20s | black | pan
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hello vonnie
RMH
Sade Olutola
Show & Tell

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
NASA

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
ojovivo
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occasionally subtle

Discoholic 🪩

oozey mess
todays bird
One Nice Bug Per Day
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Not today Justin
DEAR READER
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noise dept.
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@sugarcookiemj
20s | black | pan
requests are always open. minors dni
paparazzi!reader x mature!michael
⟡ ۫ . 🧁 — you always sorta stood out to him, not only because you were a woman amongst a sea of cruel, sweaty men with ill intention, but you always came off calm and respectful. it was hard not to notice you.
you always spoke with a soft, polite tone, and he noticed you had stickers on your camera. he always wondered if you guys used personal cameras or rented them out? he’d assumed in this case it was one of your own.
you always asked him the sweetest questions, how were his kids doing? how was he liking the hotel he was in? is there a specific brand of orange juice that’s better than others? what’s his favorite thing about producing a record?
he really appreciated how kind you were, he couldn’t help but wonder how you became part of a group known for being so vile and at times inhumane. you even gave him gifts! whenever you saw something you felt as though he’d like, you’d gift it to him and he cherished them. a little mickey mouse keychain, another time a peter pan figurine, and a set of tinker bell stickers, similar to the ones on your camera.
sometimes he’d ask you not to get close ups, do a wide body shot, and without hesitation you’re giving a thumbs up to his direction.
he’d tell you how nice you were and how much he appreciates it, since it’s one of the times he’s caught you alone he’d even pose for a few photos. maybe even sharing a hug at the end, he honestly admires your respect.
would sometimes ask about the camera you’re using and what kind of lenses you use, and if you ever desired to do more with your talent. he’s seen the photos you’ve taken of him and they feel more tasteful and intentional than what the average pap takes. the two of you would end up having a heartfelt conversation about careers and childhood, what even led to you pershing this career in the first place.
it get to the point where he even invites you too his home. and you tell him how he’s overly trusting and he’d nod in agreement, “i’ve heard.”
and your so sweet and pretty and he wants to see you again :33
𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝!𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥 𝐱 𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐳𝐲!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫!
ᥫ᭡. a michael jackson headcanon
a/n: this has been in the drafts for a minute. I'm not a huge fan of how it turned out, but hopefully someone enjoys! I have been wanting to continue this concept, but have been struggling.
˚⟡˖ ࣪ sugarboyfriend!michael who pays for an array of items, including food and decorations for your all girls sleepover.
˚⟡˖ ࣪ sugarboyfriend!michael who begs to come over to your girls only sleepover. He says your over-the-top karaoke performances looked so fun! He peeked in the last time, and saw the disco balls, flashing lights, and dancing, and wanted to join in!
ᝰ.ᐟ mature!michael thigh riding humiliation kink happy marriage size kink (if you squint) mentions of ed and michael just loving his wife so much that he let you get off on him.
+18 mdni you were known as michaels beautiful wife. a title that felt less like a label and more like a permanent state of grace. in the frantic, neon-soaked landscape of the 90s, you were the "it" girl, the name that rippled through every room. comedians made jokes about his luck, and a-list celebrities would pause mid-interview just to mention how he finally looked settled because of you. you carried a quiet, effortless elegance, a magnetic confidence that drew men in, yet you remained inherently gentle, a soft-spoken warmth that acted as the perfect counterbalance to the whirlwind of the king of pop.
your marriage was the world’s favorite headline, anchored by the iconic, million-dollar diamond that caught the flash of every camera lens. but to you and michael, that rock was just a symbol of the two decades you had spent tethered to one another. your love story wasn't a sudden spark, it was a slow-burn evolution, beginning when he was just a young man in his twenties, still finding his feet.
you were his constant. you were the one who spent endless, caffeine-fueled hours sitting in the corner of recording studios, becoming the silent backbone to his genius. you were the steadying hand that helped him navigate the complexities of his massive charitable efforts, the one who saw the children in need and knew exactly how to make his resources count.
