✦ pairings ... 2.1k　﹒　dangerous michael　℘　f.reader.　

✦ premise ... 𝐀 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 ★ after returning home to neverland, michael is greeted with an unexpected surprise: food, a new family movie, and an evening with the only person who makes the mansion feel like home.

✦ contains ... ( fluff )　lovesick puppy!michael, cuddling, kisses, romance, slight yearning, no use of y/n

✦ adore’s note ... i wrote this drunk, still am drunk. i could only fufill this req when i wasn't in my head. not proof read bc mama's tired. so, goodnight and enjoy !

　　100 follower special!

　　　　　Y'KNOW I'VE GOT AN OPINION

Summary⸝⸝　After Michael stirs discourse over where he's been for the past year, you're focused on his new look for the World Music Awards.

　　　　　wc: 2.5k　y/n replaced with: (🎤︎︎)

Contains... wendy willaims!reader, talk show!reader, messy!reader, early 2000s michael (2002), messing with timelines (so events line up), reader is in her 40's, Michael is a shameless flirt, sexual themes (MDNI)

in the 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭. 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　 ݁ ﹒ ݁ 　　⏝ ۪ ゛𝐢ntroduct𝒾on 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 ❤︎︎

⎯⎯ ⊹ ׄ 𓂃 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐭 𝒃𝒆𝒈𝒂𝒏 . . .

❝ your and Michael’s first encounter took place at the Shrine Auditorium in 1979, where you had arrived as an up-and-coming artist accompanied by your managers and representatives from the label. The evening was less about celebration and more about securing your place within an industry that had not yet learned your name, which meant being introduced to influential producers, charming executives, and making the sort of connections that could determine whether your career ever moved beyond private studio sessions and unfinished promises. Michael had recently released Off the Wall, and watching him command the room with such effortless, electric energy left you completely transfixed. All you could think was, I need to be where he is. The two of you never formally spoke that night, though you caught one another’s gaze in brief, fleeting intervals between being pulled from conversation to conversation by your manager and slipping away long enough to collect yourself over a quick drink of water.

After that evening, you worked relentlessly, surrendering nearly every waking hour to your debut project. Your days became an endless procession of photo shoots, studio sessions, dance lessons, performance rehearsals, and meetings in which strangers discussed your future as though it were something they could manufacture for you. Still, the sound you were developing belonged entirely to you. It was unfamiliar and daring, something the world of pop music had not heard before, and audiences recognized that difference almost immediately. In 1982, at only twenty-two years old, your debut project was finally released, and its success exceeded even the most optimistic predictions. You climbed the charts at a startling pace, broke records, and surpassed established female artists, becoming the youngest woman at the time to achieve such extraordinary numbers. Your name appeared across magazine covers, your songs poured from popular radio stations, and yet none of it felt entirely real until the afternoon you heard your lead single playing through the speakers of a restaurant where you were quietly having lunch. In that ordinary, unsuspecting moment, the magnitude of what had happened finally reached you. Your life had transformed completely, and every sleepless night, aching rehearsal, and moment of uncertainty had given you what you had fought for from the beginning: a voice people were finally willing to hear.

Naturally, that was when the tabloids began doing what they did best. As Michael’s Thriller became a worldwide phenomenon, your own debut was climbing the charts at an equally astonishing pace, and the press couldn’t resist turning two success stories into a competition. Reporters declared you the new face of the era, emphasizing that your debut numbers were keeping pace with—and in some markets even surpassing—Michael Jackson’s, forcing comparisons between the two of you wherever they could manufacture one. Before long, they had branded you the “female answer to Michael Jackson,” reducing everything you had created into a response to somebody else’s success. The implication infuriated you more deeply than anyone understood, particularly because Michael was someone you had admired long before the press decided he should become your competition. It was not an honor to have your identity attached to his name, nor did it feel flattering to be treated as the feminine counterpart of an artist who had already been allowed to stand entirely on his own. To you, it was a dismissal disguised as praise, a quiet discrediting of the work you had sacrificed years of your life to create. So when you and Michael finally met properly at a charity gala, you entered the evening with something to prove. You needed him, the reporters, and everyone else watching to understand that you were not an extension of another artist’s legacy. You were your own artist, and you refused to let anyone remember you otherwise. ❞

۪ ݁ I am taking requests for this concept & if you’d like to be apart of the taglist, leave a comment! (◜ ㉨ ◝ʃƪ)

𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔭𝔬𝔭𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔯

𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖺𝗀𝖾𝗋! 𝗆𝗂𝖼𝗁𝖺𝖾𝗅 𝗃𝖺𝖼𝗄𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝗑 𝗉𝗈𝗉𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋! 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌

if i was your boyfriend

tags. smut MDNI, inexperienced!michael x experienced!reader, sub!mike, loss of virginity, p in v, no protection (don’t do this), creampie, spit as lube (wouldn’t recommend), blackfem!reader, thriller!era

note. based on this request. wc. 2.8K

i’m not as pleased with this as i’d like to be but we ball

The rain was gently beating down against Michael's window, almost drowning out the sounds of the record he had spinning.

