pairing: otw michael jackson x black fem reader .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
tags; 18+, tooth rotting fluff, smut, established relationship, car sex, p in v, oral (fem receiving), extremely SOFTdom!mike, not proofread. just a fun little filler story ;)
disclaimer; "♡" symbol indicates the reader's lines!
if u want to be added to my taglist, plz lmk!
The late summer air was warm, alive, and profound in a quiet way. Your skin is beautifully tanned from the blazing Encino sun.
You and Michael started dating right before the beginning of summer, May 27th. He baked you a strawberry shortcake because he knows it’s your favorite dessert that your mom makes for you.
The romance unfolded so beautifully, something that the body can understand more than the mind. When you first confessed your feelings to one another, you looked into his eyes and you felt like you couldn’t even breathe. The adoration in his eyes was almost sickening— your stomach twisted and turned at the idea of him touching you.
Not because you didn’t want it, but because you didn’t know how to handle how much you needed him. You’ve never wanted anyone more in your life, and neither has he. No one has ever examined you the way he does. His eyes trace your face so carefully, and his touch is oh, so gentle.
You’re the perfect girl for Michael. You’re loved by him because you’re like his safe haven in a world full of cruelty and ambiguity. The love between you two is young, blooming, passionate, and fierce. It’s the kind of love that people remember for decades, even when their lives have completely changed.
August 7, 1979
Your room was filled with the scent of soft notes of baby powder, strawberry, and vanilla. Tonight’s date is a drive in movie, it’s the perfect night for one. You dressed yourself in a yellow blouse with a pink polka dot lining at the collar, a light washed jean skirt with small flowers embroidery above the back pockets, and lavender Mary Jane’s with white frilly socks.
Instead of having Bill drive you two, Michael decided to come pick you up in his Rolls-Royce Silver Shadow. The drive is about fifteen minutes away from your house, he knew that he’d be recognized immediately but he didn’t care. He didn’t want the whole entourage thing going on— tonight he just wanted to be a guy on a date with his girlfriend, and that’s exactly who he was going to be.
The moment you stepped out your door, his eyes widened as if he was seeing you for the first time. He stepped out of the car and scanned your outfit. He wore a light yellow collared shirt with grey slacks that fit around him perfectly, and a gold chain bracelet around his left wrist.
“You look amazing, sweet thing, that pink and purple is so nice on you. Did you mean to match?”
You couldn’t help but grin ear to ear, which showed those cheekbones Michael couldn’t get enough of kissing. His compliments always made you so giddy, he was so gentle and intentional with his words.
♡ “Yeah, I wanted to look.. sweet.” You whisper with a dreamy glimmer in your eyes.
“Good job, sweetheart.” He plants a kiss on your cheeks, now rosy on-top your red undertones.
The drive to the movie was mostly silent, the comfortable kind with occasional banter that was so obviously full of love it made the air thicker. Michael kept taking glances at you as he drove and found his eyes occasionally making their way to your suncasted thighs.
♡ “Eyes on the road, dude.” You tease.
“My eyes are on the road, and you, a little bit.” He responded while side eyeing you, trying not to turn his focus away from the road again.
You coated your cheeks with a pink, flirty blush with specks of glitter that enhanced your bronze skin beautifully. It was hard not to look at you.
The atmosphere upon arriving at the movie was immediately magnetic— a huge red sign shaped as an arrow: Popcorn, Candy, Hotdogs, Film. The air was filled with the smell of buttered popcorn and summers’ natural scent. The sun was just beginning to set, the warm orange and pink hues casted into the car.
Michael held your door open for you, as always. A movie wasn’t a movie without food of course, so you two made your way to the snack booth.
“Popcorn, or hotdogs? Or both?” Asked Michael.
♡ “Popcorn– and candy! The lemon kind, what do you call them? Lemon dudes?”
“Lemonheads, baby,” He chuckled.
Michael confidently walked up to the stand to greet the older man working, who seemed to recognize him the moment their eyes met.
“Can I have a large popcorn, two lemonheads, and two coca-colas please?”
“Hey, you’re that Michael kid aren’t you? I’ve seen you on television with your brothers.” The man smiled.
“Yeah,” he replied shyly, “That’s me.”