more than anything, you were his fortress. whenever the press turned vultures, whenever the lights became too blinding or the interviews turned into interrogations, you were the first voice to rise in his defense. when the world tried to tear him apart with rumors and malice, you didn't flinch. you stood on the front lines, refusing to be shaken, preaching his innocence with a conviction that silenced skeptics. you weren't just his partner, you were the only person who saw the man behind the music, and in every room you entered, the world knew that as long as you were by his side, michael was protected.
you were michael’s everything, the center of gravity in a life that was constantly pulling him in a million different directions. he loved you with a devotion that went deeper than skin, cherished every layer of who you were, the woman, the soul, the wife. he spent his life thanking god for the stage and the records, but he knew in his heart that you were the greatest blessing he had ever received.
but even in the sunlight of your marriage, there was the shadow of his old habits. michael had spent a lifetime at war with his own body, his schedule so relentless and his nerves so frayed that he’d often forget food entirely. he’d been painfully thin for as long as anyone could remember, a fragile frame that seemed to mirror his own inner restlessness.
then you arrived, and everything changed. you became his caretaker in the most intimate sense. you were the one who made sure he didn't just survive on coffee and adrenaline, but actually thrived on the meals you prepared with your own hands. you became the gatekeeper of his health, sliding nutritional plates in front of him and leaving little snacks in his path throughout the day just to ensure he stayed fueled.
slowly, the sharp edges of his youth began to soften. he gained a healthy, solid weight, his frame filling out until he was no longer the waif-like boy the world had known, but a man, beefy, substantial, and grounded.
and you absolutely loved every second of it.
there was something intoxicating about the way his clothes fit him now. he would slide into a tailored suit, but the fabric couldn't hide the soft, delicious pudge that peeked through the crisp material of his dress shirt. his thighs, once thin and angular, had thickened into heavy, sturdy pillars. it drove you to distraction. your mind would wander into dangerous territory, imagining him sitting back in a leather armchair, his posture relaxed, while you slowly spread your legs and ground your hips against the solid, satisfying meat of his thigh, feeling every bit of that manliness you had helped him build. it was a physical manifestation of your care, and it was a hunger that you both seemed to share.
you were a blur of needy, desperate motion, completely uninhibited by the luxury surrounding you. you were folded over his thigh, your legs spread wide, the only thing covering your skin being one of his oversized, soft t-shirts and the lace panties that were already ruined, heavy and soaked with your slick. you ground your hips against the firm, muscular meat of his leg, a low, rhythmic friction that was driving you both to the brink of insanity. soft, broken whimpers spilled from your puffy, parted lips, echoing against the quiet comfort of the room.
michael leaned back, his head against the velvet cushion, his large, warm palm anchored firmly on your hip. he wasn't just watching, he was guiding you, his thumb tracing the curve of your bone, helping you find the exact spot where the friction felt like fire.
“tha’s it, mama,” he rasped, his voice thick with a mixture of pride and pure, unadulterated lust. “you’re so beautiful.”
you let out a guttural groan, your back arching as he flexed his thigh muscle directly against your aching clit. the contact was electric, sending a sharp, white-hot jolt through your nervous system. you threw your head back, your hair tumbling over your shoulders as you moved in tight, desperate circles, trying to grind yourself into him. michael bit his bottom lip, his gaze dropping to watch the way your body reacted, the way you were so hungry for him that you couldn't even keep still, riding his leg with a raw, primal intensity that made his heart race.
the bulge in his dress slacks was massive, a straining, undeniable knot of hunger that made the fabric feel like it was about to snap. he watched, mesmerized, as the dark, telltale patch of your slick began to bloom across the fabric of his trousers, marking him, claiming him. your hips started to stutter, your rhythm becoming uneven as that familiar, agonizing heat began to knot tight and heavy in the center of your abdomen.
michael hummed, a low, vibrating sound of encouragement that made your skin prickle. “you feel good, baby? look at you go.”
a whimper of pure, mortified pleasure escaped you, but you were too far gone to care about the embarrassment. you nodded, your eyes fluttering shut as you quickened your pace, chasing that elusive, agonizing pleasure. your mind started to fragment into flashes of white-hot static. your palms, flat against his chest, began to shake, and a sharp, breathless hiccup escaped your throat, signaling that the knot in your stomach was finally ready to snap.
