Angel in Rhinestones

She/her | 19 | Diva from the Antilles | Lovergirl

[smoothcriminalgf]

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ✮⋆˙ Welcome to my corner of the internet!

⋆˙⟡ Not a writer, just here with ideas and a miscellaneous blog!

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ I’m sweeter than some blueberry pie left on your windowsill, don’t be afraid to come say hi!!

જ⁀➴ THIS IS AN 18+ BLOG SO VIEW AT YOUR OWN RISK !

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ 💋ྀིྀི Enjoy my space 💋ྀིྀི ⋆. 𐙚 ˚

✮⋆˙ Why fit it when I can stand tf out……💋🌹🦋

[lluvrsroq]

the sad mj tiktok edits NEED to stop i’m not strong enough for this

[meriistarx]

that should've been me

[meriistarx]

aw omg

[dearjaafar]

⌞ Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough: The Making of Michael ♡ ⌝

[bttrflykisses]

the bad era >

[michaeljacksonarchive]

[michaeljacksonarchive]

[michaeljacksonarchive]

[michaeljacksonarchive]

[michaeljacksonarchive]

[ap-ple-head]

too tired

pairing: bad era!michael x reader

summary: michael is tired, reader is desperate, thigh riding and belt grinding ensue. that’s it. that’s the plot.

word count: 1590

content warning: mdni. this one is dirty. no sex, but the reader goes a little bit out of her mind and does the aforementioned thigh riding and belt grinding. there’s also the tiniest bit of name calling if you squint but not really bc i can’t imagine michael calling anyone names, even in this context.

author’s note: ugh i can’t believe i wrote this. i could barely proofread it i’m so embarrassed by how filthy it is lmao. dedicated to @justalocalloser and everyone else in the comments of my last post, ily ♡

but for the love of god someone, anyone, send me a request for something sweet as a palate cleanser

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“‘m too tired, baby.” Michael murmured as he felt your hands fussing with his complicated belt buckle, trying to get it undone. 

He’d just gotten back to the hotel after a concert, totally exhausted from the two-hour performance, but you were needy. 

You’d been alone for the last eleven weeks while Michael toured Japan and Australia. 

77 days. 

1,848 hours. 

110,880 minutes.

Now, finally, finally, the first leg of the tour was over, and you had him all to yourself. So naturally, you’d pounced on him the moment you made it back to your hotel room. 

He’d let you push him into the armchair beside the bed, and he’d let you crawl into his lap to kiss him, but when you started trying to get his clothes off, he’d stopped you.

Too tired.

The words made you let out a desperate, pathetic whine. 

“Please, Michael. We can be so, so quick. I promise, just give me ten minutes, and—”

He tutted, shaking his head. “No.”

It wasn’t like Michael to tell you no, and it honestly threw you for a loop. 

Your eyes instantly started to well up, and for a moment, it looked like you might actually burst into tears.

They weren’t tears of sadness, but of frustration. It had been so long since you’d gotten off. Seventy-seven days, to be exact. 

That wasn’t to say that he had ignored you while he was away. Michael had always been so good to you, even when he was on another continent. He’d stay up until two or three in the morning just to call you, and he’d let you talk for hours, even if it meant sacrificing his sleep. And he loved having phone sex. But even when he was talking you through it, you never could quite get off without him there in person.

Not that you’d ever told him that. Because this was Michael you were talking about, and you knew that the thought of you desperate and alone and unable to do anything about it while he was halfway across the world would drive him crazy.

“Hey.” His voice softened, and he lifted a hand to your face, ghosting his thumb over your cheek. “Don’t cry.” 

“I’m not crying.” You sniffed indignantly.

“Y’re about to.”

You frowned, willing the tears to go back where they came from. This was ridiculous. You were acting like a spoiled brat, and you knew it. He’d just performed a sixteen-song set in front of tens of thousands of people. Of course he was tired. 

And now you had him looking at you all concerned, like he was worried you were going to have a mental breakdown over him exercising his right to say no to you.