“You’re going places man—-that’ll be $5.35.”
Michael pulls out a crisp twenty dollar bill and slides it over to the gentleman with a bright smile.
“Keep the change.”
“What?!” The man exclaimed, “Nah, man, I can’t let you do that.” He waved off at Michael as he pulled the change out of the register.
“No, seriously, keep it. I want you to have it.”
The man surrendered and smiled brightly back at Michael, “Thank you! Enjoy the movie, you two.”
You both nodded at the man and continued walking toward the car to grab blankets and bug spray. The movie montage began with Carrie (1976), one of your favorite movies.
♡ “Ah, look, Michael! They’re playing my movie!” You squealed as you spread out the pink and white checkered blanket you brought from your house.
You and Michael stayed for about two movies, taking turns laying on each other as the night continued. The night sky was clear and full of stars, making the scenery absolutely perfect. Some people were there with families, and there were other couples around you, too. Of course, you guys loathed PDA unless it was you two.
10:04 PM
After the cinema ended, you two made your way back into the car. The crowd began to dissipate, and now you two were completely alone. He backed the car up into a vacant area in front of the woods so you guys could talk a little before he dropped you back off.
Michael turned to scan your face in the moonlit area as he took a deep breath.
“You look really, really beautiful tonight, y/n. I want to give you something, I’ve been waiting for this all night.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small pink box and opens it, revealing a gold ring with beautiful designs and a square diamond.
♡ “Oh my goodness, Michael, what’s this for?”
“Just a little something. You told me how much you love gold rings, so I got you one.” He softly caressed your left hand and slipped the ring on your finger.
♡ “It’s beautiful, Michael. Is this a real diamond? How much did this thing cost?”
“Of course it’s real. I’m Michael Jackson,” he replied with that playful arrogance you always tried your best not to smile at.
“And you are my girl, you only get the best.” He shot you a look that said he was serious about giving you what he thinks you deserve.
“Besides, this is practice,” he added, “ ‘Cause one day, you’re gonna be my wife.”
You took in the sight of the gold ring on your dainty finger, it was absolutely perfect. He knew exactly what to give you every single time, no one had ever paid that much attention to you before.
You leaned in to kiss Michael on the lips to show your appreciation—- the kiss was soft, slow, and intentional. His lips immediately followed the rhythm of yours as you both began to breathe heavier. The kiss got deeper and more insistent, releasing all the tension from the evening that hadn’t been spoken but was obviously mutual.
Michael’s hands found your soft thigh as he made his way up your skirt, you followed by unbuttoning the top of his shirt and running your head across his warm chest. He kissed you on your neck, making patterns with his tongue that evoked a breathy moan from your lips.
Michael pulled his head away with his thumb still making circles on your thigh.
You glance down toward his lap, his excitement as clear as day. He got hard for you so easily, all it took was one touch and he was all yours.
His face turned red with embarrassment when he realized how soon you noticed. It’s not like you guys haven’t fucked before, but the build up always made him shy.
“M’sorry, I didn’t mean for that to happen while we’re out here, it’s just—”
You cut him off with a rub on his thigh, making his dick twitch as he released a sonorous moan into your ear.
“It’s just… touching you makes me feel so good baby. I want you right now. Please, don’t make me wait.” He whined as he whispered into your lips as if he were trying to feed you his words.
Before he could continue, he kissed you again, this time with more tongue. He unbuttoned your skirt before reaching his hand over to unbuckle his own pants. You both instinctively climbed to the backseat.
♡ “Sweetheart, don’t you think we’ll—”
“We won’t.” He cut off. “There’s no one around, see?”
You looked around and tried to find any sign of another human– but it was just you, Michael, and the eyes of the night.
You slipped your skirt off and laid it on the car floor as he followed with his pants. You both began to touch each other as he slowly slipped your underwear off.
“Already so wet f’me, baby?” He looked into your eyes and nodded as if he expected you to answer the question.
You nodded back at him as he lowered himself down on his knees and put himself between your legs. Small, gentle kisses were applied to your inner thigh which made you squirm with anticipation, he placed his hand on you to hold you in place. They were so big, it almost covered your whole thigh.
Michael stiffened his tongue and licked your clit a few times before fully cusping his mouth onto it, sucking gently and excitedly. He never took his eyes off of yours, paralyzing you with his dark, soulful eyes.