“i can’t believe you, wanting to ride my thigh ‘til you cum,” he teased, his voice a low, gravelly rumble against the quiet.
“so dirty.”
your toes curled hard against the fabric of the sofa, your eyebrows creasing as you tried to maintain your rhythm through the haze. “s...stop making fun f’me,” you gasped, the words barely audible over your ragged breaths.
“i’m not,” michael clicked his tongue, his expression turning soft and reverent. he leaned back, his chin resting between his index finger and thumb, watching you with an intensity that felt like a physical touch. “i’m admiring my gorgeous wife.”
the way he said it, so proud, so deeply in love, pushed you over the edge. as you chased that final, shimmering wave of pleasure, your hips stuttered, and the tight, agonizing knot in your stomach finally snapped. a wave of relief crashed over you, your sweet, love-slicked juices soaking deep into the fabric of his trousers. your eyes were blown wide, pupils dilated with a mixture of raw lust and the overwhelming love you held for the man beneath you.
michael didn’t wait for you to catch your breath. he reached forward, his large, warm palms firm as they grabbed the soft flesh of your ass, pulling you down and crashing his lips against yours in a hungry, possessive kiss. he tasted your sweetness, his tongue tangling with yours as he held you close, anchoring you against him.
he was yours, completely and utterly, and he wouldn't have it any other way. he would let you use him, take from him, and claim him in any way you desired. because at the end of every long day, he knew the truth, you were his beautiful wife, his everything, and there was nothing he wouldn't do to make you feel as cherished as he made you feel in this moment.
taglist: @califoreigner @dollhabits @jules777777 @holyfujjj / if your not added it’s because I can’t find your blog 🥲
MICHAEL JACKSON // (14/∞) Thriller 40: The Album That Changed It All
MICHAEL JACKSON // The Sonny and Cher Show in October 1976 (01/∞)
Michael Jackson ♔ Thriller 40 (documentary film)
GIMMIE
my disco baby 🪩
i need to tap into bad era!mike more hmm
pervy otw!michael being a panty theif :D (not proofread)
you’ve spent many a day at hayvenhurst, at this point it was safe to call it your second home. very familiar with the family, it was common for you to spend days, weeks, at times months at their residence. their doors were always open for you. this also means spending long nights, and tedious days. a girls gotta change clothes at some point! fortunately for michael he’d convince you to make his bedroom your return base for changing and sleeping. it’s like old times!
so it was only a matter of time before he spotted a pair of discarded panties on the floor of his bedroom. dainty as frail the way they’ve been forgotten, he’s so delirious from the sight it’s almost as if the cotton is taunting him. in hindsight the underwear kind of blended in, michael has a pretty busy room. but to him, it revealed itself blatantly.
the god-sent angel on his shoulder tells him to throw them in your sleepover bag, call in a sister. however, the devil on his shoulder says to pocket them. she wouldn’t notice..
with wonders of what he should do he has a mental battle with is conscious, but not long after lust has revealed itself as the decision maker.
he carefully peers behind his shoulder for any sign of nearby company before sneakily swiping the fabric into his large hands, and stuffing them beneath his pillow for later.
when later comes and it’s due to him being ‘exhausted’ and tired, he skips out on the planned activity you and his siblings scheduled for the day. he had something entirely different planned for his late afternoon.
a burnt orange glow casts a twinkly ambiance through the window shades and into his room. the setting is soft and comfortable, perfect for the plans he’s set to achieve. michael’s sat in his bed, hands steady as they lay at his sides. that angel and devil make their way back to his consciousness, face written with a mixture of guilty excitement and anxiety.
what if someone where to catch him, what if someone finds out, could someone secretly be listening? are his ancestors watching wishing they could slap him on the wrist?
