭑ an avid “Jack of all trades, but master of none”. Currently learning how to play guitar and piano.
— ᨳଓ . Other hobbies include drawing, rollerskating, reading, writing (duh),
— ᨳଓ . I hope to take an acting, pottery, and music production class soon!
────୨ৎ────
Writing tidbits
๋࣭ ⭑ Currently writing for: Michael Jackson
๋࣭ ⭑I do take requests, however im very picky about what i feel comfortable with writing. but feel free to also leave suggestions and I might bite if something piques my interest enough! If I do accept your request, I’ll let you know (>ᴗ•) !
→ I won’t write rape, incest, pedophilia, etc and reserve the right to turn down any requests I don’t feel comfortable writing. Any extremely disturbing requests will get you blocked.
๋࣭ ⭑ Minors: I can’t prevent you from consuming my content, but please do not interact with my page. This is intended to be an older audience space, so please respect that.
๋࣭ ⭑ AI statement: I do not support the usage of ai in any sort of creative writing form. I believe it harms the integrity of the work and will never use it, nor do I agree with my work being fed to ai. Please respect that.
→ In addition, I do use the em dash. While that is an indicator of AI-generated writing, please understand my use comes from my own understanding of grammar and preference, not from the use of AI.
⤷ ゛ ˎˊ˗ This lil page is subject to change, with my ever changing interests and more importantly what I’ll write, so please come back!
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