“You like that baby?” He whispered onto you, the warm air from his mouth making you jerk toward him.
♡ “Yes. Yes Michael.” You squeezed your eyes shut then opened them again, feeling your chest rise and fall inconsistently.
He spat a shiny line of saliva as he continued going down on you, taking his tongue all the way down to your perineum and back up to the clit. The tickling sensation made your eyes fill up with tears from all of the pleasure. He was treating your body so well, and he knew exactly how to do it.
The constant licking on your pussy becomes nearly unbearable, you try to push his head away but he pins your hand down, forcing you to keep taking it until you cum.
“Come on my tongue baby, I can feel that you’re close.” He places a kiss on your clit, “Move me again, and we’re gonna start all the way over.”
♡ “Michael, baby, please. I’m so sensitive, I think I’m gonna–”
Before you realized, your orgasm crashed over you as you creamed onto Michael’s tongue. He kept his tongue onto you, guiding you through the feeling as you began to catch your breath.
He sat beside you and pulled out his hard, veiny dick. It was perfect– dark, thick, eight inches with small white spots from his vitiligo covering the base.
“Spit.” He reached out his hand and began rubbing himself up and down and he guided you onto his lap. You inched yourself on top of him and sank down, holding your weight on your tippy toes as he guided your hips.
“Oh fuck, baby. Just like that, oh God.” He whined, throwing his head back.
You slowly bounced up and down on him, letting his length fill you up completely. Your favorite part about riding was looking down at his face, seeing how much pleasure he was experiencing. His moans were so sing-songy– little “ooh’s” and “ahh’s” leaving his lips as you continued.
Michael stopped you mid-riding, holding you down on his dick making sure you feel all of him, making his dick twitch inside of you while he watched your reaction. A dramatic moan escaped your lips as you attempted to lift them back up.
He responded with a commanding slap on the ass without words as he continued to hold you down.
♡ “Michael, please let me move. That feels sss-so good.”
“Tell me how much you want it, angel. I wanna hear you.”
You closed your eyes as you tried to compose your breath. “Please, Michael. I want your dick so bad.”
Your dirty words immediately broke him as he released the grip on you as you continued bouncing, now faster and harder. Your hands gripped onto his chest as you both began to lose yourselves in the feeling.
“C’mon, just like that baby. You’re so good for me. You love me baby?”
♡ “Yes. Yes I love you so much—fuck.”
“I love you—keep going. Don’t stop til’ you get enough.”
You let out a teary moan as you bounced on top of him even faster.”
“Oh God, baby. Yes–I’m gonna cum, right inside of you. I’m gonna cum.”
You knew that was a bad idea, but you didn’t care and neither did he. You both wanted all of each other, no matter what you were risking.
His breath hitched as his orgasm came over him, letting all of his seed spill inside of you as you moaned in unison.
can u do jaafar!michael where its based on the scene where he just got back from getting his nose done?? instead of joseph its u who saw him
bandages | michael jackson
pairing: jaafar!michael x reader
word count: 2,0k
summary: where y/n catches michael sneaking into the house after his first nose job
a/n: thank you sm for requesting <3 (where do i put this on the masterlist? lol)
warnings: angst, self-doubt, established relationship
The house is unnervingly quiet as Michael opens the front door, the hinges giving a faint squeak. Almost too quiet. He squeezes through the narrow opening and closes the door behind him with a soft click. With his head lowered, he heads straight for the stairs, hoping not to be seen. He reaches the middle of the staircase just in time, a door opening somewhere downstairs, voices following. Quickly, he picks up his pace. Once upstairs, he carefully avoids the floorboards he knows will betray him, sneaking his way through the house.
He doesn’t want anyone to see him after what he’s done.
His pulse pounds against his throat as he reaches his parents’ bedroom. There is no other way to get to his own room. He has no choice but to pass it. Holding his breath, he continues on his way and hears someone walking through the entrance hall, likely a maid. Suddenly, he hears a sound from behind his parents’ bedroom doors, as if someone is moving inside. He startles, a sharp breath catching in his throat, and hurries past.
