ᴀʟʟ ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ꜱᴀʏ ɪꜱ ʏᴇꜱ | ᴍɪᴄʜᴀᴇʟ ᴊᴀᴄᴋꜱᴏɴ
، summary𓈒 During the WMA (World Music Awards) in 1996, Diana dirty ass sat in your man’s lap and you obviously caught an attitude about it because Michael ate that shit right up.
، pairing𓈒 michael jackson x hip-hop artist!black reader
، warnings𓈒 Diana dirty ass, no use of y/n, praise, Michael’s obliviousness, oral sex (f receiving obviously), slightly dom!reader for a good lil second.
، notes𓈒 literally love this man downnn but I hate writing moaning dialogues...that shit blows me ngl. And i did proofread, so yeah...Enjoy.
The backstage chaos of the 1996 World Music Awards in Monte Carlo was a dizzying blur of flashing cameras, and towering security guards. The energy in the Salle des Étoiles was suffocatingly thick with the scent of expensive champagne, heavy perfumes, and just pure raw adrenaline.
You were currently leaning back in a plush leather chair in your private dressing room, trying to let your wardrobe team finish the final touches on your look. As one of the top tier hip hop and R&B artists dominating the charts, the pressure tonight was immense. You had a massive, high energy performance scheduled, and the stakes were sky high and you had ended up doing your thing– yada yada yada. Your performance had the entire arena on their feet, Michael Jackson being your number one hype man, cementing exactly why you were the definitive leading lady of the charts. You had already walked up to that podium three times to accept your own trophies, looking absolutely stunning, speaking your mind, and representing for the culture on a global stage.
But honestly? Your mind wasn't even entirely on your set. It was on your man.
Michael was having a historic, earth shattering night. You had watched from the wings earlier as he took the stage for "Earth Song," delivering a performance so visually stunning and spiritually devastating that it left half the venue in tears. And then came the sweep. The man was practically clearing out the trophy room. One by one, he took home five record-breaking awards: World's Best-Selling Male Pop Artist, World's Best-Selling Male R&B Artist, World's Best-Selling American Male Recording Artist, World's Overall Best-Selling Male Recording Artist, and the holy grail— World's Best-Selling Record of All-Time for Thriller. You had been beaming, clapping until your hands were raw, so incredibly proud of him.
Until the seating arrangements played you.
Because of protocol and the intense media glare, you couldn't sit directly next to Michael during the broadcast. Instead, you were positioned just a few rows back, keeping up professional appearances. That gave you a front row seat to the exact moment she, Diana Ross, had done a whole tribute, looking every bit the legendary diva she was. But as she started singing "Ain't No Mountain High Enough," she decided to take the performance off the stage and into the audience. You watched, your face instantly freezing into a mask of pure, unadulterated composure, as Diana made a straight beeline for Michael’s front-row seat.
Before anyone could even blink, she dropped her tomato looking ass right down onto Michael’s lap.
And Michael? Oh, he ate that shit right the fuck up.
Your chest tightened, a hot flash of pure irritation hitting your bloodstream. Diana Ross or not, she is sitting on my man's lap. It felt deeply disrespectful, and under normal circumstances, you didn't play those types of games. At all. You didn't care about the history, you didn't care about the "mentor" title. Every instinct in your body wanted to roll your eyes, break character, and let the attitude show. But you knew the cameras were scanning the crowd for a reaction. You knew the media would love nothing more than to create a certain narrative about the young R&B queen being pressed. So, you held your composure like the absolute professional you were. You kept your spine straight, your chin up, and a polite, completely blank expression on your face, but internally, the ledger was marked. Michael was going to have some explaining to do because Instead of being surprised or pulling back like a man who knew his woman was sitting three rows behind him, a massive, brilliant smile split his face. He let out that high pitched, breathless giggle, his eyes crinkling up as he wrapped his long arms tightly around Diana's waist, hugging her close while she sang right into his face. He was swaying with her, looking completely charmed, totally lost in the moment. Behind him, your jaw tightened just a fraction, your fingers digging into the fabric of your designer gown. Like; Bitch, I will slap you right here in Monaco. I don't give a fuck if the whole world watching.
