#the jacksons

[ebonymuse]

PERFORM FOR ME | M.JACKSON

synopsis: michael loves pleasing you so much he has to record it for his future self to enjoy too!

warnings: sexual themes, smut, 18+

Click!

And you froze.

The faintest giggle from Michael’s mouth brought you up for air — disconnecting your swollen lips from his own.

You, as Michael’s long-term girl, knew that he was a troublemaker at times — often pulling silly stunts to get a rise out of you and make you laugh. But, rather, in this sense, make himself laugh.

But this, was definitely a new one.

“Mike, what is that?”

Michael sported a childish grin — the corners of his lips tugging each side as he fought to suppress it.

“A camera.”

“I can see that, honey, but what’s it doing out while we’re kissin’?” Your tone had Michael pulling his bottom lip between his lips.

“Wanted to try somethin’.” He revealed, his voice soft and sweet despite the sensual undertone.

You’d barely been situated in Michael’s lap five minutes, lips moving feverishly against his own, anticipating some intimacy with your man, before the clicking of the Sony Handycam CCD-M8U you bought him for his birthday started a recording.

“Come on, baby, keep goin’.” He whispered — behaving like a producer backstage of a performance, using hushed tones to support you with your next act.

You shook your head in protest — lips parting to tell him to turn that damn thing off. But, it was Michael’s way or no way. He perched up from slightly beneath you, capturing your lips again on his own. You could sense the camera on you as Michael slid his eager tongue into your mouth — the wet muscle exploring yours as his right hand levitated in the air, capturing every second of your private moment. His spare hand slid up the centre of your spine, fingers tips tracing the dip, pushing you closer to his chest.

“Michael, turn it of—“ “Shh, just let it happen, doll.”

His muffled dismissal against your lips had you huffing into his — giving up fighting him. Luckily for Michael, you soon forgot about his little friend in the air — your enclosed lip-locking becoming increasingly more heated as time pursed. Your hips ground against his own involuntarily, muscle memory kicking in from your many previous sensual encounters, eliciting a sharp gasp from your throat. Michael hummed into your mouth at the sound of your first pretty noise of the night — the excitement of his future self watching the tape back and watching your neediness increase in real time had him buzzing.

Michael bucked his hips up to meet yours halfway — a genuine whine of desperation leaving your mouth against his own, still locked in a ferocious kiss. Your hands encased his flushed cheeks, holding him dearly close to you, your whines blossoming into authentic moans of pleasure as your throbbingly touch-starved clit nudged against the painfully obvious bulge in his slacks.

Your lips left Michael’s in a frantic, needy frenzy — planting hot, open-mouthed kisses to his jawline, lips dragging along the spectacularly chiseled bone, smothering the skin in your mauve lipstick. Before following his anatomy and furthering your pout down his neck, licking a tentative stripe down the slope.

Michael shuddered under your brutal teasing, hands twitching around the camera ever so slightly. He peered up at it, ensuring he was capturing you in the perfect way.

“Gosh, baby, y’look so pretty like that.” Michael breathed, titling his head back to allow you to expand your surface area of tentative licks, “Kissin’ all on me like that.”

At this point, all the sense you had to smack that camera out of Michael’s hand had long left your head. Now, all you were interested in was pressing hot kisses down Michael’s chest, shoving the loose shirt off his torso to give yourself more room to worship his body with your mouth.

Above you, Michael had managed to shift the camera angle down, now holding the painfully obvious equipment with two hands, resting on his heaving chest — angling it just right to show your arched frame moving down his body, lipstick marks forming on his glossed skin. Your manicured hands reached the waistband of his slacks before peering your head up from his crotch, eyeing him seriously, as if to say put that thing away now.

“Please?” His pleading, slightly whiny voice had any form of judgment you’d once obtained now ten feet out the window as his eyes sparkled above you — lip threatening to fall into a pout as the camera taped you rolling your eyes before unbuckling his trousers, shoving them down his thighs. Michael grinned excitedly as you pressed your chest close to the aching bulge in his boxers.

“Wow, you really do like that camera, huh?” You teased, tracing a calculated finger down the ridge of his hard cock.

Michael hissed at the sudden, feather-light touch, knuckles going white around said tech, lip being gnawed by his pearly whites at the sight of you between legs.

“Quit teasin’.” He spoke shyly, his eyes flicking between the screen and your in-person frame, an anticipatory smile on his face.

Usually, Michael would dislike it when you suck his dick — believing his lady should be pleasured and looked after, not made to strain herself for only his gain. But, he knew how you secretly enjoyed having your throat stuffed full, rendering completely at your mercy, so every once in a while, he’d allow it.

That and you looked so pretty with his cock in your mouth.

Especially on camera.

So, when your lips wrapped around the flushed head of his proud cock, Michael didn’t know whether to focus on making sure every second of this was caught on video, or the feeling of intense delight you were succumbing him to. You suckled the tip just how he liked, his salty, yet equally delicious, pre-cum flooding your taste buds, relishing in the way the perfect dip in his eyebrows adorned his face — he was crumbling.

“S-Shit, sweetheart, doin’ so good.” He panted, thighs tensing against your hands as you steadied yourself on the meaty muscle.

You slid him deeper, tongue dancing over the throbbing vein on the underside of his shaft, while your pretty fingers wrapped around the base, pumping him slowly in beat with your eager mouth. Michael watched you like a hawk — heart thumping in his chest so hard he was certain the tachycardia was going to send him into cardiac arrest at the way your seductive, doe eyes fluttered up at him through your lashes.

“Oh, Lord.” He heaved, head falling back against the pillow as the head of his swollen manhood punched the back of your throat — a loud gag of rejection sounding out into the room.

Michael secretly adored when you did that.

In his trance of lust, the camera slipped from his grasp, sliding down his side, leaving his hands free to slither down and cradle your face. You noticed.

“Ah, ah, ah!” You teased, pulling off his cock with a pop, saliva connecting you even in disengagement, “Thought you wanted it filmin’, angelface?”

Michael whined, trembling hands leaving your face to pull the camera back into his possession — focusing the lense to put you back into shot. Michael’s breath hitched at the sight — even on the choppy, blurry screen, your blown out pupils, tear-streaked, flushed red cheeks and swollen lips glossed with spit and his pre-cum had him twitching in your hand as you pumped him slowly.

“Look so fuckin’ good, girl.” He admitted, furrowed eyebrows hidden between the large hunk of plastic as he watched through it, “Can’t wait to watch this later.”

You laughed, pressing a kiss to the head, collecting the pre-cum that dribbled down him with the tip of your tongue, smiling at the way Michael whined, “Oh, you dirty dog, Michael Jackson.”

Michael chuckled cheekily, “Come up here, wanna feel you.”

Obeying his orders, you let his hardened cock fall against his tensed abdomen, climbing up him once more. Your hips settled either side of him against, clothed pussy lips now hugging the thickness of his cock through your soaked panties.

“Well, would you look at that?” He started, a teasing finger coming down to toy with your damp underwear, a whine leaving your lips at the tentative touches, “Looks like you’re enjoying this after all, hm?”

You failed to reply — words catching in your throat as his finger traced the outline of your aching clit through the thin material, your lips parting at the sheer sensuality of his touch.

“Where’s that teasin’ girl gone, hm? Cat got your tongue, mama?”

“Michael.” Your voice a whiny, needy plea of despair.

“What, baby? Talk to me. Tell me whatcha’ need.” He coaxed, his tone a gentle dominant force that your mouth rambling to answer, to please.

You whined, hips rolling against the hard of his cock, rubbing alongside the pad of his finger that remained flat against your nub, “Plea—please, need it—need to feel you.”

Michael’s hand, steadily holding the camera, angled it perfectly to show your needy pussy humping his cock, as well as the eyebrows knitted in lust on your pretty little face — his cock twitching at the thought of fucking his hand to the recording later.

Michael tapped your hip, demanding you lift your hips to have access to your drooling cunt. He peeled the drenched cotton panties from your puffy pussy lips, tucking them to the side of your vulva. With practiced ease, Michael slid an expert finger between the slickness of your cunt — collecting the sweet essence of your arousal on his digits. With methodical swiftness, a long finger of Michael’s slipped into the clenching hole which needed him most.

“Mmh, such a pretty pussy, doll. Got all wet just for me?”

Michael knew the answer, he just loved to hear you say it. Loved to hear you admit in your drunken state of ecstasy that he was the one to make you slick with arousal. Michael’s fingers moved with excellence you were stunned by each and every time — the relentless abuse against the sweet, spongy spot inside you that had you crying out, tears jerking from your ears at the sheer force of the sensation.

“Ooh, there she go,” He whispered, the ball of his hand coming up to roll against the excluded nub that was screaming for touch, a move that had you sobbing, “That’s the spot, huh, ma? So good it got you cryin’ f’me, hm?”

His name left your swollen, cum-stained lips in a wretched sob, nails digging into the flex of his bicep, gripping on for dear life as you fucked yourself onto his hand.

“Y-Yes! Yes—o-ah! Yes, God, Mike—gonna cum!”

Michael could’ve laughed at the way your face dropped in sheer disbelief as he pulled his hand away from your sopping cunt after your confession of near climax. Your chest heaved, clit throbbing as your eyes welled up, pulling on Michael’s heartstrings.

“Oh, sweet girl.” He laughed, leaning up to press a soft kiss to your pouting lips, “Need you to cum around my cock, babygirl, yeah? Can you do that for me, pretty lady?”

You nodded meekly, bottom lip still jutted out in protest as Michael guided his cock between your shaking legs. Just as his burning hot tip slid into the familiar, wet comforts of your hole — your disappointed pout fell into a gasp of relief.

Michael laughed, his free hand coming to pull on your bottom lip, cock slipping further inside you, “Don’t want this out again, you hear me? No poutin’ girls around here.”

You nodded feverishly — not ever wanting to disobey him, in fear he’d take away the one thing that’s fulfilling the desire that burned fiercely inside you, as he stretched you open, inch by inch. The camera, still rolling, captured all of this — the way each inch of his cock disappeared slowly, your pretty pussy lips wrapped around his shaft, your slick drooling around him.

You whined, feeling impossibly full as he bottomed out, seating you fully down onto his pelvis. His own bottom lip was sucked in between his teeth, admiring the sight of your perfect frame on top of him.

“Oh, I bet you’re so full, huh, baby? Usually don’t let y’ride me first — can feel that pussy throbbing.” He confessed, laughing softly as you whimpered, his free hand slithering up your bared body — making sure to record his hand palming your tits through your lacy bra.

Michael wasted no time pulling the material off your body, reaching behind you to flick the fastener apart one-handed — watching as the bra fell from your chest, your perky tits on full display to him, and the camera, of course. His teasing fingers crawled up you, grabbing a gentle handful of your right breast, humming at the feeling of the soft skin and the sound of your desperate moan. You shuffled around him — wincing at the feeling of his perfectly curved cock nudging your quivering walls, awaiting the approval to start moving.

No matter what you were doing — Michael was always in control.

Michael moved his hand to roll your erect nipple in between his nimble fingers, “Go’head, girl, show me how much you need it.”

You didn’t wait for him to change his mind, not that he would with the way you were clenching eagerly around him, lifting your hips off him, about half-way, before slamming back down. Your head fell back instinctively, a cry of sheer joy slipping from your lips, only encouraging Michael to throb inside you.

“Come on, sweetheart, falling apart after one bounce? Can do better than that.” He teased, smirking at the way you bit your lip shyly, suddenly embarrassed at how much effect he had over you.

Your hips rose again — now bouncing with the help of Michael’s tight grip on your hip, pulling you up and down on him. You whined, cheeks flushed in timidity as he hummed behind the screen.

“Oh, that’s the fuckin’ money shot, girl. My baby’s a natural. Look at that pussy—fuck, yeah, doll, keep goin’.”

Michael’s words of encouragement had you crying out — moaning in pure lust as his cock continued to relentlessly nudge against the best spot inside you, one he never failed to hit each time. Michael’s hand cradled your hips dominantly, grinding you down with each movement, rubbing your clit onto his neatly groomed pubic bone, failing to hide the smirk that crept onto his face at the sound of your needy noises.

“That’s it — let me hear you, darling.”

“Mike.” You whined, hand coming up to grabs handful of your tits and the other holding yourself up on his chest, slick with sweat. Michael’s eyes could’ve popped out of his head at the sight of you — seductively playing with your perky breasts, nipples rolling between your fingers like he once did, head thrown back, mouth agape letting your slutty moans fall upon his perked up ears.

Now, this was the shot.

Michael couldn’t wait another moment. Throwing the camera down on the bed, he lifted you up with both strong hands, pulling you off his slicked cock, and laying you down gently on the bed with ease.

“Mikey.” You whinged, “Please.”

“I know, sweet thing, ‘m coming back, don’t worry that pretty little head.” He reassured, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth.

Michael slid you onto your side with ease, one shaking leg laying over the other, revealing your swollen cunt. He slid a soft hand over your skin, squeezing the plush of your ass, humming at the sight of you beneath him. He picked up the discarded camera once more, pointing it down at you once more.

“Now, this,” He started, “is the perfect position for when my baby’s gettin’ recorded. Y’know why, sweet girl?” He spoke, sliding the flushed head of his cock between your drooling folds, ignoring the way you whined loudly, peering up at him as if to beg him to shut up and just fuck you, “Because I can see this perfect ass, cute lil’ waist, beautiful titties, and most importantly,” He complimented cheekily, free hand sliding over each body part as he listed them, before gripping your chin between his index finger and thumb, “This pretty little face makin’ the cutest faces while I fuck her needy little pussy.”

Michael entered you in one swift motion — the cutest faces he was referring to filling your expression, a loud cry leaving your lips. His name fell from your mouth like a prayer, a chant, as he rocked into you deeply — his cock-end nudging your cervix each time, sending you clawing at the bedsheets. Pleased with himself, Michael smiled behind the camera once more, angling it down perfectly to capture every aspect of you he listed — tits bouncing, ass recoiling against his abdomen, face contorted into pleasure and his cock sliding in and out of your raw cunt, a white, milky ring forming around the base of him.

Michael was in heaven — knowing this video wouldn’t be your last as he watched you through the small screen, hand now clawing at his flexed arm, nails digging into the skin as he filled you.

“Michael, Michael!—fuck, Mike, please, God, fuc—“

“Hmm, that’s right, dollface, tell me all about it. Feelin’ good?”

You whined desperately, clit throbbing against his free hand that had slithered between your sweating bodies to rub tight, practiced circled onto the aching nub, “Gonna fuckin’ cum, Mikey, please, don’t sto—ah!”

“Wasn’t plannin’ on it, sweet girl,” He admitted, leaning down, not caring about the camera angle, as he pressed soft kisses to your face, some landing on your parted lips, now only bothered about your pleasure, “Cum around me, baby, wanna feel it.”

The nearing peak of your orgasm crawled down your body, nestling in your abdomen, body slowly igniting in fierce heat. The sheer explicitness of the intimate moment had adrenaline and lust pumping through your veins. Your trembling hand reached across the bed, taking a hold of the camera once more, holding it out for him.