“Talk to me, baby. What’s really goin’ on?” “I just missed you.” You shrugged, looking down and fiddling with the metallic belt buckle—no longer to try and get it off, but to give yourself something to do besides watching him peer directly into your soul.

“I missed you too. But y’re not usually this…” He trailed off, grasping for the word. “Impatient.” 

“I couldn’t get off while you were gone.” You mumbled so quietly that he didn’t catch it the first time.

“What?” “I couldn’t get off while you were gone.” You repeated yourself more clearly, your face growing hot.

“Oh, baby.” 

There it was. The sympathy. 

You didn’t say anything back. You regretted saying anything at all.

“You coulda just told me that.” Michael grabbed your chin gently, forcing you to look at him. “You need this real bad, huh?”

That was a rhetorical question at this point.

“Tell you what… get up.” 

You stared at him like he’d just asked you to jump off a bridge. “What?”

“Get up. Go on.” He nudged you off his lap, and you reluctantly obliged, feeling humiliated.

“Take off your clothes for me.”

You looked confused, like you must not have heard him correctly. “I thought you said you were too tired to—”

Michael shook his head, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

“‘m not gonna touch you. Not tonight. But if you need to get off… y’re gonna get off. Now get rid of those clothes.”

You weren’t sure what was going through his head, but he was missing the whole point. You needed him to touch you. If he wasn’t going to do that, then having you undress in front of him seemed like an unnecessary cruelty.

“‘m gettin’ a little impatient here, pretty girl.” He yawned—he seriously had the audacity to yawn—stretching back in the chair and putting his hands behind his head. He was working a piece of gum with his jaw while he watched you, looking so casual that you wanted to scream. But you didn’t. 

Instead, you took off your shoes one at a time, tossing them aside. Then you reached behind yourself and unzipped your dress. Michael just watched you, not offering to help. It was very unlike him, but something about the way he was looking at you made your stomach flutter with anticipation.

The dress pooled at the ground by your feet, and you reached back to unclasp your bra, but Michael shook his head. “Leave it on. Underwear too.”

You dropped your hand and stood there, half naked, goosebumps rising on your skin from the cold in the room while you waited for his next instruction.

“C’mere.” He moved one hand to pat his leg, and you stepped forward like a marionette pulled by some invisible string, straddling his thigh.

“Now.” He put his hand back behind his head. “‘m gonna sit here just like this, and y’re gonna use my leg to make yourself come. Do you understand me?”

You understood the words coming out of his mouth, sure. But the concept of Michael sitting back and making you do everything yourself without laying a finger on you was so foreign that all you could do was look at him, dumbfounded.

He raised his knee slightly, right between your legs, and you let out a sharp gasp. “Answer me when I ask you a question, baby.” “Y-yes. Yes. I understand.” You nodded. 

Besides the big belt around his waist, he was wearing another, thinner one that wrapped around his thigh, the smaller metal buckles pressing right against your core. And when he bounced his leg like that, you suddenly understood exactly what he wanted you to do.

“Go on, then. Don’t got all day.” Michael nodded towards his thigh, and you blushed furiously. 

This was so embarrassing. This was so—

You tentatively rolled your hips once and groaned.

Oh, this was so good.

The cold, hard metal of Michael’s belt buckles and the lace fabric of your underwear created the most delicious friction as you ground against him, grabbing onto the other belt, the one around his waist, to use as leverage.

It felt so dirty—filthy, even—compared to what you and Michael usually did, but your baser instincts quickly took over as you alternated between short, quick jerks and long drags of your hips against him. Desperate, desperate movements that made your head tip back and your eyes fall closed, completely lost to the pleasure after months of nothing. 

Then Michael bounced his knee again and sent your eyes flying back open.

“Ah, ah. Keep those eyes on me, pretty girl. Wanna watch you work for it.”

His eyes were dark, nearly blacked out by his pupils, and the eye contact was so intense that you almost couldn’t stand it. But you forced yourself to keep looking at him, working your poor, sensitive clit against the rough of his belt.