The second the curtain closed on the final bows, because yes Diana’s dirty ass was last, Michael ended up being surrounded by a wall of people, his five awards being carried in his hands. The area outside was a chaotic zoo of security, executives, and photographers, wanting to get pictures of the man. His schedule was supposed to be brutal; his security team had a private jet fueled and waiting to fly him straight back to the states so he could return to the set of his Ghosts film project. And you were supposed to fly back to Los Angeles separately because of that but you didn't care about Ghosts right now. You just wanted to get back to your hotel suite, rip this tight dress off, and breathe.
But Michael knew you. And more importantly, he had caught your eye from across the room right after the Diana incident while you were taking pictures with your trophies. He saw that brief, icy look in your gaze beneath your beautiful smile, and he knew he wasn't going anywhere near a film set tonight until things were right between you.
He blew off his itinerary, ordered his security to redirect his transport, and slipped completely under the radar to your private luxury hotel suite overlooking the Mediterranean Sea.
When the knock came at your door around two hours later, you already knew who it was. You opened the door, still wearing your glamorous makeup having traded your gown for a silk robe. You leaned against the doorframe, crossing your arms, staring at him.
Michael stood there still partially in his stage attire, his dark hair framing his face, looking a little nervous. He didn't have his usual entourage; he had slipped away with just Bill keeping watch down the hall.
"Hey," he said softly, his voice a tentative, breathy murmur.
"Hey," you replied, keeping your tone flat, cool, and entirely unbothered. "Thought you were supposed to be on a flight back to the Ghosts set, superstar. Five awards wasn't enough? You trying to get fired from your own film?"
Michael winced slightly, stepping past you into the dimly lit, lavish suite as you closed the door. "I canceled the flight for tonight. I pushed the shoot back two days."
"Oh, really?" You walked over to the wet bar, pouring yourself a glass of wine, your silk robe whispering against your thighs. "Why would you do that?"
Michael followed you, his long strides closing the distance until he was standing right behind you. The heat radiating off his body was immense, still carrying that electric, post-performance energy. "Because I saw your face tonight. And I know you're mad at me."
You turned around slowly, leaning your lower back against the bar, looking up into his dark, apologetic eyes. "Mad? Why would I be mad, Mike? You won five awards. Diana Ross gave you a whole lap dance on international television. Looked like you were having the time of your life."
"It wasn't a lap dance," he protested quickly, a small, high pitched giggle of pure nervousness escaping him before he caught himself. He stepped closer, trapping you between his arms as he rested his hands on the bar on either side of your hips. "You know how Diana is. She’s...she’s like family, she’s always done theatrical things like that. It’s just show business, baby. I didn't invite her to do that, I swear."
"I don't care who she is," you said, your words slipping out heavy and sharp now that you were behind closed doors. "Family or not, that's my lap she was sitting on. And you sat there all smiles and shit, letting her sing in your face in front of all the cameras. It looked crazy, Michael. And you know I don't play them messy-ass games."
"I know. I know you don't," he murmured, his demeanor shifting instantly from defensive to entirely submissive, his voice dropping into that deep, gravelly register he only used when said cameras were gone. He leaned down, his face inches from yours, his dark eyes locked onto your lips. "I hated it too, because all I wanted was you sitting there. I didn't want anybody else touching me. I was thinking about you the whole night."
"Mm-hmm," you huffed, trying to look away, but Michael reached up, his large, slender hand cupping your jaw, his thumb gently forcing your chin back up.
"Look at me," he whispered, his grip firm but incredibly tender. "I skipped my flight for you. I don't care about the film right now. I don't care about the awards. I came here to make it up to my girl. Let me make it up to you."
The intense, burning sincerity in his eyes began to melt your resolve. You let out a long, ragged sigh, your shoulders dropping. "I didn’t ask you to do any of that."
"I know," he breathed, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss against your lips. "I'm sorry. Let me fix it."