“Want it to see you fill me up wit—ah!—with your cum, Mikey, please.”

“Oh, fuck.”

Your provocative declaration had him frantic — doubling over, one hand on the bed, the other steadying the camera, fucking you twice as fast. Your cries only getting louder as he pounded the sweet spot inside you over and over again, his name being screamed so loud you were certain the whole house could hear.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah—there! ‘M there!”

You orgasmed with a cry so loud it had Michael cursing under his breath at the eroticism — revelling in the way your cunt squeezed him, sucking him in further as you came around him, nails dragging down his tensed back.

Michael wasn’t far behind you, fighting every urge in him to throw the camera away and fuck his seed so far into you that you’d be swollen with him for days, but holding it firmly in his grasp, recording just how sweetly your cunt milked him for everything he had to offer, your slickness pooling beneath you. He, though, forced himself as deep into you as he could go — making sure the camera picked up on his your cunt accommodated the sheer size of him, his milky white cum now frothing around the base of his softening cock.

He slowly pulled himself out of you with a wince, “Hold still for me, babygirl.” He ordered, forcing your legs to stay open as he leant down between your thighs, groaning at the way his cum drooled out of your swollen cunt, sliding down your shaking thighs.

Feeling a sense of post-orgasm confidence, you slid two tentative fingers between your legs, dipping into your sopping cunt, collecting both your juices onto your digits. Michael could sense where this was going, softened cock twitching, threatening to harden as you slipped your slick fingers into your mouth — sucking the mix of your salty and tangy essences clean from your burning skin.

“Holy shit, baby,” Michael breathed, feeling as though he was capturing pure talent through the screen as you released your fingers with a pop, similar to how you did with his cock prior, eyeing the camera with a knowing smirk,

“Got myself my own filthy lil’ pornstar, huh?”

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[etherealmikeyj]

- you know you love it ˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀

- summary: (bad!era) michael can’t help but be smitten by his new-ish stylist. you try your best every single day to keep your relationship strictly professional, but ultimately, succumb to your crumbling self restraint.

- warnings: a yearning (soft!dom) michael, size kink if you squint, eating out, p in v, dressing room sex, unprotected sex (pls don’t do this!) + reader is slightly avoidant - out of fear of ruining her friendship with michael

“Try not to rip this one, Michael.” You placed his outfit down on a rack in his dressing room. He would be shooting the footage for his cover of “Come Together” by The Beatles tonight.

“You know you love it.” Michael responded, a playful grin spread across his face. He stood up from his chair before walking over to where you just placed the outfit, seemingly inspecting it. “This looks great, thank you sweetheart.”

“I thought I told you not to call me that.” You rolled your eyes, trying to hide that you do in fact, love it. Your tone was firm, yet you still sent him a small but genuine smile.

“You’re right, I’m sorry…” He apologized with that damned charismatic grin.

You have been Michael’s stylist for about three months now. His last stylist had to step down due to personal reasons, but not without recommending you to take his place. When you heard your new job opportunity was to work with the Michael Jackson, you were swift to make your decision. You accepted the job.

The day you two were introduced was a day neither one of you will ever forget. You must have changed your outfit ten times before you left your apartment that day. The state of excitement and shock you were in couldn’t possibly be put into words.

Michael, on the other hand, wasn’t exactly thrilled about needing to hire a new stylist. He enjoyed the company of his previous stylist and trusted him very much, but after hearing the reason why he had to step down from his position, his sympathy ultimately took over and he supported his decision.

The first day he laid eyes on you, his attitude toward the shift in his team did a complete 180°.

You were absolutely stunning. Michael adored every aspect of you as you stood in front of him, ready to shake his hand and greet him with the most beautiful smile he could swear he’s ever seen.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Jackson.” You beamed, trying to keep your excitement at bay.

“Oh, please, none of that ‘Mr. Jackson’ nonsense. You can call me Michael.” He returned your handshake, noticing how much smaller your soft and manicured hand was in his as you shook his own.

From there, Michael’s (not so subtle) feelings for you only grew and grew. He was totally smitten with you, noticing every tiny detail about you as the days went on. How you laughed at his jokes, how your lips slightly pursed as you added your final touches before he went on stage, how your cheeks blushed as he called you “sweetheart”.

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

“There we go. You’re ready to go, Mike. Good luck out there. If you need me to make any adjustments at all, as usual, just let me know.” You smiled, smoothing out any potential wrinkles of his shirt fabric. You helped him slide his leather jacket on over top of his yellow button up, glancing toward the stage where he was expected to be.

“Thank you. You take such good care of me. I’ll come to you if I need anything.” Mike expressed with gratitude, giving you a small kiss on the cheek before he nodded and walked over to the stage.

That familiar, warm feeling came you, a blush making it’s way toward your cheeks. You made sure Michael had his back turned away from you before you brought your hand up, lingering over the spot he just kissed.

It’s not like you haven’t noticed the tension between you and Michael. He didn’t exactly hide his enticement toward you. You picked up on every lingering gaze, his compliments, the sweet nicknames he knew made you blush.

Truthfully, the liking he’s taken toward you scared you quite a bit. Romantic feelings aside, you loved and cherished the friendship you built with him in the last few months. Your inside jokes, the playful banter you two shared, the trust you felt in one another’s presence. It meant so much to you. You didn’t want to do anything to mess it up.

So, you recognized your romantic feelings toward Michael and whilst in his presence, you pushed them aside. You often laid some (not so firm) boundaries down, gently reminding him not to call you those sweet names you loved so much.

You didn’t have too much time to think about his kiss before the music started rolling, and Michael’s confident presence immediately took over the stage. It wasn’t long before he threw his jacket off to the side of the stage, exposing his yellow button up with a white undershirt.

“Any moment now…” You whispered to yourself. You waited patiently, knowing what was going to come soon. You knew that Michael would completely disregard your request to not rip his own undershirt. Although the two of you jokingly discussed him not doing so, you couldn’t deny the fluttering feeling in your tummy that came over you once he tore the white fabric off his body.

Sure enough, after only a few moments passed by, Michael’s shirt was torn to just right above his lower abdomen. You rolled your eyes in an “I knew it” way.

The rest of his performance was nothing short of breathtaking. They got a few great takes from what you could hear. You stood off to the side of the stage, undeniably infatuated by him. Everything about him was just so annoyingly sexy.

The way he moved, sliding his hand down over his body as he thrusted his hips to the beat of the music. The way his chest glistened with sweat as he danced. The way he smirked as the camera moved in on him.

You swallowed, looking toward your feet as you desperately tried not to allow yourself to imagine running your fingers down the lines of his sweaty, heaving chest. You mentally scolded yourself. You’re his stylist, for God’s sake.

As you peered back toward the stage, the line between professionalism and taking that man in all his glory began to blur. With one final hip thrust and his hand in the air, the director yelled “cut!”

Michael smiled and wiped the sweat off his face, the surrounding crew patting him on the back and congratulating his impressive performance. He thanked his crew, the director, and the crowd before he walked toward the very end of the stage where you stood.

“You did great, Michael. Just couldn’t help yourself though, could ya?” You hugged him, pointing to the front of his shirt as you pulled away.

“You know that I can’t, sweetheart.” He grinned. You let it slide this time as you both walked backstage. You two made small talk as you strolled alongside one another, him talking about which parts of the performance he felt could have gone differently. You reassured him that from where you were standing, everything looked great and you wouldn’t change a thing.

Reaching his dressing room, you hugged him once more and exchanged your goodbyes for the day. After you heard his door “click” behind you, you realized you forgot your purse inside his dressing room.

“Shit.” You muttered, turning back and gently knocking on his door. He answered almost immediately, an instant smile plastered on his face.

“Just can’t stay away from me, can you?” He joked.

“Ha. Ha. You’re on a roll today, Mike.” You softly pushed his shoulder. “I just came back because I forgot my purse.”

“Oh, no.” He turned around, retrieving it off the end of the rack before handing it over to you. “Here you go.”

You thanked him before scolding yourself in a whisper as it slipped right out of your hands. It hit the floor and nearly all of its contents fell out, including a few of your makeup products along with your wallet.

At the same time you kneeled down to grab it, Michael kneeled down in an attempt to help you.

“Sorry…don’t mean to be such a klutz.” You laughed awkwardly.

“Don’t be sorry, accidents happen.” He reassured you. He continued to pick up your items for you, sliding them back into your purse. He glanced up at you, meeting your eyes. For a moment, neither one of you looked away.

“Thank you, again.” You nearly whispered. Your breath was caught in your throat as he kept his eyes on you, noticing the fluttering of your lashes. You subconsciously sucked in your bottom lip, feeling your heart begin to race as you realized just how close the two of you were. It took everything in you to not look down, in fear your gaze would meet his exposed chest.

“It’s my pleasure.” He spoke with the same softness.

In an attempt to put an end to this confusing situation, you stood up quickly.

“Okay, well I think I should be going…” You rushed, grabbing the doorknob and swiftly closing the door behind you as you practically ran out of there. You made it a few steps before you stopped in your place. You stood there for about 15 seconds. You groaned as your foot anxiously tapped against the floor, mentally slapping yourself in the face.

You don’t know what came over you, but you turned around. You walked back over to his dressing room and before giving yourself a chance to back out, you stepped back into the room and shut the door.

Michael just stood there. His expression was unreadable, but you felt the disappointment in the air from your departure. Before giving it even a fraction of a thought, you completely broke the barrier of professionalism as you walked over and pressed your lips to his.

Your shoulders instantly slouched in relief as you felt his lips return your kiss. You felt his hands come up to cup the sides of your face, and soon they slid down to grip your waist. You slung your arms around the back of his neck, melting into the long awaited kiss.

Soon, one of his hands fell from your waist and tapped your ass three times, pulling a gasp from you.

“Jump.”

You happily obliged, jumping up and wrapping your legs around his waist. He continued to kiss you longingly as he carried you over to the only table in the dressing room, freeing one of his arms from under you to swipe the contents of the table onto the floor. He gently placed you down and repositioned his hands back onto your waist.

He pulled away momentarily, placing his forehead on yours.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to kiss you.” He confessed, caressing your thigh. “How much I’ve needed you.”

“I’ve wanted you too, Michael…” You panted, adrenaline high from your kiss. “It hasn’t been easy for me, watching you up there on that stage. Dancing and moving the way that you do, ripping all these damn shirts I bring you.”

“Show me, please.” He cupped your cheek. “Show me how much you’ve needed me too.”

Your cunt fluttered at the breathlessness in his voice near the end of his sentence. You wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him in closer, feeling his growing erection over his leather pants.

You leant in again, kissing his soft lips as you softly slammed his hips into your pelvis. He groaned into your lips as you each continued bringing both your hips together, eventually finding a rhythm.

“Can I touch you?” He begged.

Begged.

“Yes.” You nodded swiftly. “Please…”

What fell from your lips next was heavenly to Michael’s ears. He brought his hand up to your clothed pussy, barely even making contact with your clit as the sweetest moan fell from you. He could just imagine how sweet you would sound stretched around his cock.

“What do you want, baby?” He teased.

“Your fingers, tongue, anything.” You whined, gently grinding against his hand. “Please, just give it to me.”

“I’d give you anything.” He began. He knelt down onto his knees as he slid your skirt down, admiring your baby blue lacy panties before sliding it down too and tossing it to the side. “Anything at all.”

You gasped as he licked a stripe up your now exposed cunt, his tongue making contact with your pre-arousal slick. His tongue slid right up to your clit, shifting between kitten-licking it and suckling on it.

Your knuckles began to turn white as your fingers gripped the edge of the table, attempting to conceal the sounds that threatened to fall from your mouth. Your eyes fluttered shut and your head lolled back in complete desire.

“Oh, yes. Right there, Mikey.” You praised, unaware your pleasure was about to be much more amplified as he removed his tongue and slowly circled your entrance with his middle finger, gathering your slick on it before slipping it inside you.

“Yeah, you like that, sweetheart?” His jaw fell slack, watching in admiration as your pussy engulfed his finger. “Look at you, practically falling apart on just my finger.”

“Yes, I love it.” You nodded, your enthusiasm prompting him to add another finger. He began sliding his fingers in and out at a steady rhythm before curling them, causing you to bring the back of your hand to your mouth. You bit down in an attempt to silence your pleasured cries.

Hearing the lustful sounds escape your mouth had Michael palming himself with his free hand, desperately rubbing his clothed cock as you slowly started to rut yourself against his hand. Seeing as both of his hands were occupied and your clit needed attention to bring you to the edge, he latched his mouth around your sensitive nerve bundle once more. He sucked ferociously, maintaining the pace of his curling fingers.

“Mikey, I’m not going to make it…” You warned, mouth still ajar. You glanced down at him and the sight before you only further confirmed your statement. You weren’t going to last much longer.

Tiny beads of sweat dripped down his temples causing his long, dark curls to stick to his face. He looked completely wrecked, rubbing himself to the taste of your pussy.

He popped off your cunt with an audible “pop”

“Don’t gotta hold back from me, mama. Give it to me.”

As much as you wanted to oblige, you wanted to fulfill your idea even more. You pulled him by his yellow button up from beneath you, fingers still curled into your pussy. You panted as you placed your forehead back on his.

“I want to cum around your cock.” You whispered, gazing up to meet his eyes.

He groaned at your words. He was truly at a loss for words himself, you knocked every coherent thought right out of him. He nodded desperately, wanting nothing more than for you to milk his cock dry with your orgasm itself.

He slowly pulled his fingers out of your pussy and you took the initiative to grab his hand, sucking your slick right off him.

“Who would have ever thought you’re such a dirty girl.” He teased, pumping his fingers in and out of your warm mouth. You swirled your tongue around them before hollowing your cheeks, making sure to pull off with a pop. “Such a dirty, pretty girl.”

You watched in anticipation as Michael swiftly ripped his belt off and tossed it to the side, before pulling his erect cock out of his leather pants. He stroked himself a few times, spitting on his hand and sliding it up and down his shaft.

“Are you ready, sweetheart? There’s no going back after this..” Michael asked with slight concern in his eyes. You let out a small laugh at his ridiculous question, and his brows slightly furrowed.

“Mike, I think we’re way past the point of going back.” It was your turn to tease. You could see his hesitation written across his face, so you brought your hand up to his bicep and gave him a gentle squeeze. “But you don’t have to worry at all. I want this, I want all of you.”

Michael nodded quickly, seemingly reassured. He brought his cock up to your entrance and used it to slap your clit a few times before slowly pushing in. This movement pulled moans from each of your lips, your eyes fluttering shut as you tried to adjust to his size.

“Oh, God…” You cried as your pussy stretched around his girth. The burn as he stretched you out faded quickly and pleasure stepped into its place as he slowly but surely found a steady rhythm.

The sounds filling the room were absolutely delicious as his cock slid into your slick cunt again and again.

You pulled Michael in by the front of his yellow button up and he nestled his face into the crook of your neck, planting kisses all the way up to your ear.

He temporarily pulled away from your neck and brought his hand up toward the neckline of your shirt, pulling it down in one swift motion to reveal your tits.