but again that overwhelming weight of lust has him unconsciously reaching beneath his pillow. he thumbs at the fabric, lids heavy, and blinking slowly when he stares down at it. the material is worn, velvety and soft to the touch. and you’ve been marinating in it all day yesterday. your slit probably swallowed these panties whole, and he knows this fabric is drenched with your scent. so it’s only fair he tests his assumption.
with hesitance he slowly brings the crotch of the underwear to his nostrils, subtly halting before he allows himself the blissful experience of taking his first whiff.
his semi hardens to its fullest in an instant, head lulled back in lustful satisfaction, eyes nearly knocked to the back of his head. something too mentally and physically stimulating, you smell exactly how he assumed you would.
he knows he should feel guilty, he should feel perverted, disgusting, even untrustworthy. instead he feels a dark tinge of excitement. his mouth salivates at the sight of your worn out panties delicately woven through his fingers, he wants to mouth at it so bad. just place the tip of his tongue where your pussy once was, a tiny little taste wouldn’t hurt.
a filthy animal is what he is, lapping against the fabric, poisoning his senses with the natural smell of your pheromones. spit slick lips soil the panties now, a wet spot currently showing clear evidence that your underwear’s been tampered with. his free hand has made itself comfortable gripping at his thigh, dangerously close to where his need has grown, tip engorged and desperate the way it’s being neglected beneath this cursed denim.
there’s a twinge of desperation that shakes beneath his breath when he breathes, finally deciding to put the nail in the coffin.
fabric is placed directly on the tent in his pants, and he can’t help but give a soft hiss at the pressure he’s applied. poor, hard shaft twitchy and achy. he’s pathetic when he bucks into his palm, hips rolling against himself slowly and intentionally. he wants to drag out each rut. his eyes are fixated at the scene unfolding, memories and thoughts of you flash in and out of his awareness with each jerk of his hips.
“please forgive me, please forgive me.” his voice is hushed and whispered, abandoning his need to whine. his jaw is tight, and that familiar bloom spreads through his abdomen rather quickly. that coil getting tighter and tighter the longer he goes, he hadn’t even noticed he was forming a thin layer of sweat on his forehead.
the friction from his jeans, down to the actions being played in front of him, his brain is swallowed with a pussy-drunken haze. soft pants that break into low squeaks, and he can feel the edge of his mind teetering on blanking.
and right when that coil was on its way to snapping, a chest tightening knock, loud and sharp against his wooden door..
paparazzi!reader x mature!michael.. #thinking
I better see all of y’all still active in this fandom, in the two year interlude between Michael and pt 2
I do NOT want to go back to MJJcommunity forums to sleuth and find active fans or rely solely on wattpad or the dry ass tag on ao3 that was a waking nightmare
mature!michael 𝔁 partyprincess!reader
wait…
i need him so bad
off the wall michael falling in love with midnight ballerina!reader who wants absolutely nothing to do with him because he’s too sweet and far too innocent for her, and she’s lowkey mean about it but he keeps visiting her like a lost puppy because he’s smitten. he’s handing over crazy cash and becomes an accidental trick. michael is convinced he can save you and at some point during one of his visits he works up enough courage to say: “miss (stage name), can i.. see you with clothes on..?” and he thinks that’s a very okay way to ask you out. he’s literally sweating bullets and the glass in his hand is shaking.
you can’t even be mad because you heard him order the drink. and he asked for a “virgin screwdriver” ...... so it’s literally just orange juice. ANGEL BABY! (˃̣̣̥ᯅ˂̣̣̥)
again i ponder on pervy thriller! michael && la toya’s bsf!reader walk with me (18+) TW: slight bladder play!!