He didn't give you a chance to answer. He captured your mouth in a deep, hungry kiss that tasted like the raw, pent up adrenaline of the entire evening. He swirled his tongue against yours, pulling a soft moan from your throat as his other hand reached out, trying to grab your hand, but you pulled away, when your nose filled with the scent of heavy, shitty, old lady perfume causing your face to scrunch up in disgust. You put a hand on his chest, gently but firmly pushing hum away. "I can fucking smell her on you!" you snapped, your eyes locking onto his now wide ones. "Gosh! She knew exactly what she was doing. You a grown man, Michael. You know better. You supposed to be my man, but tonight you looked like her fucking fanboy. I’m sitting three rows back watching you hold another woman tightly around the waist while she all up in your face? No. We don't play that."
"I know, I know, you're right," Michael rushed out, steping closer, completely disregarding your personal space. He looked up at you through his eyelashes, his dark eyes wide and pleading. "I should have been more mindful. I was just caught up in the excitement of the night…the awards, the energy…I wasn't thinking. I'm so sorry, baby. Please look at me."
"No," you muttered, turning your back to him again. "Don't you got a film to shoot?"
"I just told you I don’t care about the shoot," he said firmly, his voice suddenly shifting, losing that timid edge. His large, slender hands came around your waist from behind. He pulled your back firmly against his chest, his grip tight and unyielding. You tried to twist out of his hold, but Michael was surprisingly strong when he wanted to be, especially when his adrenaline was pumping. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, his hot breath fanning against your skin.
"I'm not going anywhere," he whispered, his voice gravelly and deep against your ear. "I don't care about the set right now. I care about my girl. I'm not leaving this room until you know that you're the only one I want. The only one."
"Michael, stop," you grumbled, though your heart did a traitorous little flip at the sheer weight of his body pressing into yours. "You think you can just smooth this over?"
"I'm gonna try," he murmured, his lips pressing a slow, heavy kiss right against your jawline, his hands sliding down the silk of your robe to grip your hips, pulling you flush against him. "I'm gonna make it up to you all night…"
You just stared off into space, all dead eyed, while his lips grazed your neck. He really thought this was gonna erase everything that happened, having the audacity to try to charm his way out of the doghouse after being dead wrong.
"Get your hands off me, Michael, for real," you snapped, twisting your torso sharply until his grip broke. You stepped a foot away from him, your eyes flashing with absolute fire as you looked him up and down. "I just told you I can smell that heavy ass perfume she wears all over you, it’s making me sick to my stomach, and then you gonna move closer. Like what the fuck..."
Michael’s face fell instantly, a flash of hurt and panic crossing his features as he stepped back, completely reluctant but listening to the sheer authority in your voice. He let his arms drop to his sides, looking at you with a heavy, lost expression, completely misinterpreting the ice in your demeanor. He truly thought you were done with him for the night, that this situation had crossed a line he couldn't repair, and with a slow, defeated sigh, he turned on his heel and began to walk toward the double doors of the suite.
But…was it really that serious? It was...but you were sitting there thinking you could get some kind of lick off this - literally. You bit your lip and sucked your teeth before you even let a word slip.
"I didn't tell you to leave," you called out, stopping him dead in his tracks before he could take more than three steps. "I told you to get your hands off me."
Michael froze, his back still turned to you, his shoulders rising and falling with a tense, heavy breath as the shift in the room's energy hit him. You didn't say another word, letting the silence stretch out agonizingly as you deliberately leaned your backside against the edge of the mahogany wet bar, swirling the remaining white wine in your glass before tilting your head back and downing the rest of the alcohol in one smooth swallow.
You set the empty glass down on the counter with a sharp, echoing clink, locked your eyes onto the back of his head, and said, "Get on your knees and eat my pussy."
The raw, unfiltered command hung heavily in the air, thick with your attitude and an undeniable, intoxicating power. Slowly, Michael turned back around, his eyes incredibly dark, heavy lidded with a sudden, raging heat as he took in the sight of you draped against the bar. He didn't say a single word. He just began walking back toward you, his strides slow, deliberate, and entirely focused, his gaze locked hungrily onto your face as the space between you evaporated.
When he finally reached you, his towering frame casting a shadow over yours, he leaned his face down, his lips parted as he instinctively reached for your mouth to soften the tension with a deep, apologetic kiss. But you wasn't about to make it that easy for him; you quickly turned your head to the side at the very last second, causing his lips to land firmly against your flushed cheek instead.