“God, baby. You’re perfect.” He praised, admiring the way your tits bounced as he continued his relentless pace in your cunt. Before you could even blink, he attached his mouth to your left nipple.

The strings of moans and nearly silenced curses were sounds Michael has only heard in his dreams, and late at night when you popped into his head. He couldn’t believe after all of these months, you were finally wrapped around his cock, and not just in his imagination as he stroked his dick to the thought of you.

He suckled on your left nipple for only a moment longer before switching his attention over to your right side. The sensitivity of your wet nipples was becoming too much and you knew that in only a few moments, your orgasm would be approaching.

To relieve your throbbing clit, you brought your fingers down and began circling it quickly in an attempt to reach your orgasm faster. Michael absolutely did not approve of this.

He instantly swatted your hand away and replaced it with his own.

“I told you, I’d give you anything.” His fingers circled your slick clit, mimicking the pace you began to set before he cut you off. “You don’t need to get yourself there, baby.”

His words could have made you melt right then and there. Your tummy fluttered and you reached out for the back of his neck, pulling his lips to yours.

“I’m so close, Mikey.” You could barely get out.

“I know you are, mama. You can let go, I’ve got you.” He assured you, the pressure in your lower abdomen tightening.

“Oh, fuck..” You brought your hand up to your mouth once more, one last attempt to conceal your cries as you felt your cunt pulsate violently around his cock.

Michael took one final glance toward his cock slamming into you and his jaw fell slack, long white spurts of his cum coating your walls.

You both leant in to one another, chests heaving as your sweaty foreheads gently made contact.

“So good, sweetheart.” He whispered, giving your lips a small peck. “You did so good. Better than any wet dream.”

You smiled at his praise, bringing your hand up to wipe the sweat from your temples.

Michael winced as he looked down to your cunt, slowly pulling his now limp cock out of you. It was coated in cum and your slick, and he reached for a towel. He brought the soft towel to your sensitive entrance and delicately cleaned you up before wiping himself.

“Thank you.” A tender smile tugging at the corner of your lips. You both leant against each other once more, content silence filling the air. Your brows furrowed as you watched a smirk creep up onto Michael’s face.

“So…I guess you really do love it.”

(the end. wowza. gotta love a yearning michael fic. reader definitely has more self restraint than i do. the ability to control yourself for three months around him constantly flirting and pining over you? couldn’t be me. hope you all enjoyed this one. ps, please do not have unprotected sex irl. ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚)

[michaeljacksondupe]

tease

part 1.

Part 2 here

pairing: michael jackson x fem!reader

synopsis: You’ve spent the entire evening going back and forth with Michael. Tired of arguing but unwilling to let him off easy, you decide to teach him a lesson he’ll regret underestimating.

warnings: diana ross, arguing, lotsssss of teasing, tension, smut, masturbation, fingering, oral sex fem!receiving, edging, dom!micheal but a hint of sub bc the sub!reader is a teasseeee.

authors note: This has been sitting in the drafts for a while so I decided to finish it and post it, idk how I feel abt it it’s not my best work. Part 2 coming soon tho.

The California sun was relentless in the best way, heat radiated from the concrete underneath your lounge chair near the swimming pool. The sound of water splashing and playful yells filled the air.

Spending nearly every summer at Hayvenhurst with Michael and his family was always a pleasure.

Being around his family was like no other. They were warm, welcoming, and always ready to pull you into the conversation with open arms. Even though you and Michael had only been together for about three years you’d known his family for even less time, but they still treated you as though you’d been around forever.

You were practically a member of the family and they made sure you knew it every time you walked through their front door.

So afternoons like these always felt a little like coming home. Everything felt comfortable and familiar. For a while, everything was perfect. Well, it was almost perfect.

There was just one problem.

You slowly slide your sunglasses up to rest on top of your head, propping yourself up on your elbows. Your eyes immediately find the two figures standing near the patio doors.

Michael and Diana.

God, you couldn’t stand that lady.

She always lingered around Michael like a mosquito, appearing the second you thought you’d finally gotten rid of her.

Every time your eyes found Michael throughout the house, Diana was standing beside him. Talking to him or laughing at something he’d said. Her hand would linger too long on his upper arm as she looked up at him smiling while he talked. It had been like that all morning, and your patience was beginning to wear thin.

Even when she would be leaving, she always found an excuse to extend her goodbyes. A hug that lasted a little too long, or a kiss pressed far too close to the corner of his mouth to be accidental.

Every time, you’d glare at her from across the room, practically shooting darts into her eyes.

She’d only glance back with that same smug expression, the corner of her mouth twitching upward as if she’d won some private game.

She knew exactly what she was doing.

Everyone knew what she was doing and it seemed as if Michael was the only one that didn’t. He couldn’t see that she was purposefully throwing herself at him every chance she got.

At first, you convinced yourself not to say anything. Diana had been around long before you came into the picture and the last thing you wanted was to come across as insecure or possessive, but deep down it was starting to eat at you everytime you saw her.

And no matter how hard you tried to brush it off, the sight of her hovering around Michael seemed to bother you more and more each time.

So, you brought it up to him this morning and that’s exactly how you ended up in the state that you’re in right now.

The argument you’d had earlier left you irritated, him defensive, and neither of you willing to back down.

So now you were sprawled across a lounge chair by the pool, determined to ignore him while still keeping track of his every move from across the water.

Michael stepped out onto the patio with Diana close behind him, wearing that same overly familiar smile she’d been sporting all morning.

At this point, you were convinced she’d overheard the argument the two of you had that morning. There was no other explanation for her sudden need to be wherever you happened to be. The pool, before that was the kitchen, the patio, even the hallway.

Every time you looked up, there she was at Michael’s side, talking his ear off and laughing a little too loudly at everything he said.

As if that wasn’t your man she was throwing herself at.

Your jaw tightened and you throw your head back down onto the lounge chair. Readjusting your sunglasses onto the bridge of your nose again.

By now, the irritation in your chest had grown into a slow, burning fire. You’d spent the entire morning biting your tongue, watching Diana cling to Michael’s side while he acted like nothing was wrong.

If he wasn’t going to take your concerns seriously, then maybe it was time to make your feelings impossible to ignore.

A few moments passed before you heard the familiar sound of his footsteps approaching from across the patio. The chair next to yours dipped under his weight.

“Hey, baby.”

You ignore him entirely, adjusting your position on the lounge chair and crossing one leg over the other.

“You’re gonna burn if you stay out here much longer.” He continued, oblivious to your anger and frustration.

You stay silent, your eyes closed shut behind your shades and your expression was un readable.

He looks over at the swimming pool, his brothers and Janet, La Toya were all hanging around, swimming and splashing water at each other. His eyes roamed across the water before they briefly turned towards you again.

His eyes scanned your body, all the way from your head down to your toes.

“How about we go inside for a bit?” he suggested. “Get something cold to drink or something. Then we can go for a shower.” He says as he leaned forward, his hand resting on your knee, lightly squeezing it to get your attention.

“You sure you don’t wanna ask Diana?” You tilted your head. “She seems to have my position covered for the day.”

The few seconds of silence that followed were telling. Confusion flickered across his face as his brows knit together. “What?” he asked with a short laugh. “Why would I ask Diana?”

You turn your head, finally glancing towards him. “Well she’s been glued to your side all day.” You shrug. “I’m sure she’d be more than happy to keep you company in the shower if you’d ask.”

Before Michael could respond, a bark of laughter sounded from somewhere behind him.

“Damn, Mike.” Jermaine shook his head from where he was lounging against the edge of the pool, his arms draped across the concrete as water lapped around his chest. Droplets slid down his face as he looked between the two of you. “You walked right into that one.”

Michael shook his head, brushing off the laughing that followed from his brothers. He turned his attention back to you, one eyebrow lifting slightly. “What are you talking about?”

You pull yourself up on to rest on your elbows once again. Lifting your sunglasses to the top of your head. “What am I talking about?” you repeated, staring at him in disbelief. “You seriously have to ask that?”

Michael let out a slow breath, pinching the bridge of his nose as his head dipped forward. Trying very hard not to show it, but annoyed nonetheless. “Baby,” he said patiently, lifting his head again. “I thought we already talked about this.”

You pushed yourself upright, turning to face him fully. “Don’t baby me.” You scoffed. The words came out sharper than you intended.

“C’mon, sweetheart, you know she’s just a family friend. There’s nothing going on, okay?” He reassured.

“Well, ‘family friends’ don’t fondle you and follow you around like a lost puppy all day.” you shot back, making air quotes with your fingers. “I mean, Michael, everyone sees it but you. She’s obviously got a thing for you…and quite frankly, it’s weird.”

“She does not have a thing for me.”Michael let out a short laugh, like the idea hadn’t even crossed his mind.

“Baby, c’mon.” He shook his head. “You’re reading way too much into it. She was helping me with my speech for tonight. That’s all.”

“Honey, you know you don’t have anything to be jealous of, right?” Marlon chimed in from across the pool.

Michael’s head immediately snapped in his direction.

“I mean…” Marlon bit back a grin, lifting both hands as he traced an exaggerated hourglass figure through the air. His gaze flickered between you and Michael. “I’m just saying.”

One of his brothers smacked him lightly on the arm, which only made him laugh harder.

The laughter around the pool only deepened Michael’s irritation. His jaw worked as he stared down his brothers, his expression hardening with every passing second.

Then suddenly, an idea struck you.

For years, you’d brushed off his brothers shameless compliments and flirtatious remarks. You’d laugh them off, roll your eyes, or change the subject.

If Michael was so convinced there was nothing to worry about with Diana, then perhaps it was time for him to experience a little of that frustration for himself.

“Mike’s lucky you even look in his direction.” Marlon continued. Normally, you would’ve rolled your eyes and shut the conversation down before it could go any further.

But today, you simply smiled. A small one.

One that immediately caught Michael’s attention.

“You think so?” You quipped, leaning back slightly, your gaze drifted to Marlon.

To your left, you could practically feel Michael’s stare burning into the side of your face. You didn’t even have to look at him to know exactly what expression he was wearing.

The sudden silence from his end of the conversation told you everything you needed to know.

Good…let him stew.

You kept your attention fixed elsewhere, secretly enjoying the fact that the tables had finally turned.

“If he ever screws this up, let me know,” Jermaine teased, shooting you a wink. The grin spreading across his face only widened when several of his brothers burst into laughter.

“Why don’t you-” Michael started, only to be cut off when you spoke over him.

“Well…” You tilted your head ever so slightly. “Then I guess you’re next up in line.” A mischievous smile tugged at your lips as your fingers traced the strings of your bikini bottom.

Your lips curved into a teasing smile as you glanced back at Michael.

You watched Michael’s hand tighten around the metal armrest of the lounge chair, his fingers curling around it so tightly the muscles in his forearm flexed beneath his skin.

For the first time all day, he finally looked as irritated as you felt.

The playful tilt of your head and the teasing smile tugging at your lips were bad enough. Combined with the tiny bikini hugging every curve of your body along your sun kissed skin and the fact that you were openly entertaining his brothers, it was a wonder how he hadn’t completely lost his temper already.

The sight was slowly unraveling him.

You might have been joking but he knew his brothers weren’t. They meant every word they said.

Michael clears his throat, the sound cutting through the laughter almost immediately.

“I think it’s time we go inside,” he suggested, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. The look he gave you made it sound far less like a suggestion and more like a warning.

You merely smiled, unfazed by the warning in his eyes. Leaning forward slightly, you held his gaze for a moment longer. “Hey, boys?” you called, your voice dripping with false innocence.

“Would one of you be a gentleman and help me with my sunscreen?” you asked sweetly. “I can’t reach my back.” A grin tugged at your lips, for a brief moment, something flashed behind Michael’s eyes. It enough to make your stomach flip.

A deep breath expanded in his chest before he slowly exhaled through his nose, as he was trying to regain whatever composure you’d just threatened.

If Michael hadn’t understood what you were doing before, he clearly had understood it now. This was pay back for the endless weeks you spent watching another woman taunt you with your own man.

Jealousy simmered beneath the surface, growing stronger with every laugh and every teasing remark exchanged around the water.

For the first time all day, Michael was the one struggling to keep his composure, not you.

It was almost as if a crowd of volunteers erupted. Before anyone could make it more than a step, the brothers were already shoving each other aside, each trying to be the first to reach you.

A few seconds of bickering and taunts passed before Jermaine finally broke through the chaos and snatched the sunscreen bottle from your hand. “Sorry, fellas,” he said, already backing away with it. “Looks like this one’s mine.”

You move your hair over your shoulder, shifting onto the lounge chair until you were laid onto your stomach. Your head rested on top of your forearms as you slowly moved your gaze towards Michael once again.

Jermaine moved around the lounge chair, droplets of pool water stained the cement floor underneath you.“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Some of us still know how to treat a lady.” He provoked, looking up at Michael through his eye lashes.

He squirted a generous amount of sunscreen into his palm before spreading it across your back. The moment his hands touched your skin, you felt Michael’s stare intensify.

Slowly, Jermaine worked the sunscreen across your shoulders and down along your sides, completely unaware, or maybe, fully aware of the silent war taking place a few feet away.

His fingers would dip further down your sides, tips of his fingers nearly touching the side of your breasts. That caused Michael to nearly flinch in his seat.

“Oh, Jermaine.” you said softy, fighting back a smile. “What would I do without you?” a dramatic sigh escaped you.

You could practically see the gears turning in Michaels head as he sat there, forced to watch the consequences of dismissing you all morning.

And if the look he was giving you was any indication, your little game was about to come back and bite you.

Jermaine’s hands moved along your spine, spreading the sunscreen evenly as he worked his way down toward your lower back. He didn’t hesitate once, his movements steady and unhurried.

Droplets of water slid from his hair and traced cool paths across your sun kissed skin as he leaned over you “Jermaine…” you complained softly, dragging out his name just enough to be dramatic and make Michael’s ears bleed. “You’re getting me all wet.”

Jermaine nearly choked.

Meanwhile, Michael had lost any composure he had left. His gaze flickered from Jermaine to you and back again, disbelief and frustration flashing across his features.

Then, without a word, he pushed himself to his feet. The legs of the lounge chair scraped harshly against the concrete, cutting through the chattar around the pool.

Without a second thought, Michael reached for your arm and pulled you to your feet. His grip remained firm around your wrist as he guided you across the patio, his strides long enough that you were forced to hurry to keep pace.

The closer you got to the house, the tighter the knot in your stomach became.

The back door flew open, Michael ushered you inside before letting it swing shut behind you with a sharp bang.

You two finally reached his bedroom, pulling you in and shutting the door right after. He paced a few steps away before turning back toward you, dragging a hand across the back of his neck in a futile attempt to contain his frustration. “What the hell was that?” He bit out, his voice was flat.

“What?” A teasing smile played at your lips. “You didn’t enjoy the show?”

“Cut it out.” He goes still, his head snapping towards you.

“Oh please.” You scoff quietly, taking a step towards him.“You let that crone follow you around all day. Touching you, hugging you, kissing you-God knows what else she’d do if you gave her half a chance.” You shook your head. “But your brother putting sunscreen on my back is where we draw the line, right?”