His bedroom door at the end of the hall comes into view, and with every step, the sound of his heartbeat grows louder in his ears, drowning out everything else. His hand trembles as he reaches for the doorknob and steps into the safety of his room. Leaning his back against the door, basically blocking it, he immediately lets out a breath, relieved that no one has seen him.
Michael knows he cannot hide his nose surgery forever; it is far too noticeable a procedure. Yet, in his mind, it makes sense to put off the inevitable revelation as long as possible, especially since he hasn’t told a soul about it. One morning, he simply looked in the mirror and saw Joseph staring back at him through his own reflection – specifically Joseph’s nose, that is – and booked the consultation before he could lose his nerve.
He was terrified, incredibly and utterly terrified. Medical procedures always frightened him and the significance attached to this one made it all the worse.
He dreads the day he will have to stand before him and admit what he has done. The day he gives him the satisfaction of knowing what his ugly words drove him to do. That years of being told he was ugly, that his nose was too big, too awkward, too wrong, had finally gotten to him.
“You’re back!”
Michael’s body goes rigid when he realizes he isn’t alone. You lie sprawled across his bed, absentmindedly kicking your feet as you flip through a magazine. You haven’t looked up yet; the article you’re reading apparently too interesting to spare your boyfriend a glance. For one fleeting second, Michael is grateful for it as it gives him a few extra seconds to figure out his next move. However, his mind has gone completely blank; he can’t think of a thing, except – SHIT!
You lift your gaze from the magazine and smile at him, but he immediately turns his head away, his cap and sunglasses obscuring his face. You caught a brief flash of something white on his face, your smile fading almost instantly. You frown, sensing that something is wrong.
“Michael?”, you whisper, barely making a sound, and swing your legs over the edge of the bed, the magazine long forgotten. With each step you take toward him, he flinches and your stomach drops. His entire body is tense; he presses his back against the door so hard he’s practically trembling. One hand is behind his back, gripping the door handle tightly, as if he’s about to bolt at any moment.
“What’s.. going on?”, you ask, but the question dies halfway through. You are close enough now, close enough that him turning his head away no longer helps. Your gaze falls on his nose and the bandages wrapped around it.
“What..?” The word escapes in a shaky breath. Michael presses his lips into a thin line and his eyes remain fixed on the floor. Because he is terrified of what he might see in your expression when you look at him like this. He couldn’t bear it if you were to see him differently now.
You cautiously raise a hand, very slowly. He notices from the corner of his eye and instinctively shrinks away, as though making himself smaller could soften whatever you’re about to say. You gently cradle his chin and turn his head toward you, leaving him no choice but to look at you. He doesn’t resist.
The extent of what he has done is now unmistakably visible right there on his face. Behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses, his eyes shimmer with unshed tears. When he spots a hint of sadness in your gaze, not disgust, not disappointment, his shoulders loosen ever so slightly. Evidently, he senses no threat coming from you. You had never given him any reason to fear judgment or condemnation, but Michael’s mind liked to convince him of the worst.
Without saying a word, you gently remove the sunglasses from his face to look into his eyes. You almost drop it when you look into his deep brown, big, beautiful eyes, a hitched breath escaping your throat. Dark purple bruises surround both eyes, a sign that his nose was likely broken. His eyes radiate such profound sadness and vulnerability that it takes your breath away, leaving you momentarily dizzy as you realize what it all means. Why he did it.
You don’t dare touch his face, afraid even the gentlest contact might hurt him, so your hands just hover uncertainly beside his face while you’re searching for the right words to say. You can’t come up with anything and because Michael can’t bear it any longer, the uncertainty of it all, he beats you to it.
“It’s for my sinuses”, he says softly, his voice cracking at the end. He can’t even look at you when he says it, averting his gaze once more.
“Oh, Michael”, your breath trembles as the words leave your mouth. You know he’s lying and he knows that you know that he’s lying. You know why he did it and he knows that you know why he did it. He has told you about it often enough. That he wants to look like a real superstar, that his nose is simply too big, too ugly. All words his father drilled into him from early childhood, until eventually, he came to believe them.
You have witnessed firsthand how Joseph talks to him even to this day, how he tears him down at any chance he gets, mocking him, belittling him, calling him ugly when he is quite literally the most beautiful man in the world. The irony of it all makes your blood boil.