“Michael, please. I need you to touch me. Please—”

“You really are desperate, aren’t you?” He sighed, but this time, his sympathy didn’t feel genuine. He was toying with you now, reveling in your frustration. “I already told you, this is what y’re getting tonight. You come like this, or you don’t come at all.”

You whimpered, but didn’t argue, jerking your hips more frantically now, chasing some kind of release.

“There you go. Make y’rself feel good, baby. You can do it.” He cooed, his sweet, familiar side peeking back out. If you hadn’t been so out of your mind, you might have noticed his hands twitching behind his head, straining with the effort it took not to touch you.

Almost subconsciously, he started to bounce his leg to meet your hips, helping you without meaning to, mumbling all sorts of sweet nothings about how pretty you were and what a good job you were doing.

“That’s my girl. Getting close, aren’t you?”

You nodded, grinding against his leg until it was almost painful, the coil in your stomach growing tighter and tighter until it finally shattered into a million pieces. You came moaning his name, your head falling forward onto his shoulder as you made a mess on his thigh.

The second your hips went still, Michael moved his hands from behind his head and wrapped his arms around you tight, burying his face in your hair.

“Hey, hey.” He whispered, rubbing soothing circles on your back. “You did such a good job, pretty girl. Such a good job.” Your eyes were teary when you pulled away, but you weren’t sure you’d ever felt so much relief in your life.

“‘m gonna take such good care of you in the morning. I promise.” He cupped your face in both hands, kissing you tenderly. 

Morning couldn’t come fast enough.

[y56n11]

◟♡ ˒ ʾʾ Michael Jackson is exceptionally clingy. You had spent most days over at his house, sleepovers, dinners, movie nights. It was becoming as natural as breathing to you.

But of course, something kept itching away at your mind. Maybe Michael didn’t know how to push you away, maybe he was too kind. He probably needed a break from you.

So instead of arriving at his house like usual, you stayed at your apartment. Usually around this time Michael would arrive home from his studio sessions.

You were sitting in your own bed, flipping through a magazine when a sharp, shrill ring came through the telephone beside you.

Your heart leapt at the sound, you picked up at the third ring. “Hello?”

“Where are you?” Michael instantly asked, wasting no time.

“I’m in bed. At my apartment.”

“Why are you over there?” Michael sighed, you could imagine him frowning on the other side.

“Because I live here?”

“Did I do something?” Michael asked, you couldn’t help but notice how his tone was a mixture of restlessness and frustration.

“What! No! No. Of course you didn’t, Michael. I just… I just thought you might need space-”

Before you could even finish your sentence, Michael cut you off. “I don’t need space. I miss you. I want you here with me, baby.”

your heart sped up at his words, twisting the cord around your finger trying to distract yourself. “I’ll have Bill pick you up okay? see you soon.”

“…okay.” The line went dead. And you realise how far from the truth your thoughts had been.

masterlist

Taglist: @lotuspetalss @lemmeseethosetoes @darkgreengrl @swag313gurl @axrithtiy

[mustangb3byy]

˖ ⭑ let’s keep it discreet | michael jackson ˖ ⭑

pairing: bad m.jackson x fem!reader.

synopsis: you’re michael’s makeup artist but also his secret girlfriend. before michael goes out on stage, you’re doing his makeup and he couldn’t resist you but also had to keep it discreet.

warnings: smut, fingering, slight hair pulling, slight choking.

a/n: this is based on this request, i hope you like it bby. i also love this idea so so so much.

the dressing room hums with the faint echo of the crowd beyond the door—the muffled roar barely contained, a beast waiting to be unleashed. michael sits in the chair, his leather jacket unzipped as he watches you in the mirror.

you lean in close, brush sweeping across his cheekbone with practiced precisions your fingers steady despite the heat radiating off his skin. the scent of his cologne—something expensive, musky—fills your senses as you work, your reflection hovering just behind his. his dark eyes track your every movement in the mirror, heavy lidded and hungry, watching the way your lips purse in concentration.