“That’s not the point,” He blurted out, like he was over the conversation before it had begun. He dragged a hand through his curls, frustration bleeding into his voice. “You really let him put his hands all over you just to get a reaction out of me? And those little comments you kept making weren’t helping either.”

“Those little comments?” you repeated. Slowly, you closed the distance between you, tilting your head back to meet his gaze. He still towered over you.

“You mean…” A faint smile tugged at your lips. “When I told him he was getting me all wet?” You drew the words out deliberately, your voice dropping to nearly a whisper as your eyes stayed locked on his.

Something flashed across Michael’s face before he quickly buried it. His jaw flexed, and he took a slow breath through his nose. He knew this was exactly the reaction you wanted and there was no way he was going to let you see how badly you were getting under his skin.

He takes a step closer and he cups your jaw, his palm settled against your face, large enough to cradle nearly the entire side of it, his thumb resting just beneath your cheekbone.

His frustration was impossible to miss, and it had you feeling a mix of emotions. Part of you loved seeing him seethe with jealousy over you, it was such a turn on.

There was also something undeniably satisfying about seeing him struggle with the very feelings you’d been carrying around.

“How about we stop this little game, hm?” he said quietly. There was nothing gentle about the look in his eyes. “We both know how this ends.”

Everyone knew how hopelessly in love you and Michael were. To anyone looking in from the outside, you seemed like you never argued. But behind closed doors, that wasn’t the case. When the two of you argued, and sometimes neither of you could even remember what started it, it could get ugly.

You were both stubborn in your own ways, constantly butting heads and refusing to back down. You knew exactly which buttons to push to get under his skin, and he knew yours just as well.

Both of you were far too stubborn to admit when you were wrong, and communication had never been either of your strong suits.

So when moments like this came around, when jealousy had you by the throat and neither of you could simply admit it, the situation always spiraled into something much bigger than it needed to be.

What could have been a five minute conversation always turned into a battle of pride, neither of you willing to give the other the satisfaction of being the first to say it out loud.

“How does it end, Mikey?” you challenged, your voice quieter now, though no less provoking. Your gaze dipped briefly to his mouth before returning to his eyes.

Reaching up, you wrapped your fingers around his wrist. The hand cupping your jaw was warm against your skin as you guided it away from your face.

You drew his hand slowly down the side of your body. His fingers brushed over your ribs before they settled further down at your waist, then finally to your hip. The tension in the room seemed to tighten with every inch. As you continue to move it, you felt his hand practically guide its own down to grab a handful of you.

“Does it end like this?” you asked quietly, tilting your head as you held his gaze. “With you taking what belongs to you?”

Your fingers tightened slightly around his wrist before a slow smile tugged at the corner of your mouth.

“Or maybe…” you continued, your voice dropping lower. “Maybe Jermaine.”

The change in his expression was immediate.

You saw it in the way his jaw locked. In the way his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “Maybe it ends with him standing where you are right now.” You studied the change in his expression.. “Maybe it ends with him touching me like this.”

You leaned forward, your lips brushing over his ears. “Or maybe… it ends with, me telling him how good he feels inside me.” You whispered. “You think he’d like that? Hmm?”

His shoulders stiffened and before you could say another word, his hand tightened around your waist and he dragged you forward. The sudden movement stole the space between you, his chest colliding with yours as he backed you up a step. Instinctively, your hands came up against his chest to steady yourself. Beneath your palms, you could feel the tension running through him.

You knew your words were nothing more than a tease. A reckless one, maybe, but a tease all the same. Still, you clearly struck a nerve in Michael. The moment Jermaine’s name left your mouth, something shifted in him. The idea of another man touching you the way he was now clearly hadn’t sat well with him.

“You just don’t know when to quit, do you?” he muttered. His voice was low, edged with exasperation.

The warmth of his chest seeped into yours, surrounding you completely. You could feel the steady thud of his heartbeat between you.

You let the silence stretch between you, studying him. A few loose curls had fallen around his face, softening the frustration etched into his features. His lips were pressed into a thin line, and those wide, dark eyes of his had narrowed ever so slightly as they remained fixed on you.

You were still pissed at him, but the sight of him like this, his possessiveness, his jealousy, the way he looked at you as though he couldn’t decide whether to kiss you or yell at you, was making you tremble against him. You could tell by the look in his eyes that his thoughts weren’t far from your own.

“Maybe I’d quit if you’d stop giving me a reason to keep going.” you provoked. A hand wrapped around the back of his neck, pulling him down just enough to force him to meet you halfway. Your lips brush against his slightly, both of your lips slightly parted, breathing in each others air. The tension between you was thick enough to cut through

Then, suddenly, you planted both hands against his chest and shoved.

Caught completely off guard, he stumbled backward until the backs of his knees hit the mattress. He dropped onto the edge of the bed.

Before he could react, you climbed into his lap. The movement was impulsive, reckless. Your lips crashed into his, neither of you caring much for grace as all of frustration, jealousy, and unresolved tension collided all at once.

His hands found their way to your waist before sliding to your hips, settling there as though they belonged. His fingers curled against your skin, firm enough to keep you from stepping away. The touch sent a shiver racing down your spine. His tongue grazes your bottom lip, inviting you in. You accept the invitation, meeting him as the kiss tangles.

Your hips begin to roll against him, in a slow and steady rhythm. The thin fabric of your bikini bottoms was no help. His hard-on pressed into you, which only drew another soft whine from you against his lips.

He pinned you in a downwards motion further against him, you could feel nearly every part of him. A low hum escaped him, the sound vibrating between your lips.

The kiss was urgent, reckless, and laced with frustration. It was the kind of kiss that came from being so frustrated with each other, yet unable to ignore the need between you.

He brings his hands to your chest, framing your breasts and squeezing them.

Before you could react, he started planting kisses along the crook of your neck. Shivers sent down your spine, causing goosebumps to rise along your arms.

You slowly gave in to the moment, his lips trailing along the exposed column of your neck.

He found the sweet spot just beneath your ear, pressing a trail of delicate kisses there before lingering for a moment longer. Sucking onto the delicate skin.

For a moment, you lost all sense of reality. Your eyes fluttered shut as your hips continued their steady rhythm against him. You tipped your head back slightly, giving him more room.

He let out a soft groan against you, and the sound alone was enough to make your knees lock.

You had such a weakness for the groans and whimpers that slipped past his lips. Every one of them made you melt a little further into him. He had never been too shy about letting you know exactly how good you made him feel.

Before you could fully register what was happening, his arm slipped around your waist and he turned, taking you with him. A second later, your back met the soft mattress as he settled above you.

Without a moment’s hesitation, his lips found yours again. The urgency had faded, but the intensity behind it remained.

In response, your hands slid up the back of his neck, your fingers threading into the hair at his nape. The moment you tightened your grip, a low sound escaped him. His brows drew together as he pulled back just enough to break the kiss, his breath fanning across your lips. For a moment, he simply looked at you, as though trying to gather himself before being drawn right back in.

You caught one of his hands, moving it with deliberate slowness as you held his gaze. Guiding it past your abdomen, you felt his fingertips graze your skin. Without looking away, you tilted his hand inward and drew him closer, pulling him flush against your heat. The closeness sent a rush of warmth through you, and judging by the look in his eyes, he felt it too.

His fingers flatten under yours as you drag them against your bikini bottoms, forcing him to feel the heavy pool of arousal at your entrance.

“You feel that, Mikey?” you whispered against his lips, desperate not to completely unravel in front of him.

His bottom lip slipped free from between his teeth, his attention entirely consumed by you as his fingers move along you. “Shit- you’re soaking wet, baby.”

“M’so wet… so needy for you.” you cooed, your thighs fighting to stay open beneath his touch.

He let out a quiet hum against your lips before leaning in again, as though he was taking a moment to dwell over what you’d just said. His throbbing cock twitched at the sound of your soft voice.

His fingers dipped beneath your bikini bottoms, slowly pulling them aside, suddenly exposed to the cold air. Your pussy was glistening with arousal, a sight that had him nearly salivating.

Before he could reach for you, your hand shot out and wrapped around his wrist. His eyes immediately flicked up to yours. “No,” you whispered, giving him a small pout. “Not until you say you’re sorry.”

You could see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, his gaze lingering on yours. “Mm.” A smile tugged at his lips. “You gonna keep looking at me like that until you get what you want?”

He slowly started to realize you weren’t letting him off easily, not this time.

You pull his hand back, the fabric of the bikini bottoms snapping back into place against your skin.

But before either of you got the chance to speak there was a knock at the door. “Michael?”

It only took you a few seconds to realize who was on the other side of the door. You look back and forth between Michael’s eyes, shooting him a warning glance, a way of telling him he better choose his next move very carefully.

“Michael!” The knocking continued. “Honey, come out for a second. I want to give you something before I leave.” Diana’s voice was muffled through the door.

You watched the hesitation flicker in his eyes, shooting him a look that clearly said, don’t even think about it. But judging by the way he hesitated, it was obvious he’d already thought about it.

She’d been all over him the entire day, and now that you finally had a few minutes alone with him, she was knocking on his bedroom door, asking him to come out. Nothing could’ve made you angrier in that moment.

He let out a breath of frustration, his eyes falling shut as his forehead dropped onto your shoulder for a moment.

“One second!” Michael yells out.

You felt a surge of frustration rush through you. “Asshole,” you muttered out, shoving him off of you before he could say a word. You pushed yourself off the edge of the bed and made your way towards his closet.

“Baby, c’mon.” He defended, lifting himself up slightly. “She’s standing right outside the door. What am I supposed to do, pretend nobody’s in here?”

You scoffed, shaking your head as you threw open the closet door. Without a second thought, you snatched one of his T-shirts and slipped it over your head.

As you turned on your heel to walk past him and toward the door, a hand wrapped gently around your wrist. Before you could get very far, he tugged you back in front of him.

“Mama, c’mon,” he sighed, his voice softening. “Just wait here, alright? I’ll say goodbye and be back before you know it.”

A fake smile tugs at your lips. Your arms were crossed at your chest before you started to slowly you ease your way down, placing your palms onto his knees while keep your body up right. You look between his eyes, watching the tension build.

“You can stay…” You paused. “But I won’t be here when you come back.” You shook your head. “Because as long as she’s around,” Your gaze flicked toward the door. “Poor Michael, won’t be able to… touch… feel… or taste, his girlfriend. Not for a very long, long, long, time.”

A heavy silence settles between you, thick and warm. He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, his gaze drops from your eyes to your mouth, tracking the slight curve of your smile.

You grab a pillow from the bed and toss it into his lap. He catches it on instinct, looking down at it for a second, using it to cover his hard on.

You move away from him and pull the door open. There she was, standing on the other side. Her eyes immediately landed on you, surprise flashing across her face as she looked down at you, as though she had no idea the two of you were in there together.

You brush past her on your way out, your shoulder bumping against hers as you pass. You don’t spare her a second glance, continuing down the hall without breaking stride.

… To Be Continued

[y56n11]

YOUR TYPE?

ཆི❤︎ཆྀ Michael Jackson 80s x Female!Reader

ཆི❤︎ཆྀ Part 2 Here

Summary ཆི❤︎ཆྀ: at a sleepover with Michael, he asks you nervously what your type is. You know exactly how to push his buttons so you describe exactly him, only to see how flustered he’d get.

Tags ཆི❤︎ཆྀ: Childhood best friends, shy Michael, Fluff pure fluff, 80’s Michael, plz send me more ideas 🙏

The year was 1984, and the air in California felt like it was humming with electric energy of Michael’s successful career.

At Hayvenhurst, the Jackson family estate, the world was often kept at bay by high walls and security gates, but inside, with Michael you felt safe. It was late at night and you were sleeping over, after Michael had called you complaining that he was bored and needed company. You had grown used to sleepovers with him, especially since you used to sleep over at his house since you were small (being neighbours and all).

You were sprawled across the thick, cream coloured carpet of Michael’s bedroom at the bottom of his bed. A VHS tape of The Goonies was flickering on the television, the light casting a long shadow across the room.

Michael was sitting on the edge of his massive, four poster bed, his hair a soft, dark halo of curls that hadn’t been slicked back for the stage. He was idly flipping through a photograph book, but his eyes kept flicking back to you.

This was your ritual, from cramped dressing rooms in Gary and the hot California sun, you had been his anchor. You were the only one who didn’t look at him and expected something from him. To you, he was just Michael, the boy who used to hide your shoes to anger you and the man who still enjoys your company.

“Hey,” Michael said softly, his voice cutting through the movie.

“Yeah?” You didn’t look at him, your eyes still fixated on the screen.

“I was thinking about something.” He paused, the sound of him nervously tapping his fingers against the book’s spine echoing quietly through the room. “You’ve… you’ve been seeing a lot of people lately. Well, not seeing them, but people have been asking about you. At the studio, and that guy on the film set from last week.”

You finally looked up at him. “Are you talking about Greg? He’s just a camera assistant, Mike. He’s nice and all that, but he’s not… you know.”

Michael tilted his head, his dark eyes wide and curious. “Not what? What is it that you’re looking for? I realised I’ve known you for years, but I don’t think I’ve ever asked you what your ‘type’ is.”

He said the word type nervously, like it was a foreign ground he hadn’t stepped onto yet.

You crossed your legs, leaning your back against the bed. A idea flickered into your head. You knew Michael better than he knew himself, so you knew exactly how to push his buttons.

“My type?” You mused, tapping your fingers against your chin for the extra effect. “Hmm. I haven’t really thought about it.”

“Come on,” Michael nudged your shoulder, a shy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Describe him. The perfect guy for you. A business man?”

“Definitely not a business man,” you laughed. “No, I think my type is more… specific.”

Michael leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his full attention locked onto you, the movie playing completely forgotten. “Specific, how?”

“Well,” you looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully. “First of all, he has to be kind. Genuinely deeply kind. Not just the type of person who says typical manners, but the type of person who actually cares.”

Michael’s expression softened. He blinked slowly. “That’s a good trait. What else?”

“Psychically?” You glanced at him from the corner of your eye. He was waiting patiently. “I think I like someone with wide, dark eyes. And I’ve always had a thing for dark, curly hair. The kind that looks kinda messy.”

Michael cleared his throat, a faint pink hue beginning to creep up his neck. “Curly hair. Right.”

“I’d like for him to be talented but humble about it.”

Michael shifted on the bed, his movements becoming a tad bit more fidgety. He was starting to catch on. He didn’t want to be vain enough to assume you were talking about him, yet the details were becoming hard to ignore.

“…very specific.” Michael murmured, his voice dropping an octave.

“Oh, he is,” you continued. “He has to be funny, and like playful. He’s willing to have fun y’know?”

Michael nodded. he laughed, the kind of one where he would get compliments from fans and he’d get flustered. He covered his mouth with his hand.

“Long lashes, too. The kind of ones women would kill to have. Oh, and dimples for sure.”

Michael bit his lower lip, trying to suppress the massive grin threatening to break across his face. “And his style, I’d love for him to wear black loafers, and white socks. And someone who gets all shy when someone tells him how amazing he is.”