Your favorite album, that he thought would cheer you up. You were laid on his chest curled up into him as you two sat in comfortable silence, the conversation having died down a moment ago.

He’d been through this before with you. Same routine everytime. You’d tell him you had a date with your boyfriend, all pretty and excited and he would pretend to be happy about it. You’d get all dressed up, only to be disappointed when your boyfriend eventually let you down.

A never ending cycle.

One that Michael was, quite frankly, getting sick of. He couldn’t keep watching you do this to yourself. You deserved so much better than some schmuck who couldn’t even give you the time of day.

But you kept going back. And Michael as your closest friend, constantly protested against it, more slick than obvious detestation. Snide comments that he thought were well deserved.

“You gotta stop seeing this guy, he' s hurtin’ you.” was what he went with this time.

“I know.” nothing else, just small and meek. You were never that, so to watch another person reduce you to that hurt Michael.

For the first time, Michael didn’t know what to do to fix this. Or if there was anything he could do. He missed hearing you talk to him, tease him, laugh. Anything really. He harbored such intense feelings for you that it scared him sometimes.

“Michael?” he immediately perked up at the sound of your voice giving you his full attention, his hand pausing at the small of your back.

“Yeah?”

“How come you’ve never had a girlfriend?” the question hits him in the chest and he avoids the eye contact you’re forcing him to make.

“Oh uhm, m’not sure. I just haven’t found anyone I’m interested in I guess.” a bold faced lie. The girl he wanted was laid across him right now crying over another man.

“Hmm, I know you’d be a great boyfriend to some girl one day.” you spoke a bit sadly plopping your head back down.

Michael thought he could be that for you. If you ever let him.

“You think so?”

“I know so. You’re very sweet and loving, attentive, far more than any man I’ve met. And you’re so cute, I jus’ wanna eat you up.” your praise had Michael’s face heating up and he brought a hand up to palm over his mouth to hide his grin.

Distantly he thought if you thought all that, then why won’t you just choose him?

“You know, I actually did break up with him. Before I came here.” your hand traced absentminded circles over his t shirt, not even being aware that you’d just turned Michael’s whole world upside down.

“You did? Seriously?” he sounded too eager to his own ears. You nodded.

“Well that’s great…well not great but it’s- I mean- “ your laugh cut off his rambling. “It’s okay I get what you mean.” you pat his chest pausing a moment before your next words.

“I know you didn’t like him.” Michael didn’t even try to argue with you. He wouldn’t lie to you. Not ever.

“I just think you deserve better. I would treat you so much better than him.” he didn’t mean to let that last part slip out.

You sat up to look at him then, staring deep into his eyes and he stayed with his head pressed firm to the pillow, nervous at your reaction.

“You would?” you looked uncertain. But like you so badly wanted to believe him. Michael inhaled a sharp breath before continuing.

“Yes I would. If I was your boyfriend, I’d never leave you alone like that. Never stand you up.” you bit the skin of your lip drawing it into your mouth.

“What else?”

“Well, I’d buy you anything you wanted. You name it and it’s yours.” and he meant every word he said. You could feel the sincerity bleeding from his words and you knew Michael. He would never lie to you.

“I’d do anything to make you happy.” he registered your hand reaching for his that was sat atop his thigh, lacing your fingers together.

The contact had Michael swallowing down his sudden nerves, eyes darting across the room for a moment before returning.

“You would do anything for me?”

“Yes.” completely breathless but not a moments hesitation.

You made a move then, slowly crawling closer to Michael and bringing your faces close together. You could feel his breath hitch as his lips parted a bit. His eyes flitting down to yours like he couldn’t help himself.

“Michael.” the way you said it sent shivers running down his spine. Just the sound of you saying his name had his hips shifting against the bed.

“Hm?”

“Can I kiss you?” you asked him politely, your tone slightly seductive. Or maybe that’s just how he heard it because he wanted you so bad.