A low, vibrating chuckle rumbled deep in Michael’s chest, his warm breath tickling your ear as he let out that raspy, quiet laugh because sometimes, when you got full of attitude and try to play tough, he just found it incredibly endearing. But your playful boundaries snapped instantly; you turned your head just enough to press a hard, bruising kiss right against the pulsing vein of his neck, before your hand flew up, your fingers wrapping around his shoulder in a fierce, unyielding grip that dug directly into his muscle. You used your entire weight to push him downward, and the second he felt the true intensity of your demand, the laughter completely died, his knees buckling instantly as he let you drive him straight down to the floor.
Michael went down without a single shred of resistance, landing heavily on his knees, because he was used to that, right between your thighs, his face now perfectly level with your waist. He reached up with large hands, parting the silk of your robe with a slow, reverent urgency until the fabric fell away from your hips, exposing your bare, smooth dark skin to the cool air of the suite. He didn't hesitate for a single second. He leaned his face entirely in between your legs, his hot breath fanning across your inner thighs just a beat before his tongue made direct, wet contact with the warmth of your pussy.
A sharp, breathless whine caught in your throat, your fingers instantly tightening around that same shoulder as he began to devour you. Michael didn't say a word, entirely focused on making up for every single second of the night’s disrespect with the sheer devotion of his mouth. He started with long, broad, agonizingly wet strokes from the bottom of your opening all the way up to your clit, his tongue working with a heavy, expert pressure that had your hips instantly jerking forward against his face and your jaw hanging as you released breathless moans.
The contrast of his soft, pristine image with the absolute, filthy hunger of how he was eating you out was driving you completely insane. He used his large hands to grip the undersides of your thighs, lifting your legs slightly and pinning them against his chest to open you up even wider, burying his nose and lips entirely into your slickness. You let out a high pitched, breathless squeal, your back arching off the bar counter as his tongue shifted into a frantic, swirling rhythm right around your sweetest spot. He sucked on your clit, pulling it into his mouth with a steady, torturous suction that made your knees wobble, your words slipping out in a string of broken, needy stammers as you begged him not to stop. "Oh, Michael...right ther- don't stop, please, baby…”
Michael only sucked harder, his hands squeezing your thighs so tightly his fingers left fading marks on your dark skin. He was completely relentless, swallowing down every single drop of your slickness, his breathing coming in heavy, muffled sounds against your skin as the scent of your arousal completely replaced whatever lingering perfume had been in the air before. He slid two of his long fingers deep inside you, pumping them in a fast rhythm that matched the frantic motion of his tongue, stretching you open and filling you up until you were a completely ruined, whimpering mess in his grasp.
You could feel the swell of your orgasm building like a tidal wave in the center of your stomach, your hands fiercely pulling at the collar of his shirt as your hips rolled helplessly against his mouth, entirely at the mercy of the silent, hungry wrecking ball on his knees before you. But Michael still wasn’t satisfied with how close he was. He wanted all of you. He wanted to bury himself so deep in your warmth that you couldn't tell where your body ended and his mouth began. Michael took his fingers out of your pussy and slid his hands from the undersides of your thighs down to your calves to grip them. In one smooth motion, he lifted your legs completely off the floor and hoisted them up, draping your knees heavily over his broad shoulders. The shift was instant and completely overwhelming; you were practically sitting right on top of his shoulders now, your pelvis tilted completely upward and thrust forward, leaving you entirely exposed and utterly helpless under his gaze.
A loud, high pitched shriek tore from your throat, your hands frantically reaching backward to grip the edge of the mahogany bar just to keep from falling completely over. "Oh my god, Michael—yes!" you panted, your head rolling back as the cool wood of the counter dug into your lower back.
Michael didn't give you a single second to adjust to the intensity of the angle. He brought his massive, slender hands down, wrapping his fingers completely around the thickest part of your thighs. He squeezed his grip until his knuckles turned white, digging his fingers into your dark skin with possessive strength. Using that iron grip for pure leverage, he braced his weight and shoved his entire face forward, pinning back your hips heavily against the hard edge of the bar, anchoring you so he could drive his face even deeper into your heat and so you couldn't flinch away from him even an inch.