You tilted your head back to look at him, a full smile on your face. “Stop it! Stop it right now. You’re just… you’re doing this on purpose.”

Michael quickly covered his face with his hands. You moved to sit close beside him. “I’m just answering the question, Michael.” He only became even more flustered with the way you said his name.

He pulled his hands away. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were describing…”

“Who?” You asked, even though you knew well enough. “Who would fit that description, Michael?”

He stared at you for a second, holding his breath. The weight of his gaze made your heart thump viciously against your ribs. He looked like he wanted to say it. He wanted to ask, ‘are you talking about me?’

But he was Michael, and you were you. The friendship was too precious to risk with a single sentence.

He suddenly reached out and grabbed a pillow, jokingly hitting you with it. “You’re talking about E.T.”

“Hey!” You laughed, grabbing a nearby pillow to hit him back. “E.T. Doesn’t have any curls, Michael!”

You both laughed as the movie played in the distance completely forgotten. Yet Michael’s chest felt warm, he was unexpectedly happy and glad with your response.

[mikesfavfish]

SAY MY NAME - michael jackson x f! reader

warnings: SMUT, cussing, mentions of michael's ex wives/girlfriend, bad writing...

WC: 3.5K

A/N: wrote this as if i don't have to be up for work in 3 hours. pls enjoy and lmk what u think :-) and yes reader is basically in a girl group in a world where they’re basically destiny’s child (it’ll make sense i promise!!)

You sat in front of the mirror backstage, finishing up your hair and makeup. You took a deep breath, inserted the earpiece, and listened to the crew give directions and notes as your portion of the show was about to begin. 

You and your soul sisters, who happened to be your bandmates, were invited to perform at Michael Jackson’s 30th Anniversary Celebration by his team, and it was a big accomplishment for the three of you in your careers. Your group was already pretty big, breaking records in the charts and selling out arenas for your upcoming tour. However, to be personally invited to celebrate the King of Pop was a major opportunity- and nobody wanted to turn it down. Not even you. 

When the letter was sent to your manager, your sisters freaked out. I mean, who wouldn’t? You, on the other hand, looked at the letter, rolled your eyes, and went back to working out. While this was a great opportunity and you were ready to show off, it pissed you off. Your sisters, team, and family didn’t understand why.

“This is a big thing for us, don’t mess it up,” your sisters would say, and you’d reassure them you’d still go up there and give it your all. You three had to sign NDAs until the show was to take place, and it angered you even more. 

That same night you were offered the opportunity, you picked up your phone and dialed the number you had memorized all too well. 

“Hi.” 

“Hi, my ass. You have the damn audacity to not claim me in the public but have me perform for your little fans?” You spat out, pacing around your bathroom. 

“Will you be there or not?” 

You hesitated, debating whether to give him the satisfaction of having you wrapped in his fingers or stand your ground. 

“Of course.” 

Michael laughed. “For a second there, I thought I had to remind you who was in control here. I’m glad you remembered how much you love me.” 

“I never said I loved you.” You closed the toilet seat and sat down, hugging your knees. 

“You don’t have to tell me anything- your songs say it all.” 

You huffed in defense, but couldn’t say anything. He had a point. The songs that you and your sisters sang together were indeed almost all written by you. And they were about the same man. The same man who happened to be the most important thing in the world. 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, baby. I don’t write all of them.” 

Michael coughs, and you hear some shuffling in the back. “I’ve been playing the new single almost every hour of the day. It makes me go crazy, you know.” 

You smile, biting your lip. “Really?” 

“If you truly feel that way for me, I need to show you how much I want to cater to you. One night away, just the two of us.” 

You pick up the phone and walk to your bed, getting comfortable as you dim the lamp light next to you and lie down. “And do what?”

“Make a baby,” Michael says so assuringly, it would make you laugh if you didn’t know whether he was serious or not, but you know he was so serious. 

You sigh and close your eyes. You’ve thought about the life you could have if you went public. The world would go crazy. They already gave Michael so much shit when he married his past two wives, and almost all his past girlfriends were scared away. It made Michael even more paranoid to start anything romantic, so when the two of you began your situation, it didn’t give you much false hope. “The media wouldn’t let me even birth it. They’d probably say an alien got me pregnant and you rescued me from the wilderness.” 

“I wouldn’t even let the media near you. They’d have to go past me before they could even dare shove a microphone in front of your face.” Michael says, and the hypothetical promise makes butterflies erupt inside your stomach. Hypothetical. That word snapped you back to reality- it was all make-believe. 

The reality for the two of you is that you had been meeting in disguise at hotels for nearly 2 years. It started out as being introduced to him at an awards show. You were a fan, and your status got you in VIP at his after-party. One drink led to another, and before you knew it, the two of you had exchanged numbers and called every night since. 

The calls would range from your favorite amusement park rides to what position he’d have you in the next time you’d visit each other. One time, you two had let the lust drive you to get caught in the same town at the same time. Thankfully, nobody had seen you actually enter the same hotel the night before, but the newspapers landed at the doorsteps of the townspeople, and it had you and Michael on the front page, “King of Pop potential hookup with member from rising Girl Group?” in big, bold letters. It made Michael paranoid, and he told you that going public would be dangerous. 

You agreed, but felt the sadness and shame sit at the pit of your stomach. You’d given him your body, your heart, and even the privilege of being your muse in writing music. And yet, that wasn’t enough for him to show his care for you in front of the media. The artist side of you, however, understood where he was coming from. He had a career, a fan base, contracts, and money to make. Of course, he had bigger worries, you’d tell yourself after every meetup. You wouldn’t hook up all the time. Most of the time, you’d wear masks and wigs and go shopping in plazas, living a pretend life of being normal people with normal lives. 

Soon, it had been one year since you two had gotten together. You and Michael presented an award together one week after you had celebrated the special date together, and the cameras captured the accidental slip of Michael gripping onto your pinky as he stood next to you. The media went crazy, constantly harassing you both about what it meant. Your close friends and family even asked you, but you knew better than to reveal the truth. 

“We have to be more careful next time,” you whispered into Michael’s ear one night as he thrusted into you. The rush of being secret and getting caught had its perks in bed sometimes, but then the reality would hit you both after, and the post-sex clarity would bring your moods down terribly. 

One whole year turned into a year and six months, and Michael surprised you by flying to your hometown and booking a room across from you. You drove there in a mask and wig, rode the elevator up to his room, and jumped into his arms. 

“I missed you, too, baby,” Michael laughed as he shoved the door closed and kept his hands on your ass. He gave it a firm squeeze, bringing you to the edge of the bed. You ripped your mask and wig off, smiling as Michael bites his lip and groans. He takes his clothes off and rips your clothes off, pulling your hair back as he kisses you passionately. 

“You really meant what you sang in that song?” Michael breathed, biting your lip as you nodded. 

Your group released a single, “Cater 2 U.” You wrote it after watching Michael rehearse for an upcoming show, and it made you warm inside as he ran his hands down his toned body, thrusting into the air as he looked at you. You crossed your legs, finding pleasure as he held onto his bulge, singing your favorite songs. 

You went home and wrote that song, putting an emphasis that you were happy where you were at. Michael deserved someone who was the best for him, and that was you. You knew that, he knew that, and that’s why you’d dedicated that song to him. 

“I’m your man?” Michael said, keeping his gaze on you as you stand, nodding as you push him onto the bed and climb onto his lap, sitting yourself on his lap. You begin grinding yourself on him, drinking his whines as they fill the room. 

“You’re my man. You inspire me to be better and do it all for you.” You whisper, smirking as Michael whimpers and nods as he grips your hips.

Michael flips you around, releasing a cry as he slides inside you. You fit so perfectly with him, and it makes him grateful that you get pleasure from him and his body. 

“Thank you,” he sighs repeatedly, eyes rolling back as he fastens his pace, taking in your face as you let the pleasure wash over you. 

That minute turns into hours, and before you know it, every corner of the hotel room is christened with your bodies melted together. You’re in the bathtub, lying your head across Michael’s chest as he runs his hand over your naked body.

“They’re celebrating me soon.” Michael softly says in your ear.

You look up at him. “What do you mean?”

“They want to celebrate my existence since I started in the band years ago. They want to do this big thing, have artists sing for me and stuff.” Michael says as you hum. 

“So you’re planning it, technically?” You snort. 

Michael laughs and pinches your thigh. “Not really. I know it’s happening, and I’ll be rehearsing for my performances. But there will be singers I love.” 

You nod, chewing the inside of your cheek. You want to say something, but the night has gone so perfectly that you don’t want to ruin it. 

“That’s nice.” 

“I want you there.” 

You both say at the same time, and you sit up, turning around and looking at Michael. You look to see for any humor in his face, but his lips sit tight. “What?”

“I want you and your band to be there. Sing whatever you want, I just want you there.” 

You cover your naked chest, shaking your head. “As your girlfriend or as an artist?” 

Michael sighs your name, and you shake your head. “You know.” 

“No.” You say, standing up, stepping out of the tub, grabbing a towel, and wrapping it around your body as you lean against the bathroom counter. Minutes before, Michael had pushed you against the mirror, whispering sweet nothings into your ear. And now, he’s breaking your heart. 

“I don’t want to fight, please.” Michael pleads, stepping out of the bathtub. “Michael, we’ve been together for a damn year and a half! That’s almost two damn years, and I need more.” 

Michael furrows his brows. “More?” 

You scoff and point at him. “You know.”

He sighs, licking his lips as he walks to you. You take a step back, lifting your hand. 

“I don’t want to be your hidden hookup forever, Michael.”

“You’re not a hidden hookup. You’re my girlfriend.” 

You laugh, walking out of the bathroom and into the room, taking out your change of clothes from your bag. “You have a nice way of showing that I’m your girlfriend, then.” 

Michael sighs, dressing himself as you sigh heavily, drying your hair, and dressing yourself. “Baby, let’s talk about this.” 

“There’s nothing to talk about. I don’t want them to think I’m some singer you happen to listen to. I want them to know you love me. I want them to know we’ve known each other for two years and have loved each other since then.” You say, hurt lacing in your voice as you finish tucking in your shirt into your pants. 

Michael catches the tone and walks to you, hugging you from behind. “I’m scared.” 

You let go of his grip, turning around. “I can handle some hate, Michael. Don’t forget I’m in this industry too.” 

“Last time I was public with someone, they asked us if we had sex. If we slept together in the same marriage, if our marriage was legit. Do you know how inhumane that is? I don’t want anyone assuming our love for each other is conditional and comes with a set of limits just because of our statuses.” Michael explains, hurt and frustration filling his voice. You nod, pick up your bag, and put on your heels. 

“Our love is conditional, though, Michael.” You say as you put on your scarf, walking out the door. Two weeks later, you and your sisters got that letter via fax. 

That was almost 5 months ago, and now it’s the night. You and your sisters do a group hug, assuring each other of your beauty and talent and taking your positions before the stages open up. 

You were performing two hit songs, Say My Name and Cater 2 U. It was the hit songs that almost everyone knew, and this would get everyone dancing. You take a deep breath. You sat around Michael before, but couldn’t pay attention to him as you were in public. The tension was much different when you were around people. 

The cheers began, and the stage opened. The DJ announces you and your group, and everyone immediately stands and claps as you bring the microphone to your lips. 

“We heard the King of Pop had a thing for secrets. Well, here’s a very great one for you all. No one likes to be hidden away forever.” You say, and the song begins. 

You began singing, focusing on the rhythm of the music while paying attention to the crowd. No one noticed your introduction. You didn’t expect them to; however, as you walk to Michael’s side of the stage, you notice the look in his eyes. 

It’s filled with admiration, sadness, acceptance, and love. It represented your heart as you continued to sing, dancing along to the choreography you and your sisters had spent months practicing. The song comes to an end, and you smile and wave as people cheer you on. You look at Michael, giving him a wave as he bows his head, as the camera pans on him. To the crowd, it simply looks as if there’s a praise from the celebration to the gift. However, to you both, it was an acknowledgment of all your previous fights. Your careers and level of fame would always be inevitable in your relationship. That was an acceptance you were angry at realizing, but it was the truth. 

Your sisters take over the next introduction as you walk to the side and take a sip of your water. You catch Michael’s eye, but you ignore them as you smile to the crowd. You walk back to the place with your sisters, taking a breath. “This next song is called Cater 2 U. This song is for the ladies who love their hardworking and loving men.” You begin to sing, and the claps and cheers give you the energy to give it your all. “Don't know if I need to reassure you… my life would be purposeless without you,” you three point at the same time, and the crowd goes wild. Your sister focuses on the dance while you focus on the vocals, and you don’t miss the lip bite Michael gives as you turn your back to the crowd, smiling as they go wild. 

“Let me cater to you, 'cause, baby, this is your day… do anything for my man, baby, you blow me away…” You end the song with a high and long note, receiving a standing ovation as you and your sisters bow to the crowd. You bring the microphone to your lips, ready to give a small speech praising the King of Pop before he stands, cutting you off. He walks from his seat to the stage with the help of security. 

Your sisters give you a confused look, and the crowd murmurs in confusion. You look to Michael as he walks up to you, requesting your mic. You give it to him with a hesitant look, but he smiles at you. 

“Let’s give it up for the amazing girls who just gave us the performance of a lifetime.” You smile and laugh as the crowd screams, clapping. You hold onto your sisters and turn to Michael. 

“Before the night comes to an end, I want to say something.” You tilt your head, Michael smiling as he takes a step forward. “Two years ago, my life changed for the better. I was recovering from media hate, struggling with the transition from being simply an artist to a father and an artist. The change was a lot, but there was something new in my life, I was sure of. A special someone entered my life, and fulfilled my life in a way that made me sure of every decision I made. I wasn’t scared to show her my love behind closed doors, because all the love I had to give was for her. I know now that I was wrong. All the love I have to give should be all the love, not just limited to what I think is right or wrong.” Michael says as the crowd anticipates him to continue. 

Michael turns and gives you a look. A look you know too well. He looks at you after an argument, a look he gives so carefully, and a look that makes you feel. 

“This beautiful lady has been my love for the past two years, and I think it’s damn time for everyone to know.” He grabs your hand and brings you forward, nodding as the crowd goes crazy. Your ears ring from the volume, but your mind focuses on one thing. The touch of Michael. It wasn’t seductive or performative, but it was the comfort that brought you to a smile. It was the comfort in the pattern he was tracing on your fingers that made you smile. 

“Darling, I love you. More than anything in this world, including Jermaine.” The crowd laughs, and you laugh away as you swipe a tear from your cheek. Michael cups your chin and winks at you as he brings a kiss to your lips. 

This kiss was different, and it was your favorite one you’ve ever shared. It was no longer hidden or shared in anxiety, but instead it was shared in a room full of people that you both loved. This was its specialty, and it was fulfilling. 

Michael lets go of the microphone and wraps his arms around you. You breathe in his embrace and smile as he presses kisses all over your face. “I love you so much.” 

You smile, gripping onto his white jacket. “I love you.” 