he shifts, his thigh pressing against yours under the pretense of adjusting his position. “almost done, beautiful?” his voice is low, a velvet purr that vibrates through your core. his hand slides up your arm, fingers tracing patterns only you can see, his thumb brushing the pulse at your wrist. outside, the stage manager knocks on the door—

you swallow hard, forcing your hand steady as you finish the last touch of highlight. michael’s gaze never leaves yours in the mirror, his thumb still idly caressing your wrist. the knock comes again, more insistent this time. “almost time, mike!” the stage manager shouts through the door. michael’s smile widens, all teeth and promise.

his eyes darken as you move to stand in front of him, your body blocking his view of the mirror. he spreads his legs slightly, pulling you between them without breaking eye contact. his hands find your hips, gripping them firmly as he watches you apply his eyeliner with meticulous care.

his grip on your hips tighten as you lean in closer, his breath ghosting over your lips with each exhale. the room fills with the scent of his cologne mixed with your perfume, creating a heady aroma that’s intoxicating.

his fingers dig into your hip bones, tugging you down onto his lap without waiting for permission. you catch yourself on his chest, your hands pressing against his leather jacket as you settle between his spread thighs. the eyeliner brush clatters to the floor.

“michael—“ you hiss, but the warning in your voice cracks when his lips brush your ear.

“shh,” he breathes against your neck, his teeth grazing your pulse point. his hands slide down to grip your ass, squeezing firmly as he settles you deeper against him. you can feel the hard length of him pressing against your thigh through his pants. “they can wait five minutes,” he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave. “or ten.”

the knock at the door sounds again. “michael, you ready?” his hand slides under the hem of your shirt, fingers digging into the bare skin of your waist. in the mirror beside you, you see his reflection—you see yourself straddling him, his hands on your ass, dark eyes burning with want. “be right there,” he calls back.

once he hears the footsteps retreat from the door, his hand works your shirt upward, exposing your breasts to the cool air. you gasp softly, your eyes widening as you realised what was going to happen.

he grabs your hand, pressing a soft kiss to your palm before guiding it down to his belt. his other hand cups your breast, thumb circling your nipple with practiced precision. you undo the buckle with trembling fingers, the leather hissing as it comes free.

you whisper urgently, “michael, there are people right outside. we can’t—“ his lips silence you with a deep kiss, his hand squeezing your breast firmly to punctuate his refusal to stop. he unzips his leather pants one-handed, “shhh…”

you bite your lip hard to stifle a moan as his freed length pressed against your core through your panties. his hips roll upwards, rubbing against you in slow circles. his mouth trails open mouthed kisses down your neck, sucking a bruise onto your exposed collarbone. “michael…” you whimper quietly nails digging into his shoulders.

his hand slips into your panties, fingers sliding through your wetness. you clench around nothing before he pushes two fingers inside you, thumb pressing against your clit. his other hand covers your mouth to muffle your gasps as he finger fucks you silently in his dressing room. “quiet, beautiful.”

you nod frantically, tears pricking your eyes from the pleasure. the stage manager knocks again, “michael, we’re going on soon!” michael doesn’t slow down. he curls his fingers deeper, hitting that spot that makes you weak.

“yes, okay. i’ll be there soon.” he answers back smoothly, voice steady despite his thumb working your clit.

you throw your head back, silent moan catching in your throat as he hits your sweet spot again. his fingers pump faster, harder, his mouth latching onto your breasts to suck and bite at the marks he’s made previously.

you grip his shoulders, trembling. your legs shake as pleasure builds, coiling tight. his voice is a whisper in your ear, “come for me, baby.” he adds a third finger, stretching you perfectly.

your orgasm crashes through you silently, body convulsing against his chest. you bury your face in his neck to muffle your cries, teeth grazing his skin hard enough to leave marks that you know you’ll need to cover up before he goes on stage.

his fingers pump relentlessly through your climax, milking every drop from you. “that’s it…” he draws out, chest heaving. “so good for me.”

he pulls his fingers out slowly, watching you come undone. his hand moves to his fly, freeing his aching length. he lifts your hips, positioning you over him, guiding you down onto his cock in one smooth motion. you gasp into his shoulder, biting down hard to stay quiet.