"Yes, Michael…ah, right there, Mike, don't stop!" you panted, your words dissolving into raw, breathless stammers as his tongue struck that exact, agonizingly perfect sweet spot with an unyielding, frantic pressure. "Right there! Oh my gosh, you got it…just like that!"
Michael didn't need to be told twice. He devoured you with a primal, silent ferocity, completely deaf to anything but the wet, heavy sounds of his mouth working against your skin and the high pitched, needy whimpers escaping your lips. He sucked your clit into his mouth, his tongue swirling and flattening against you in a rhythmic, torturous pace while he brought his hand back so his long fingers could pump deep inside you, curling upward to hit you from the inside out. The double texturing of his tongue and fingers was entirely too much. Your hips began to jerk violently against his face, your toes curling in the air as the heat in your stomach continue to coil into a tight, unbearable knot.
"Yes, Michael, yes!" you whined, your eyes squeezed shut as your hips jerked involuntarily against his face. Your voice breathless, completely stripped of all that ice and attitude you’d had just minutes before. "Fuck! Yes!"
Michael didn't make a sound. The only response you got back was the tight, bruising squeeze of his hand on your thigh, anchoring you in place as he sucked your clit completely into his mouth while his fingers still pumped inside of you. He began to draw on it with a steady, deep suction, his tongue swirling fiercely around the head until your entire lower body went completely rigid. You were entirely trapped, your legs pinned over his shoulders while he literally drank from you, his nose inhaling the sharp, intoxicating scent of your arousal.
He slid another one of his of his long, smooth fingers straight back inside you, now pumping three of them deep and fast, his knuckles rubbing against your opening with a slick, heavy friction that matched the wild pace of his tongue. He was stretching you open, driving his fingers in to the absolute hilt, making a heavy, squelching sound that had your face burning with pure heat. You were a complete mess, your fingers clawing at the smooth wood of the bar behind you, as the pleasure built up so high it felt like static behind your eyes.
"Michael, please...I'm gonna- I'm about to..." you gasped out, your chest heaving as a heavy shudder ran straight down your spine. You tried to pull back, just an inch, just to breathe, but his grip on your thigh was an absolute vice, forcing you to take every single bit of the pleasure he was throwing at you. The wave crashed over you with a sudden, violent force. Your entire body went rigid, your back arching away from the bar as you completely camw right on his face, your walls clamping down on his fingers in an intense, pulsing sequence of release. You were soaking him, your slickness pouring out in a heavy rush that he eagerly swallowed down, his tongue never stalling, not even when your knees began to shake violently, his strong hands keeping your legs spread wide as he drank you in, proving to you with every single wet, heavy stroke that nobody else on that earth could ever hold a candle to how he loved you. You grind heavily through the entire duration of your climax until you were a completely trembling, vocal mess.
For a long, quiet minute, the only sound in the room was your ragged, shallow breathing. Michael slowly slid his fingers out of you and your legs off his shoulders, letting your feet find the floor, though your knees immediately buckled the second you tried to bear your own weight.
He caught you instantly. Rising from his knees, his face glistening in the dim light with the evidence of how well he’d just taken care of you, Michael slid his long arm around your waist. He held you up against his chest, completely bearing your weight because your legs were shaking so you couldn't have stood on your own if your life depended on it.
Still keeping his silence, he reached out with his other arm, grabbing a clean glass and the open bottle from the wet bar you were leaning against. He poured himself a slow drink. He took a slow sip, his throat bobbing, before setting the glass down, his eyes never leaving your flushed, exhausted face
That energy of his melted away, replaced by the deep, gentle adoration he always held for you. He then wrapped both arms around you securely, tucking your head underneath his chin as you leaned heavily into his warmth, your silk robe hanging loosely off your shoulders. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss directly to the crown of your head, his chest rising and falling against yours in a steady, calming rhythm, though yours was the complete opposite.
"I've got you," he whispered into your hair, his voice a soft, soothing melody of sweet nothings as he rubbed comfort into your lower back, walking you both to the bathroom to clean up. "I've got you, baby. You good. You're so good to me...I love you so much."