“You mean the world to me, and tonight wasn’t to prove anything to anyone. It was a declaration of my love to you, one of just many more to come.” Michael winks, and you smile. You give him another kiss and wave to the crowd, walking off. 

The crew backstage gives you warm smiles as you walk down the halls, and your sisters immediately pull you into an interrogation. 

“When were you going to tell us you were sleeping with Michael Jackson?” You shake your head, taking your heels off and slipping on your socks. 

“Because I love him.” You smile as they roll their eyes but give you a comforting hug. 

————— 

It’s now hours after the show, and you’re drinking down the cup of tea that Michael’s prepared for you. You’re in his penthouse, and the view makes you smile. 

“Tonight was amazing, baby. Thank you.” Michael says, giving you a kiss as he sits beside you. 

You shake your head. “Thank you for existence, Mr. 30th anniversary.” 

Michael groans and shakes his head. “Pretend it’s my 30th birthday or something.” 

“Nope, old man.” You laugh as you set down the mug and lean your head on Michael’s shoulder. 

“Careful, before I show you what this old man can do,” Michael warns, making you stand and roll your eyes. “I’ll be waiting.” You say, and yelp as Michael rushes to carry you and throw you on the bed. 

He takes his time removing your clothes, but once he’s done, he’s pressing kisses all over your body. “Your body is my fuel.”

You moan and grip onto Michael’s hair as he nips below your breast. “Then use it all you want.” 

Michael groans, and your night turns sleepless, resulting in a night full of passion. It turns into morning, and your body is sore, but you feel so good. 

You sigh as you press a kiss on Michael’s arm. “Our lives are going to look so different once we step out of this room.” 

Michael nods and plays with your hair. “I know. But I’m prepared for what’s to come. We don’t owe anyone anything. We don’t owe these tabloids our sex lives, or what our date nights look like.” 

You smile and look at Michael. “So you don’t want me to tell them how you love it when I take control?”

Michael groans, playfully biting you. You laugh, using the sheet as a cover. 

You stay there for a few more moments, moments filled with bliss and love. It was your moments, and that was the mindset you carried as you stepped out of that hotel building and into the world.

[kryptonianheart]

Half Awake, Fully Yours

pairing: Jaafar Jackson x f!reader summary: Getting your fiancé through wisdom tooth surgery should be simple. Except Jaafar, who never says anything out of line, has apparently left all his self-control at the door of the operating room. warnings: 18+ MDNI, suggestive content, anesthesia doing its thing, dirty talk (kinda? idk), established relationship word count: 1.6k words image credits: anotherpartoffme, davischloe881, filmsbyavs and themastersreign on tumblr

a/n: sooooo, this is my longest fic in a good, good while. I really enjoyed writing it, so I hope you guys enjoy it too! Forgive me if my sense of humor was only funny in my own head lol ✦ · · · ✦ · · · ✦ · · · ✦ · · · ✦ · · · ✦ · · · ✦ · · · ✦ · · · ✦ · · ·

You should have known. You absolutely should have known.

Even before Jaafar told you he was getting his wisdom teeth out and that he would need you around for the post-anesthesia aftermath, you'd already lost count of how many videos you'd seen online of kids and adults saying the wildest things after the procedure.

You'd even sent some of them to a Jaafar who hadn't even considered the possibility yet, with captions like "your turn is coming." It was only natural to expect something like that, but why did nobody warn you it would be a thousand times worse?

She's probably loving every second of this, you thought, glancing at the nurse from the corner of your eye. Obviously she wouldn't warn you it would be a thousand times worse - obviously she would kill to be alone with Jaafar in a moment like this. Bitch. She was ogling Jaafar so hard you were tempted to pull her wisdom teeth out yourself, right then and there.

If you didn't have to worry about the fact that Jaafar had nearly undressed himself three times, almost stabbed himself with a scalpel that was dangerously within reach, and belted out Livin' On a Prayer at the top of his lungs - or, as he sang it, "peeing on the mayor" - in the last five minutes, you would have absolutely been the one sticking that scalpel somewhere near the nurse instead.

Jaafar seemed both fine and not fine at the same time. The surgery had gone well and he just needed a few good days to recover, but now came the fun part: waiting for the anesthesia to wear off. He was more restless than usual and way more talkative, and you kept going back and forth between wanting to help him and wanting to film him for blackmail material later.

Surprisingly, Jaafar hadn't quite registered your presence yet, which for now put you on equal footing with the nurse who was already occupying the space. And showing absolutely no signs of leaving. What do you want, you evil witch? He's not taking his clothes off again as long as I'm here.

"I need to pee right now-now or I'm gonna turn into a faaau-cet, do you want that? Pee-ee leaking like a faucet? I don't think so, my pee-ee is very hea-"

"Jaafar, your pee is very healthy," you cut in, with a smile on your face.

That was the first time he actually looked looked at you. His eyes, still glazed over from the anesthesia, did nothing to hide the admiration that washed over him as he looked you up and down, letting out a whistle so loud you felt your cheeks burn on the spot.

"Who are you?"

"It's me, baby," you said with a small laugh, though a seed of worry settled in your chest. Did he really not recognize you?

"Is it my birthday? What is this little piece of caaaa-ndy? I'm gonna need to unwrap it to see if it's-"

"Jaafar!" you said, equally mortified and in disbelief.

Jaafar was a reserved, shy man. There was only one moment his mouth became dirtier than anything you'd ever heard, and that was when he completely lost control in bed. But hearing him say things like that was rare enough. I don't want to disrespect you, he always said. Hearing him say it in public? Code red.

"What? I really want something sweet right now," he said, his voice dripping with a barely-disguised second meaning.

"Yeah, easy there, Willy Wonka, the one thing you absolutely cannot eat right now is sugar," you said calmly, taking a sip of your juice.

"Nobody said I can't eat you."

The coughing that tore through you was so sudden and violent that for a moment you genuinely considered that this was how it ended. The nurse glanced over and moved to help, but you waved her off quickly to signal you were fine. Oh sure, go ahead and finish suffocating me, why don't you?

"Jaafar, you're not going to remember any of this. And I will happily tell your brother every single word."

"You know my brother? Who are you?" he asked again, suddenly very curious about how a woman this beautiful would know so much about him. Thank you, Lord.

"She's your fiancée, Jaafar. Don't you remember?" The nurse's cold voice cut through the room for the first time, and it was like a thousand tiny daggers straight to your ribs. Yeah, you kinda wished you'd choked after all.

"My fiancée?" Jaafar's eyes went wide as he looked at you again, placing a hand dramatically over his heart.

"Unless you've changed your mind and don't want to-"

"Don't want to what?"

"Marry me."

"Bury you?"

"Jesus, baby, marry me."

"Although I really would like to bury... my dick in your pus-"

"Jaafar, oh my God!"

That was enough to send the nurse huffing out of the room. If I'd known, I would've climbed him myself.

"What? He really needs some comfort right now."

"What?"

"My little friend down he-ere. He saw you and gave you a standing ovation."

"A standi- Jaafar, what's wrong with you?"

"Nothing's wrong. Everything down here is very, very right”

You genuinely didn't know whether to laugh, dig a hole in the floor, record all of it, or call the nurse back in to double-check that the anesthesia doses had been anywhere near reasonable.

“I’ll die if you don’t kiss me.”

"I'll kiss you, just not right now."

"Why not? Aren't you my fiancée? Don't fiancées kiss their fiancés?"

"Yes, fiancées kiss their fiancés, but right now you'd moan in pain if I kissed you."

"You want to make me moan?"

"Jaafar." You felt your cheeks burning, a subtle wave of heat running between your legs. You almost slapped yourself at the thought, he had just gotten out of surgery, for God's sake.

"So you do want to kiss me."

"Jaafar."

"Not even a little peck?"

"Are you going to behave?"

He nodded, looking like a mischievous kid who would do absolutely anything to get his reward.

Moving slowly toward him, you cupped his face gently and looked him in the eyes. Even clouded by the anesthesia, the love was still there, in the way he looked at you, melting under your hands. You let your hands slide down to his neck, resting your right one on his chest, which immediately went off like a drum. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thumpthumpthumpthump.

"Are you okay?"

"I'll be better once you kiss me."

You smiled and pressed your lips softly against his. The kiss was quick, light, barely a peck, but just enough to fill your chest with that warm, familiar feeling of home. Jaafar tried to deepen it, but you pulled back, remembering it could hurt him.

"Baby..."

"God, you're so beautiful," he murmured, tracing the outline of your lips with his fingertips. "You actually taste like something sweet."

"You're not going to remember any of this later," you murmured, suddenly flustered.

"I will absolutely remember the taste of your lips."

“Oh Lord, give me strength.”

"I'll give you something better than strength, do you-”

“Jaafar, I swear to God.”

“Shhh, pretty girl. Stay here with me, come closer", he murmured, and you clenched your thighs together at the sound of pretty girl so close to your ear.

"I'm right here."

"You're not even touching me properly", he said. He might not have recognized you fully in that moment, but his body, heart and mind did, and he wanted you as close as possible.

"Baby, I’m literally touching you."

"Debatable."

"Debatable how? I’m literally tou-"

"Now you are."

And with one swift movement, Jaafar grabbed your hand and guided it right onto his hard cock, making very clear to you that the anesthesia had done absolutely nothing to affect certain things.

"Mr. Jackson, here are your-"

The nurse went as white as her own scrubs at the sight in front of her, as she entered the room unannounced. You could have been mortified. Flustered. Maybe both at once. But the wave of satisfaction that washed over you was so much stronger than any of that.

Better than choking to death, right bitch?

✦ · · · ✦ · · · ✦ · · · ✦ · · · ✦ · · · ✦ · · · ✦ · · · ✦ · · · ✦ · · ·

"I said what?" A mortified Jaafar asked, sitting on the couch in your shared apartment, the anesthesia long worn off.

What hadn't worn off was the shame creeping through him after you'd recounted everything that happened, and that had been twenty minutes ago.

"You said you wanted to unwrap me and eat m-"

"Okay, you don't have to repeat it."

"You're the one who asked."

"Baby, I'm so sorry. I don't know what got into me."

"It's fine, baby. I would've been more worried if you'd said all that to that nurse who was absolutely dying to flirt with you. Right in front of me!"

"What nurse? I didn't even notice anyone else there."

"Right, you were a little too busy putting my hand on your cock to notice much of anything."

"Ughh, no," Jaafar groaned, burying his face in his hands, “This is a nightmare”.

"Hey, there's nothing to be ashamed of, baby. That's just what anesthesia does, don't you remember those videos I sent you?" you asked, sitting beside him on the couch and trying to pull his hands away from his face.

"Yeah, but in none of them was the guy trying to fuck his fiancée in front of everyone," he said, freezing the moment he realized what had slipped out. "I think the anesthesia hasn't fully worn off yet."

"You say much worse things to me in bed."

Jaafar looked at you, a mix of shame and arousal dancing in his eyes, and pressed a slow kiss to your cheek.

"So what do you say... We head upstairs so I can give you a proper standing ovation?"

"I say... I'm sending your brother everything I recorded first," you grinned diabolically, holding up your phone with a frozen frame of Jaafar mid-attempt at his first striptease.

"You wouldn't dare," he said, narrowing his eyes.

"Oh yeah?" you said, already hitting send. "Catch me if you can!"

For the record: he caught you. He always did.

The wisdom teeth could go, but he never would. He was still, and would always be, yours.

[urbanfunkchild]

⟢ slippery slope ── .✦

╰── summary;

𝄞 𝙔𝙤𝙪 are going on a... much anticipated third date with michael and he's already losing his mind over the connotations of that... bricked up before you've even touched him, white-knuckling the wheel the whole drive over to the drive in movie theatre. you won't watch a single frame of what's on the screen.

wc: 7k

tags: smut, bl*w job, f*ngering, shy! michael, but honestly he's got a lil smart mouth on him, jermaine jumpscare, more dry humping ig, mike is so down bad and actually wants to f*ck so bad, established relationship, 70s era, getting caught, public sexual acts

A/N: me back at it again for an anon's needs. this is based on this request. i genuinely can't get enough of writing michael all wide eyed and bushy tailed about sex, like all he knows is from his brothers and their escapades. maybe hes jealous and wants it for himself!! ugh my fav era. anyway enjoyyy.

proof read but barely lol

18+ minors dnu!! (srsly)

The dashboard bobblehead of Tweety Pie was a little, yellow metronome, keeping time with the frantic beat of your quickened heart.

Each jolt of the baby blue Cadillac Eldorado over the potholed back road to the Starlite Drive-In made the plastic bird's wide, scared vacant eyes justified; it was a silent, squeaky witness to your boyfriend Michael's unraveling.

He was a symphony of nerves beside you. The scent of him; Brut cologne undercut by the clean, sharp tang of pure anxiety-sweat and what smelled like his mother's laundry detergent.

He'd been silent for the last 5 miles, his long, slender fingers drumming a staccato rhythm on the steering wheel, then clenching it until his knuckles matched the pale cream of the vinyl.

The third date.

The heavy, unspoken expectation of it sat between you on the velvety seat, thicker than the summer night humidity.

"You look real nice…. If I hadn’t told you already.” he blurted, his voice a high, tight wire. It was the third time he'd said it on the drive.

"You too, Michael," you said softly, and let your gaze truly take him in.

He was a vision in burgundy: a silky shirt with collars so wide they nearly touched his shoulders, unbuttoned just enough to reveal the delicate, fluttering hollow of his throat. 

And the jeans. God, the jeans. Impossibly high-waisted bell bottoms that hugged the elegant taper of his hips before exploding into dramatic flares over his beat-up Chucks. 

The waistband sat snug and high, cinching him in at a middle so narrow you could've spanned it with your two hands and had room to spare; a dancer's waist, all that whittled, restless strength packed tight above the swell of the flares.

His skin was a deep, warm brown, near luminous where the dashboard light caught the high points of him: the broad slope of his cheekbones, the line of his strong nose, the soft full mouth he kept worrying between his teeth.

His afro was a thing of devotion, picked out round and high and even, a dark halo he'd clearly spent the better part of an hour coaxing into place, and a few baby curls had already gone loose at his temple where the sweat was beading. His lashes were absurd, long, thick, casting little shadows when he blinked—and his eyes, when they cut over to you and away again, were huge and dark and liquid with nerves.

He was equal parts art and anxiety made flesh.

He paid for you both at the tin-shed booth with a smile so brilliantly automatic it was like a stage light had switched on in his face, blinding and empty. The sweet lil lady behind the counter had squealed when she saw him, and was delighted to have a few moments of his time.

'You both be good now, y'hear?" she said, giving you a knowing wink. This made your heart hammer even harder.

He parked in the very last row, under the skeletal arms of a dead oak, as far from the other glowing car hoods as possible. It was the most perfect spot to speak over the movie without disturbing anyone, and… far enough that…. well.. other things could happen.

He hooked the tinny speaker on his blinker lever and glanced up at the screen to make sure it was in sync. A Bruce Lee movie was already playing, the hwaa-yahs! sounding small and distant and then… killed the engine.

The silence that followed was thick, pressing in through the tinted windows of the car onto both of you. 