You had loved his nose, it fit him so well. You still do. His entire face was perfect to you, is perfect to you. Changing it won’t change how you see him. But it hurts knowing he never got the chance to see himself through your eyes instead of Joseph’s. You feel like you’ve failed him. That you didn’t do enough to blur Joseph’s words out, to make him feel comfortable in his own skin, to accept himself the way he is. But you never had any chance, Joseph’s damage had been done long before you came into his life.
What hurts most is watching him try to hide from you.
It’s all becoming too much for Michael. He simply can’t meet your gaze, a single tear slipping down his cheek. He reaches for his sunglasses and squeezes past you, flexing his hand because he had been gripping the door handle far too tightly. You don’t let him get far, though. Quickly, you grab his wrist. He stops abruptly and looks at you, so sad and hurt that it breaks your heart. A grown, beautiful man, broken by the words of a man who ought to be supporting him, who ought to love him just as he is. Who terribly failed him.
Without hesitation, you pull him into a tight embrace, careful not to touch his nose. At first, Michael is taken aback and stands rigid in your arms, caught completely off-guard.
“Does it hurt?”, you murmur against his shoulder, planting a feather-light kiss there. His breath shudders and then, slowly, almost hesitantly, his arms wrap around you. He pulls you close until there’s no space left between you, squeezing you tightly against his chest.
Only then does his body relax. You can tell by the way he hugs you back, that he’s so grateful to have you, to have someone who will always have his back, no matter what. You can feel his heartbeat underneath his skin.
“A bit”, he sniffs. You both know he isn’t talking about the surgery. The deepest wound had been there long before the bandages ever were. Neither of you says so.
Michael’s grip tightens almost imperceptibly. You feel it in the way his fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt, in the way he leans just a little more of his weight against you, as though holding himself upright has suddenly become too exhausting. Silence stretches between the two of you, broken only by his uneven breathing against your shoulder. Gently, you rub your hand up and down his back, reminding him that you are there.
“I ruined my face.” The words are so quiet you almost miss them. Your heart cracks and you pull back just enough to look at him, keeping your hands resting lightly against his sides so you don’t risk brushing his nose.
“What?”
“I know you loved my old nose. Now I look like this, awful”, he swallows hard.
“Do you want to know why I loved your old nose?”, you ask, adjusting the collar of his shirt.
“Why?”
“Because it was yours”, you explain, your fingertips carefully smoothing the sleeve of his overall. “And I’ll love this one for exactly the same reason.”
For a long moment, you simply look at him. Michael doesn’t know how to respond to that. He is overwhelmed by the gentleness in your voice, in your eyes. It feels almost foreign, being looked at with so much love when he’d spent most of his life expecting criticism instead. He wants to believe you, desperately, but Joseph’s voice is louder, older, woven into him too tightly to simply disappear.
With the same care you’d shown when removing his sunglasses, you reach up to the brim of his cap now, lift it from his head and set it aside. Soft curls, flattened from being tucked beneath it for hours, spring free. You gently comb your fingers through them, brushing them back from his forehead, careful not to go anywhere near the bandages.
“I just..”, your voice catches for a moment, unsure how to phrase it. “I just wish you would’ve told me.”
He lowers his gaze, feeling embarrassed that he ever thought, even if it was only for the split of a second, that you could ever resent him for what he’d done. You slip your hand into his, the touch making him look up nervously as he squeezes your hand.
“I would’ve been there to hold your hand”, you tell him, your thumb stroking over his knuckles. “You didn’t have to be scared by yourself.”
A fresh tear rolled down Michael’s cheek. “I know”, he whispers hoarsely. “I just.. I couldn’t.”
“I wish you could see yourself the way I see you”, you say, your own voice trembling now. “How incredibly beautiful you are, inside and out. I hate that he spent your entire childhood convincing you that you weren’t enough. Because you’re more than enough, Michael.”
The bandages are covering the aftermath of what has been done to him. Years of shame, years of hearing the same cruel worlds, years of pretending they didn’t matter – all of it crashes over him at once. Immediately, you wrap him in your arms again. This time he doesn’t hesitate and buries his face against your shoulder as carefully as he can, mindful of his bandaged nose, while his body shakes with quiet sobs.
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."
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