he grips your hips, setting the pace as you ride him slowly. each thrust draws a silent moan from your lips, swallowed by his shoulder. his free hand slides between your bodies, rubbing your clit in tight circles. “you feel so good,” he hissed through clenched teeth, jaw tight. “so tight, baby.” his hips snap upwards, meeting yours with hungry desperation.

he switches your position suddenly, bending you over the illuminated vanity. your reflection stares back at you—cheeks flushed, nipples hard against your shirt. he enters you from behind in one deep thrust. “look at yourself,” he orders quietly, gripping your hips.

you watch in the mirror as he pounds into you, your reflection’s head thrown back, mouth slightly parted in a silent scream. his dark eyes meet yours in the glass, watching your face contort with pleasure. his hand reaches around to circle your clot, rubbing hard as he drives into you relentlessly. “look at that face,” he whispers against your ear.

you’re trembling, the reflection of your body shaking violently as he fucks you against the mirror. his thumb presses down hard on your clit, his other hand tangling in your hair to pull your head back. you watch yourself come undone, his reflection looming behind you, intense and focused.

you watch yourself unravel, biting your lip and closing your eyes to hold back loud cries. “michael…michael, fuck.” you whimper softly as he hits that perfect spot deep inside. he smirks in the mirror, knowing exactly what he’s doing to you. he untangles his hand from your hair to grab your chin, forcing you to watch him fuck you. “keep your eyes on the mirror, sweetheart.”

your body convulses, pussy clamping down around his thick length. he groans, biting his lip to stay quiet as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm.

right as your orgasm peaks, there’s another knock at the door. you jerk forward silently, eyes wide in the mirror. michael’s hand flies to cover your mouth completely. muffling your cries. his hips never stop moving, fucking you through your silent climax.

“michael, we’re about to go on!” the door handle jiggles slightly. you freeze, eyes locking with his in the mirror. he kisses your shoulder, a silent reassurance as his hand stays firmly pressed over your mouth. his other hand grips your hip, holding you still while he fucks you slowly, deliberately—the kind of movements that make you want to scream.

his hand pressed harder against your mouth, swallowing your moans as he thrusts deep one final time. you clench around him, trembling violently against the vanity. he holds himself still inside you, breathing heavily against your neck. “yeah, yeah,” he calls out, voice steady despite his racing heart. “just finishing up, i’ll be out in a minute.” his fingers fingers trace lazy circles on your hip.

the footsteps fade away. michael groans softly, forehead dropping to your shoulder as he releases inside you. you feel his hot release filling you, body shuddering with each pulse. he withdraws slowly, groaning quietly against your skin. “fuck…” he breathes, breathless. “that was close.” he reaches for a tissue, cleaning you up with gentle hands.

you straighten up shakily, wobbling on unsteady legs. he helps you fix your clothes and hair. his eyes meet yours in the mirror, dark and satisfied. “you okay, baby?” he whispers, kissing your temple.

you nod silently, still processing the quick, intense fuck against the vanity. he smiles softly, running a hand through your hair before turning to the mirror to fix his own appearance. as he adjusts his jacket, he glances back at you with a wink. “showtime.”

you grab his face gently, kissing him deeply and passionately. he kisses you back intensely for a moment before pulling away slightly. “i love you,” you whisper against his lips. “go kill it out there.” he smiles, pressing one more quick kiss to your mouth.

“i love you more, baby,” he whispers back, thumb brushing your cheek gently. he hesitates for a second, clearly wanting to say more, but the stage managers voice calls again from the hallway. with one last look, he squeezed your hand and leaves the dressing room, the door clicking shut behind him.

you stand in the empty dressing room, catching your breath. your reflection shows flushed cheeks and a satisfied smile. you can still feel him inside you, his claim marked on your skin. you trace the hickey on your neck in the mirror, grinning as you hear wanna be startin’ something blast through the arena speakers.