After a few merciless beats of that, he ducked out to fetch the snacks from the concession stand, and the second the door clicked shut you flipped down the visor mirror and went to work; blotting your lipstick, smoothing a flyaway, tugging your sheer blouse straight over the lace beneath, all of it quick and a little harassed.

You knew Michael, you'd known most of his life, from school, and you knew he'd try to make a move on you tonight - just based on his behaviour alone. He was a very sensual boy, but a bit bumbling when it came to actually executing, but honestly this just made it hotter for you. The prospect of what he could turn into… had your ovaries in knots.

By the time he slid back in and slammed the door, a grape Nehi sweating in each hand, you'd composed yourself. Now you knew it was time.

"Got popcorn," he muttered, a little nervously. "Grape Nehi's too."

You turned fully to face him. The giant moviescreen light gilded his profile, catching the sweat beading along his hairline. You reached out, slow and deliberate, and caught a single droplet as it traced the sharp curve of his jaw. The connection between you was electric; as if you’d just been shocked by a plug socket.

He flinched as if struck by the shock, then melted, a shuddering sigh escaping his lips. "Oh."

"You're nervous."

His eyes flew open, deep brown voids, that you could honestly get lost in - he seemed genuinely fearful. He started to fumble putting the snacks and drinks down on the middle of the console.

"I ain't– It's just… Joseph." The name was a curse, whispered with crazed dread.

"He'll whoop my ass into next week if he knew I was here. Told him I was at the studio… Says a girl'll ruin my focus. Ruin the music. Says I ain't ready for…" His gaze pointedly dropped to your lips, then darted away, scorched. "…for any of this."

You didn't answer with words. You answered by unbuckling your seatbelt with an aggressive click, ready to prove that horrible man wrong, by leaning across that vast, anxious divide between you both, and by capturing his mouth with yours.

He froze for a second, a statue of shock. Then, with a sound of angsty delight, he kissed you back.

It was clumsy at first, all soft, searching lips and hesitant tongue, a little bit of teeth, but it quickly caught fire.

The nervous energy transformed, funneling into a desperate, hungry need on both ends. His hands came up to cradle your face, his thumbs stroking your cheeks with a tenderness that you always expected from him. He had wanted to do this for weeks, the anticipation building and building, but something always came up that got in between you both. 

This was it and you wanted to make sure you both seized the moment.

For twenty minutes, all you knew was the 'mai tai' air-freshener scent of the plush interior of the Cadillac, the taste of grape soda and his unique salt, and the wet, soft sounds of your mouths moving together, the feel of his silk shirt damp and warm under your roaming hands. The tinny speaker kept playing the forgotten movie dialogue out into the dark, and neither of you heard a word of it.

He kissed you like he was starving for it and trying to be polite about it at the same time- soft, then deeper, then chasing your mouth when you pulled back for air, a small wounded sound catching in his throat at even that half second of distance. 

His hands wouldn't settle. They'd find your waist, your jaw, the back of your neck, then start the circuit over, like he couldn't decide where he was allowed to want you most. 

Every so often he'd break away just to press his forehead to yours and breathe, shaky and overwhelmed, whispering your name like it was the only word he had left, before he was right back at your lips again, needier than before.

He was lost in it, his famous discipline evaporating. He shifted, half-leaning over the console, his body pressing closer.

You could see him, when you pulled back to change your angle, he was hard and eager, straining against the tight denim of those bell bottoms, a persistent heat against your side. Those trousers were certainly not ideal to cage what he had in his pants, or hide it.

He began to move, a slow, shameless grind of his hips, chasing the friction, mostly against the centre console of the car. a low, continuous moan humming in his throat. You knew he needed to be closer to you, you wanted him close, warm, the scent and weight of him drowning your senses almost complet—

That's when the shadow fell across the hood of the car.

Michael didn't just freeze; he petrified. His breath hitched, a tiny, terrified squeak swallowed by your mouth. You felt every muscle in his body lock.

A face appeared at the driver's side window, peering in with a familiar, handsome smirk.

Jermaine.

Pure, undiluted panic flashed in Michael's eyes. He scrambled off you so fast he cracked his knee hard on the underside of the steering wheel, a pained oof! and whine escaping him. You yanked your blouse straight over the cream lace where his hands had just been, and god, the loss of them made you shiver, a second ago they'd been hot and greedy on your breasts and now there was only cool air and the ghost of his grip, your skin aching after him already

He fell back into his seat, his movements a frantic pantomime of casualness. He tried to lounge, throwing an arm over the seatback, but he was hunched forward, stiff as a board.

Because the bell bottoms were a lie. The soft denim, stretched taut from his awkward position, did nothing- NOTHING - to hide the prominent, urgent bulge at his crotch. It was a blatant tent in the flickering movie light.

Jermaine tapped on the glass, his thick gold bracelet slinking up and down his wrist as he did so and his smirk deepening into a knowing grin. Michael looked like a rabbit in a snare. With a trembling hand, he fumbled for the window crank, turning it with agonizing slowness. It even caught a few times, clearly a sticky mechanism.

Jermained seemed to be enjoying the agony of the wait, as he leaned against the car with the slyest smile on his face.

The window slid down and the cool night air and the tinny sounds of the other people enjoying the movie piled in, along with Jermaine's easy, confident presence.

He leaned his arms on the door, his gaze sliding from Michael's flushed, guilty face to yours, then down-just for a split second-to Michael's lap, before snapping back up with practiced smoothness.

"Hey now, little brother," Jermaine drawled, his voice a deeper, smoother version of Michael's.

"Fancy seein' you all the way out here. Told Joseph you were rehearsin'."

"I—I was," Michael squeaked, his voice cracking. 

He cleared his throat, trying to force it lower. 

"We… we just stopped by. For the, uh, movie. Its my favourite. This director's use of panning shots is…" He was babbling, his hands fluttering nervously before he clasped them tightly in his lap, right over the damning evidence. It only drew more attention. He squirmed, trying to adjust himself subtly, a tiny, frightened shift of his hips that did absolutely nothing to lessen the tent in his pants.

Jermaine's smile didn't waver. He turned his full attention to you, his politeness a weapon. "And who's this lovely vision? I don't believe we've had the pleasure." He extended a hand through the window right in front of Michael's horrified face.

"Jermaine Jackson… You'll have to excuse my baby brother here, he gets a little… consumed… by the arts" Jermaine eyed Michael's peaky face with a bemused look on his face.

You shook his hand, feeling Michael's terrified gaze burning into the side of your face. "Nice to meet you," you said, your voice miraculously steady despite how nervous you were. You'd only ever seen Jermaine on the tv set.

"Likewise, likewise," Jermaine said, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"What's your name, sugar? Who's your mama? You from around here? Michael ain't said nothin' about bringin' a queen to the pictures." His questions were polite, conversational, but each one was a nail in Michael's coffin.

With every second he stood there chatting, Michael was dying a slow, squirming death beside you. You could see the sweat pouring down his temple now, his jaw clenched so tight it looked painful. His thighs were pressed together, then apart, then together again, a futile dance of concealment.

"My mama's name is Bernice, mine is Y/N," you offered, playing along. "We live over on Vine."

"Fine street," Jermaine nodded, still smiling. His eyes flicked back to Michael, who looked like he might vomit.

"Well, I won't keep you two from your… cinema experience." He drew the words out, lacing it with a brother's teasing malice.

"You behave now, Mike. Remember what Joseph said about focus." He gave a final, slow, pointed look at Michael's lap, then winked at you. "You take care now, ‘kay?"

He slapped the door twice and sauntered off, blending back into the shadows between the cars.

The moment he was gone, the air left Michael's lungs in a ragged, shuddering whoosh. He slumped forward, his forehead thunking against the steering wheel. A low, miserable groan filled the car. "He saw. Oh, God, he saw. He's gonna tell. Joseph's gonna get the belt out when I am home. I'm dead. I'm a dead man walkin'."

He was trembling violently, a combination of terror and adrenaline and the relentless, unmet need that still throbbed insistently against his zipper. 

The close call hadn't deflated him; it had made him more desperate, his dick painfully throbbing in his jeans, and you kept flickering your eyes down to look at it. He kept shifting, trying to find relief that wasn't there, his movements jerky and frustrated.

He scrubbed both hands down his face, and when they dropped the panic had curdled into something else. Something bitter you didn't often see on him.

"It ain't fair," he said, low, staring at the wheel. 

"Tito's got a wife. Jackie runs around with whoever he wants DESPITE being married, takes 'em to dinner, takes 'em home. Jermaine's out there grinnin' at me like he's got somethin' on me—" his jaw worked, "—like I'm the one doin' somethin' wrong. For wantin' a girl. For wantin' you."

"Michael—"

"But it's gotta be me, don't it? Joseph's got it all figured. I'm the face. I'm the one the little girls cry over, the one they put on the magazines, and a heartthrob don't have a girlfriend." The word came out mocking, wounded. 

"Can't let 'em find out somebody's got me. Bad for the image." He let out a hollow little laugh. 

"You'd be bad for the image."

You knew he didn't mean it the way it sounded, you could see, even now, how much it cost him emotionally to say Joseph's logic out loud in his own voice; but a small, cold thread of doubt wound through you all the same. 

That maybe he half-believed it. That some part of him agreed with the man he was terrified of.

He must have seen it flicker across your face, because he turned to you fast, stricken. 

"No— not like— I don't think that. I don't. He thinks that." His hand found your knee, gripping. "I hate it. I hate that I'm good at it, the lyin', the smilin' for everybody. I'm so tired of bein' what they want and never gettin' what I want." His eyes searched yours in the dark, desperate to be understood.

"And what I want is you. Even when it could cost us our record sales. Even when it could ruin everything."

The doubt didn't leave you entirely or the annoyance that the Jackson family had this line of thinking. It was strange, but it wasn't enough to put you off completely, you really found it difficult to resist the boy looking at you like you were the only true thing in a life of conscious deceit.

"Then have me," you said quietly. "Right now. Have the thing you actually want. If you’re already a goner, just go for it"

Then his head snapped up as if he'd had a sudden idea. His eyes, wide and wild, scanned the drive-in.

Last row. Tree line. Darkness.

A new, crazed determination hardened his features. He turned the key, the Eldorado's engine roared to life, too loud in the quiet. He didn't say a word. He threw the massive car into reverse.

"Michael wha—?"

He checked the mirror, his jaw set.

He backed up slowly, the tires crunching over dry leaves and brittle branches. He nudged the car past the last concrete post, into the embrace of the trees. Branches whispered and scraped against the pristine blue paint. He kept going until the world of the drive-in vanished, replaced by a deep, private gloom. The screen was now a distant, flickering mosaic through a veil of leaves. He killed the engine and the headlights died off plummeting you into mostly darkness.

Silence, deep and complete, broken only by the ragged sound of his nervous breathing.

“If my brothers get to have both the fame and…” He swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Then I can partake too.”

He turned to you in the shadowy, leaf-dappled light and.. he looked different. The anxious boy was gone, burned away by humiliation and a need so fierce it had become a kind of courage. 

His eyes were bottomless pools of want.

"Get in the back," he commanded, his voice low, rough, and leaving no room for anything else.

You moved, climbing over the console, the velvety fabric catching on your clothes, tumbling into the vast navy-blue cave of the backseat. He was right behind you, coming over the seats like a shadow, all lean, purposeful motion.

He sat back against the seat and pulled you down onto his lap in one motion, your knees either side of his thighs, his hands finding your hips and gripping. His mouth went to your neck, hot and open, and you felt him beneath you - already hard, the ridge of him pressed right up against the seam of your jeans - and the sound he made when you shifted your weight was almost pained.

You rolled your hips, testing. His grip tightened.

"Don't," he said against your throat, low and hoarse, "don't do that unless you mean it."

You did it again.

His head dropped back against the seat. "I want you so bad it hurts," he said, the words coming out rough and unguarded, like he hadn't meant to say them out loud. "We never get – we never get time, just us."

You set the rhythm. Slow at first, a deliberate grind that had the denim dragging hot between you, the wet patch where he'd been aching all evening making the friction obscene. His hands on your hips didn't direct you, just held on. He was trying to keep still and losing, his own hips rolling up to meet you in small, involuntary surges he didn't seem to have full control over.

The car rocked with your rhythm. Tweety Pie, forgotten on the dash, was still. There was only this dark cocoon, the wet, rhythmic shush of fabric, his breathing coming apart in short sharp pulls against your collarbone.

He wasn’t even speaking, it was just sounds, bitten down, barely escaping. His fingers dug into your hips hard enough to bruise, holding you against him as he pressed up, his body going rigid beneath you.

"Gonna—" A breath, fractured. "I'm gonna—"

And then he wrenched himself back.

He shoved up off you with a choked, agonized sound, his hips stilling, his thighs shaking with the effort of stopping right at the edge. "No— no, I can't, I can't—" He was panting, wild-eyed, looking down at himself, at the seat, at the pristine navy velvet beneath you. 

"If I— if there's a mess, on the seat, he'll— Joseph checks the car, he checks everything, and 'Maine already knows, he already—" The words broke apart. He was trembling all over with how close he'd been, how much it cost to stop. "I can't give him a reason."

You looked up at him, at the ruin of him, shaking and desperate and trying so hard to be careful even now. And you knew exactly how to fix it.

"Then let me help you," you whispered, already moving. "I'll keep it clean. Nothing on the seat. Nothing for him to find." You slid down off the seat, onto the plush carpet of the floor, into the cramped space between the front seats. You knelt there and looked up at him. "Let me take care of you."

He stared down at you, his chest heaving, the offer landing somewhere behind his eyes like a lifeline thrown to a drowning man. "You'd— you don't have to—"

"I want to, Michael"

His breath shuddered out of him. He nodded, barely, undone.

You placed your hands on his knees. You could feel the fine jitter running through him. Slowly, you pushed his legs apart. He let out a small, stifled sound but didn't resist. The burgundy silk of his shirt glimmered in the moonlight with his ragged breaths.

Your fingers went to the ornate buckle of his bell bottoms. His whole body jerked. "Wait, I—"

"Shhh," you murmured, working the metal prong free. The button beneath gave way with a soft pop. The zipper's metal cool against your warm hands.

He was holding his breath. As you tugged the jeans and his briefs down just over his hips, he gasped, a sharp, involuntary intake of air. He was already painfully hard, his length springing free, flushed and eager in the dim light. Beautiful. 

You heard a tiny, pained whimper escape him, a sound of overwhelmed vulnerability.

You didn't tease. You leaned forward, and with one slow, deliberate motion, took him into your mouth.

Ah-!

The sound he made wasn't a moan. It was a punched-out, strangled syllable, caught somewhere between prayer and agony. 

His hands flew up, fingers tangling in his own Afro, gripping tight as if to anchor himself to the planet. His hips gave a tiny, reflexive jerk upwards before he slammed them back down against the seat, a visible act of restraint.

You set a slow, deep rhythm, your tongue swirling, your head bobbing in the confined space. The taste of him was clean, salty, uniquely Michael. 

The car filled with the wet, soft sounds of your mouth on him, a stark, intimate counterpoint to the distant pows and kiahs from the movie.