⟡ ۫ . 🧁 — slumber parties are a common ritual between you and la toya, i mean she lives in a huge home why not stay over! and janet doesn’t always wanna do the more traditionally girly things la toya wants to do, and with a house full of men she sick of this overbearing amount of testosterone. lucky for you, michael’s her favorite, so he’s almost like the third part of the party. it’s often the three of you work as a trio, even more often that you always somehow end up primarily with michael.
you could be changing into your pajamas for the night in one of the guest bathrooms and forget to close the door all the way, and he’s desperate to get the slightest glimpse. i mean anything, a thigh, your stomach, the curve of your ass. he’ll take anything, and he’s frantically glancing behind his shoulder in hopes he doesn’t get caught. head bobs around in hopes he can get a better look, bottom lip tucked beneath his teeth in anticipation. little does he know, you can feel him watching. michael’s always had an intense stare, so why not put on a bit of a show??
and later in the evening he thinks he’s in the clear until you, la toya, michael and marlon are watching a movie and marlon leans close to michael’s ear “did you get a good look earlier.” and michael genuinely forgets that he was peeping earlier. with a confused look he asks what marlon is talking about. and his eyes shift towards you on the couch, snuggled up with toya.
⟡ ۫ . 🧁 — something i had already noticed but was soon emphasized when i was searching for photos/videos, HE’LL KISS ANYBODYYYY. i do think he’d be a victim of being slutted out, but we’ll discuss that another time.
he loves to steal kisses, and pose it as something innocent. whenever he’s greeting you he’ll always press a kiss a little too close to your lips, and the thing about michael is most times he’s so annoyingly obvious. grip low on your hips, and his large palms take up so much space on your back, the hugs always linger a tad bit longer than they should. and of course his siblings notice it, and they just smirk amongst each other observing from afar.
or a brother will dare him to kiss you, knowing the two of you are into each other, and michael does it. i feel like kissing and hand holding are his weak spots in general. it’s truly the smaller things for him.
⟡ ۫ . 🧁 — he’s a pincher, a grabber, and a tickler. he’s loves to poke and prod at people in general, but especially you. so it’s not uncommon to see the two of you share a tickle fight on his bed or on the living room couch, in this particular moment it’s his bedroom floor.
watching you squirm and wiggle beneath him, hands desperately grabbing at his wrists in a weak attempt to push him off but to no success. he’s feeling so hard and so heavy it’s painful. tears are prickling your eyes, your grin is playful and wide, your thighs jiggle whenever you’re moving them around it an attempt to escape, but his fingers continue to find that sweet spot that makes your stomach tense. you try to get him back but he’s too skilled, suspiciously good at this.
your bladder can’t withstand this continual abuse, aware of your plea of severely needing the restroom, a devious gleam glazes over his widened irises. his eyes instinctively dart towards the swell of your thighs, you’re clenching. a terrible pursue at trying to hold it in.
his tickling hold a heavier hand now, and all of its weight presses directly on your bladder. the new pressure placed against your abdomen makes you mewl, and the eye contact the two of you share after is piercing.
⟡ ۫ . 🧁 — i’d like to assume like most, michael has a lot of empathy for people, he’s always been someone that feels deeply. he’s the tyler where if someone else is crying, he’ll more than like end up sharing those tears. but, in this specific circumstance—the tears bring him a sense of possessive relief.
michael secretly loves whenever you experience a break up, yes on one hand it’s torturous for him to witness someone he cares for so deeply feel so torn. on the other hand the result of needing to comfort you is something he truly enjoys doing.
you’re overly affectionate and clingy after a heart break, sometimes spending weeks at hayvenhurst. you’re whiny, and distraught, often sporting a puffy, teary eyed face that makes him a lot more excited than he’d openly admit. you’re crying into his lap, slaty tears pool into a wet spot on his pants.
and now you have yet another reason to whine cause you’ve soiled michael’s pants, you mindlessly aim to wipe the stain away with the palm of your hand, but you’re quick to realize how pointless that is. simultaneously michael is battling every muscle in his being not to jerk against you, he squeezes his eyes shut when the weight of your head returns to his lap. his hips are twitching and he’s pathetically trying to control his breath and keep a poker face, praying you haven’t caught wind of the annoyingly obvious lump in his jeans.