[ilovenycee]

[imhaechanshoe]

STOP THE LIVE 𖥻 JERMAJESTY JACKSON

synopsis: you go live on instagram for fun and your freakass boyfriend won’t leave you alone.

requested by annon.

the glow from your phone illuminates your face in the dimly lit room. you're propped up against a mountain of pillows, hair wrapped in a silk scarf, comfortable in your favorite oversized sweatshirt. it's late, past midnight, but the instagram live request notifications kept flooding in until you finally gave in.

"alright, alright, i'm live," you laugh, tapping the button. "y'all are so impatient."

within seconds, comments start rolling in:

"it's about time!" "you look cozy af" "what you watching?"

you shift the phone to show the tv briefly. "just rewatching insecure for the millionth time. this episode gets me every time."

comments pour in:

"the thanksgiving episode?!" "issa and lawrence forever 😭" "molly needs to chill sometimes fr"

you nod. "see, y'all get it. molly be doing too much sometimes, like girl, relax. lawrence was wrong but issa wasn't exactly innocent either…"

you're mid-sentence when you feel the bed dip behind you. a pair of arms wrap around your waist, pulling you back against a warm chest.

"don't answer that," jermajesty's voice is low, right by your ear.

you jump slightly, laughing. "bae, i'm on live."

"so?" he nuzzles into your neck, completely unconcerned.

the comments explode:

"omg who is that" "jermajesty?!?!?" "the way he said so???" "protective king energy"

you roll your eyes playfully. "y'all calm down. this is just jermajesty being his usual annoying self."

"annoying?" he tightens his grip around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder now. "i don't think i'm annoying. i think i'm affectionate."

the comments go wild:

"🤤🤤" "he can be affectionate with me anytime" "the voice??? i'm weak"

you try to continue your original topic. "stop talking 'bout my man. anyway, as i was saying about insecure—"

"why you talking about some tv show when i'm right here?" jermajesty's hands start roaming under your sweatshirt, tracing circles on your stomach.

you squirm, trying to maintain composure. "because that's what we were discussing before you interrupted."

comments are flooding in faster than you can read:

"the hands???!??!" "he's not playing fair" "end the live before we see something we can't unsee" "or don't end it 👀"

"jermajesty, stop playing," you whisper, trying to push his hands away subtly.

"i'm not playing," he murmurs against your neck, his breath warm. "i'm bored. and you look good. and i want attention."

the comments are a mix of laughter and warnings:

"he said what he said" "boy she on live" "this is not the time or place" "actually i think it's the perfect time and place"

you clear your throat, trying to steer the conversation back. "so uh… what's your favorite episode? mine is probably when they went to that malibu trip and—"

jermajesty's hand slides higher under your sweatshirt. "remember that time we went to malibu? you wore that red bikini…"

your eyes widen. "jermajesty!"

comments are going insane:

"omg he did not" "the audacity" "he tryna get y'all in trouble" "i'm living for this"

you adjust the camera angle slightly away from you. "alright y'all, i think we're gonna have to end this here before—"

"before what?" he's grinning against your skin now, fully aware of the effect he's having. "before i remind everyone how we spent that weekend?"

comments are barely readable they're coming in so fast:

"he's really doing this" "end it girl end it" "no let him cook" "i'm praying for y'all's internet connection right now"

you cover your face with one hand, laughing despite yourself. "jermajesty, i swear to god—"

"what?" his voice drops even lower. "don't act like you don't remember. that balcony, the sunrise, your legs wrapped around—"

you abruptly end the live, dropping the phone onto the bed.

"jermajesty!" you turn to face him, cheeks hot.

he's just grinning, completely unrepentant. "what? i was just reminiscing."

"you were about to expose our entire business to 15,000 people!"

he pulls you closer. "good. let them be jealous." his lips find yours, and for a moment, you forget about the live, the comments, everything.

when you pull away, you playfully push his shoulder. "you're the worst."

"the worst that you love," he corrects, already moving to kiss you again.

you laugh, shaking your head. "definitely the worst that i love."

© 𝑖mℎ𝑎𝑒𝑐ℎ𝑎n𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑒

[ap-ple-head]

not to be too horny in the middle of the day but someone has to have written a bad era belt grinding fic by now, right? right???

please don’t make me write it I just want to read