You hollowed out your cheeks, suctioning his cock in your mouth. "Oh, God… oh, sweet Jesus…" he whispered, the words trembling. He wasn't looking at you. His head was thrown back against the seat, his eyes squeezed shut, his perfect teeth digging into his full lower lip. A sheen of sweat covered his throat, gleaming in the flickering light. "M-maybe we shouldn’t, I won’t be able to stop …"

But his body was betraying him. The shake building in his thighs, as they tensed and eased; like steel cables under your hands. His stomach muscles clenched and quivered. 

Your other hand slid up his silk-clad stomach, finding the soft black happy trail that led down from his belly button to his cock. the skin there, hot and damp, the frantic drumbeat of his heart hammering up through your palm.

Every few seconds, his eyes would snap open, darting frantically to the windows -checking the shadows, scanning for the phantom headlights of a brother's car, for the disapproving specter of Joseph.

"They c-can't know," he gasped, his voice breaking. "he'd kill me… he'd kill me…" He wasn't talking to you. He was pleading with the universe, with his own racing heart. His pleads were replaced by broken moans.

It only made you want to take him deeper, to pull him so far into this feeling he'd forget his own name. You increased your pace, one hand coming up to cradle the base of his cock whilst your hot throat worked on him. Your hand moved up and down the base, your saliva making it slippery and wet for him.

A high, thin whine escaped his throat. He was trying so hard to be quiet, to be still, but his resolve was crumbling. His hips began to move in tiny, helpless circles, meeting your mouth with shallow, aborted thrusts.

"Jesus, I’m gonna spend if you keep doing that…" he choked out, a warning and a plea.

You hummed around him, the vibration wracking his slender frame. That did it.

And then his hands moved, not by any decision of his, you could tell, but like carnal and automatic. 

They left his hair and seized your head, fingers fisting in your hair, and on a broken, gasping sound he started to move you on him, dragging your mouth down and holding you there, his hips pushing up to meet you. 

He was fucking your throat and he couldn't stop himself, couldn't make his body behave, each desperate thrust pressing him deep enough that your eyes welled and spilled over, lashes wet, breath gone.

He didn't mean to be rough; you could feel the apology trembling in his grip even as it used you, even as he chased the end of himself in your mouth. And god; the helplessness of it, this careful, frightened boy losing the fight so completely that he was holding you down and taking what he needed. 

It had you clenching around nothing, soaked through your own jeans, dizzy with how filthy and how hot it was to be used like this by someone trying so hard to be good.

His back arched clear off the seat, a silent, taut bow. His mouth fell open in a soundless scream, every muscle in his neck cording with the strain. The only sound was a series of sharp, ragged gasps as he spilled down your throat, hot and pulsing, held deep against you. It went on and on, a tidal wave of release he'd clearly been damming up for a long, long time.

You swallowed around him, taking all of it, exactly as you'd promised; not a drop on the seat, nothing left for anyone to find.

When it was over, he collapsed back against the seat like a marionette with its strings cut. He was breathing as if he'd just run for miles, his chest heaving, his silk shirt plastered to his skin with sweat. He was utterly wrung out.

You gently cleaned him with your tongue before tucking him back in and doing up his jeans. His hands were limp at his sides, trembling. You couldn’t believe your dirty behaviour - that’d you’d reduced him to … this.

Finally, he stirred, and reached for you-drawing you up off the floor and onto the seat beside him, into the circle of his arms. Instead of kissing you, he buried his face in the curve of your neck, holding you with a sudden, fierce tightness. He was shaking slightly.

"Thank you," he mumbled into your skin, his voice hoarse and thick with emotion. "I… I didn't know it could feel like that, like sore from holding off?." A breath. "I just wanted a minute. Just one minute that was ours."

You held him through it, stroking the damp curls at his nape until his breathing slowed. "That," you murmured against his temple, "was the hottest thing I've ever seen in my life. You know that?"

He huffed a small, disbelieving laugh into your neck. "You don't gotta say that."

"I'm not just sayin' it." You pulled back enough to find his face in the dark, thumbing a bead of sweat from his cheekbone. "Look at you. You're beautiful, Michael. You don't have to be scared with me. Not ever."

“Oh m’not beautiful, that word is too precious for me” He said, completely dismissive.

You gave him a warning look, ‘a don’t you dare speak badly of yourself to me’.

Something shifted in his expression, the leftover panic softening into something shyer, more naked. His gaze dropped.

 "Can I tell you somethin'? And you won't laugh?"

"I won't laugh."

He worried his lip, the words coming slow. "I never… I ain't ever done none of this. With a girl. Not really. Tonight's the furthest I ever—" He swallowed. "I don't really know what I'm doin'. I just know I wanted it to be you."

It didn't surprise you, not for a second, you'd felt it in every klutzy thing he'd done all night; but the trust in the confession made your chest go tight. You took his hand, the one still trembling against your hip.

"Then let me show you somethin'," you whispered.

You guided it down, slow, giving him every chance to pull away. He didn't. You pressed his palm flat to the front of your jeans, against the heat there, and watched his whole face change as he felt it — the damp soaked clear through the denim, proof of exactly what watching him fall apart had done to you.

His breath left him in a rush. "That's— is that—" His fingers pressed, experimental, and you gasped, and his eyes flew up to yours like he'd discovered something holy. "That's 'cause of me?"

"All 'cause of you."

"Show me," he breathed. "Please. I wanna— I wanna make you feel good too. Just… tell me if I do it wrong."

Your own nerves prickled as you worked your jeans open and shoved them down your hips…you'd wanted this, but being the one bared now, naked waist down for him…it had your heart going quick. It was so dark back here, though, the screen just a far flicker through the leaves, that he couldn't really see you at all. 

His eyes dropped between your legs and you watched him strain to make you out in the gloom, lips parted, and find only shadow. Whatever he learned of you tonight he'd have to learn blind, by touch alone. Something about that steadied you. You took his hand and brought it back. 

He went straight for it, too eager, his fingers blunt and searching, pressing somewhere just shy of where you needed and rubbing too hard.

You hissed. "Softer— up a little—"

"Sorry— sorry—" His hand jerked back like he'd been burned.

"No, you're okay." You caught his wrist, brought it back, pressed two of his fingers flat where you wanted them and showed him the motion, slow circles with your hand over his until he caught the rhythm. "There. Feel that? That little— yeah. That."

His brow was furrowed in fierce concentration, his tongue caught between his teeth, watching his own hand work between your legs like it was the most important thing he'd ever done. He got it for a second — a slow drag that had you sighing — and then lost it again, going too fast, and you huffed a laugh that turned into a moan when he over-corrected and accidentally caught it just right.

"That one—" you gasped. "Do that one again—"

He did. Clumsy, then less clumsy, his fingers slick now, sliding through the wet he kept marvelling at under his breath;

 you're so soft, is this okay, am I— 

His touch was a map he was learning by accident; the pad of his middle finger found the swollen nub of your clit and circled it, hesitant, then pressed again when you arched into it. 

He learned you by the sounds you made, a sharp intake of breath for too much pressure, a low uhhh for the right rhythm, a broken whimper when he lost the spot entirely. The slickness was everywhere, coating his fingers, making his movements sound incredibly wet in the quiet car, a sound that seemed to hypnotize him. 

When he finally pushed one finger inside you he froze, mouth open, like he couldn't believe how hot and tight you were around him. 

It wasn't a smooth entry; he met resistance, pushed tentatively, and your body yielded with a soft, wet give. He held it there, buried to the knuckle, feeling the incredible, velvety heat clench around him.

"Oh— oh my god—" His finger crooked, exploring the inner walls, a clumsy hook that made your hips jolt. "Tell me—"

You didn’t even let him ask the question. "Add another— Michael, please—"

He withdrew almost completely, the loss of that pressure a small agony, before sinking a second one in alongside the first. It was a tighter fit, a stretch that burned sweetly, and he fumbled the angle, his rhythm stuttering as he tried to do two things at once — curl his fingers inside you and work the heel of his palm against your clit the way you'd shown him. 

He couldn't manage both, so it came in uneven bursts: a deep, searching curl of his fingers that made you gasp, followed by a fumbling loss of friction, then the hard, accidental grind of his palm that sent a jolt through your nerves. It was maddening and good, the very imperfection of it keeping you on a ragged edge.

And then that need took him over again. He hauled you up and back, dragging you into his lap with your spine against his chest, your jeans caught around your thighs, and spread his own legs so yours fell open over them, splaying you wide in the dark.

"Wanna feel it," he mumbled into your hair, his breath hot and uneven against your ear. "Lemme feel it when you—"

It was clumsier from this angle, his arm reaching around, the position making him work half-blind but he could feel everything now, your whole body laid back against him, every twitch and clench. He still couldn't see you, not properly, not in this dark, but god, he could feel you, and he chased that instead, mapping you with his fingers. 

You didn’t even have the capacity to think about anything else outwith the feeling of his hand; the windows were covered in dripping condensation, much like your current state on his lap. 

He buried his face in your hair and paid attention.Two fingers pumping into you, uneven but deep, the drag of his calloused skin against your inner walls a rough, delicious friction. 

The heel of his palm ground down on your clit with each thrust, a counterpoint that was sometimes too hard, sometimes perfect. His other arm was locked around your waist, holding you open for it, his fingers splayed possessively over your stomach. His other hand worked on you, his fingers slipping in the drenching wetness, losing the rhythm, catching it again. His breath got more ragged in your ear, hot puffs against your skin, his own hips shifting underneath you as if he was the one being touched.

"You're shakin'," he breathed, wondering, almost frightened. He could feel the fine tremors running through your thighs, the clenching of your muscles around his buried fingers. "Is that— am I doin' it right? You gonna—?"

"Don't stop, don't stop, don't you dare stop—"

He didn't. He pressed his open mouth to the side of your throat and just held the rhythm, clumsy and relentless and soaked to the knuckle. 

His fingers curled into that spot over and over, a come-hither motion that rubbed a deep, internal trigger each time. The heel of his palm worked you in a desperate, circling grind, the combined sensations coiling the tension in your belly impossibly tight. 

His ragged little pleas in your ear; 

come on, please, I got you, lemme feel it, please 

were the final thread to snap. You came hard around his fingers, a sharp, clenching that he felt instantly, his "Oh—" swallowed by your skin. 

Your cry was bitten-down, stifled against your own arm, your whole body bowing back against his chest in a rigid arc. 

He gasped like he felt it happen, his fingers slowing, gentling, but not stilling,working you through every aftershock with a clumsy tenderness, feeling each internal flutter against his skin until you went limp against him, boneless and laughing softly.

For a moment he just held you, his chest heaving against your back, his fingers still resting between your legs like he couldn't quite bear to move them. 

Then the haze seemed to clear and it all caught up with him at once; where you were, what he'd just done- and he made a small, strangled sound and brought both hands up over his face.

"Oh my god," he mumbled into his palms. "Oh my god. In the— we're in the car. I just— in public—"

You twisted around to look at him, biting back a sly smile. "Michael."

"Anybody coulda walked by." His voice was muffled, his ears gone hot. "I can't believe I— that I just did that. To you. Right here."

"Hey." You reached up and gently tugged one of his hands down from his face. He let you, peeking out at you, sheepish and flushed and impossibly young. "You didn't do anything I didn't want."

“- Yeah?” He asked, a slight sense of giddiness in his voice.

His hand, the one you'd lowered, drifted back down to your bare stomach where your shirt was rumpled up, then he was between your legs again, his fingers settling against you again like they belonged there now. 

He wasn't even looking, his eyes were still firmly fixed on your face. But you felt him go still as his fingertips met how wet you still were, how slick and soft and warm.

"You're still…" he breathed, the wonder creeping back into his voice, low against your ear. "God, you're still all wet— I can feel it. You're so—" He didn't finish. 

His fingers were already moving again, slow, drawn back up to that spot like they couldn't help themselves, circling, and you sighed and let your head fall back against his shoulder—-

A beam of white light swung across the rear window.

You both went rigid. The light bounced, steadied, then found you, pinning you in its glare through the leaf-dappled glass. Footsteps crunched over the dry undergrowth, a few paces off and closing.

"Y'all can't be back here!" came a gruff, bored voice, the kind that had said it a hundred times tonight. A flashlight rapped against the trunk. "This is past the boundary. Customers stay in the marked lot. C'mon now, let's go, you're outta bounds; move it along or I'm callin' it in."

Michael's head came up off your shoulder. Slowly, you both turned to look at each other in the swinging light—his Afro flattened on one side, his collar askew, his lips swollen, your own makeup smudged and your jeans still half-down, the pair of you a complete state, and you watched the exact same realisation land on both your faces at once. What you had just done. Where you had just done it.

His mouth twitched. So did yours. And then it was hopeless, you were both gone, dissolving into helpless, breathless, hand-clapped-over-mouth laughter. The kind that only gets worse the more you try to stop it, you scrambling to yank your jeans back up, the guard's flashlight still tapping impatiently against the glass.

"Okay— okay—" Michael wheezed, scrambling, all long limbs and giggles, hauling himself over the seatback and dropping into the driver's seat. You climbed over after him into the front, the two of you a tangle of laughter and bad coordination, the engine coughing to life under his shaking hand.

He pulled out of the trees with one arm slung over your seat to reverse, still snorting, cheeks wet, and threw the guard a sheepish little wave through the windshield as the Eldorado rolled back toward the road.

The Starlite's giant screen flickered away behind you. The laughter settled slowly into something a bit more subdued, the two of you catching your breath, and Michael's hand found yours over the console, his thumb tracing little circles into your knuckles like he couldn't bear not to be touching you.

"Hey," he said after a moment, softer now, his eyes on the road. "Can I be honest with you?"

"Always."

He chewed his lip, the streetlights sliding gold across his face. "I want to take you to bed. Properly, I mean. One day. I think about it more'n I should." A nervous breath. "But I don't think I'm… ready. Up here." He tapped his temple, sheepish. 

"Not yet. There's a lot in my head, with Joseph and the music and everybody watchin' me all the time, and I don't wanna do that with you till I can do it right. Till I can give you all of me and not be scared. Does that..- is that okay?"

You squeezed his hand, your heart aching with how much you adored him. "Of course it's okay, Michael. We've got all the time in the world. I'm not goin' anywhere."

The relief that broke over his face was its own kind of beautiful. He lifted your hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it, quick and shy.

"But," he added, a sly little smile tugging at his mouth, the boldness from the trees flickering back for just a second, "we can do… that… from time to time. When I get a minute to spend with you alone." The smile faltered into earnestness. 

"Just— we gotta be careful, okay? Real careful. Can't let nobody catch us. Not 'Maine again, not Joseph, nobody. If they found out… I’d be in trouble. There’s a no girlfriend rule."

"Then we won't get caught," you said simply, lacing your fingers tighter through his.

He grinned, real, and toothy, the smile splitting his face wide open. He was glancing over at you as the road opened up ahead.

"Shall we just ditch our plans and go to the candy shop?"

You grinned back at him, settling into the seat, Tweety Pie bobbing his merry approval on the dash.

"Yeah, we may as well. We barely watched the movie."

-

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