“Yeah but- I don’t know if it’ll be good I- uhm I’ve never kissed anyone before.” his breathing had picked up at just the prospect of your lips on his. But he didn’t want to embarrass himself. After all, you’d been with others before. He hadn’t.

“Never? Well that’s okay, I can show you. S’no big deal.” you smiled at him and Michael felt his heart flutter in his chest.

With his go ahead you swung a leg over his hips, not putting your weight on him, but kneeling over his body on all fours. “I hope this is okay.” you spoke, seemingly a bit shy yourself.

“Yeah this is okay.” and with that you brought your lips down on his. It was just a touching of lips at first, Michael’s body completely freezing up for a fraction of a second. And once he got over the initial shock that you were actually kissing him, he relaxed a bit.

You pressed a few pecks to his lips and he liked those. He liked them a lot. So much that he chased your mouth every time you pulled back from him.

You went to pull back to see if he was still okay but he protested immediately, hands shooting to your waist to keep you still.

“Wait, please don’t stop.” he drug your body down to his, making you straddle him fully now. Your hips flush together. You could feel him begin to get hard under you.

“Are you sure?” you were still asking him for reassurance. You wanted this. You just wanted to make sure he did too.

“Yes, please please.” His soft voice begged, breathless. And he didn’t care how borderline pathetic he sounded begging you to kiss him. He needed to feel your lips against his again.

You brought your lips back to his, kissing him more feverishly and Michael melted into the mattress under you.

The kiss wasn’t bad at all but you could see how Michael was inexperienced. Your teeth clashed together one moment and you and Michael just laughed. At one point he turned his head and your noses bumped together a bit hard as he went back in. But you just smiled and kissed the tip of his nose.

You felt honored that he chose to have you for his first kiss. And he loved every moment of your lips on his. It’d been something he’d dreamed about a long time, alone in his bed fighting the urge to touch himself to thoughts of you.

But none of that could compare to the feeling of you rolling your hips down on his, grinding slowly against his bulge. He immediately broke the kiss letting out a low whine at the contact.

“Omg are you okay?! I didn’t hurt you did I?” your lips broke from him and you were frantically searching his face, hands coming up to hold either side.

“No m’okay, you didn’t hurt me. It uhm… feels good.”

You seemed to sigh in relief knowing that he was fine and enjoying himself.

You continued on to grind your hips harder on him, the friction of your panties rubbing your clit delicious.

He was absolutely in heaven, tipping his head back and moaning at the feeling. His big palms, a little sweaty, grabbed at your hips. He didn’t try to change your movements. He was just holding on.

You could feel him twitching between your legs, growing and prodding your slit.

And he felt big. Like really big.

Especially when he started thrusting up into you like he was trying to bury himself in you, like he couldn’t help himself. You just felt so good and his needy whines and moans we’re turning you on so much.

“Mm you feel so good mama.” his voice, more breathless than you’d ever heard. You brought your lips back down to his and he met you eagerly, head lifting up.

This time he was much better, getting the hang of the action quickly. But it wasn’t enough for him anymore.

You felt his tongue gently prod at the seam of your lip and you opened your mouth to him. You heard him hum a little in his throat when you brought your tongue to his. Despite inexperience, Michael was still a good kisser.

Between your lips, you could feel the saliva spilling from his mouth a bit onto yours. It wasn’t a crazy amount but you didn’t mind either way. He tasted so good, like cinnamon, probably from the obscene amounts of gum he chewed. It was making your head spin.

He gently gnawed on your lip, sucking it into his mouth and that had you throbbing.

“I want more. Please.” his hands started reaching for your shirt then, hands gripping the hem. He didn’t pull it up, just held it there.

He was trying so hard to keep some control.

You started trailing kisses down his neck then, sucking the soft skin into your mouth leaving light hickeys for him to find later.

You moved further down till you reached his belt, loosening the thing and dragging it through the loops. Your eyes landed on the bulge you were now eye level with and you bit your lip. You were sure he had to be pretty big based on what you saw.

Michael noticed how you paused, eyes trained on his crotch. He began to get nervous then.

“Is somethin’ wrong?” his voice was soft and a tad bit concerned. He hoped that he didn’t do anything wrong. Or that you didn’t want to do this anymore. Because you didn’t actually want him the same way he wanted you.

“No no I promise nothing's wrong it’s just uhm,” you weren’t sure how to phrase what you were thinking so you just shook your head and continued on.

You wiggled his pants from his hips and legs leaving him only in his bright red briefs. Now you were certain he was fucking huge. Bigger than you’d had at least. Which to be fair, wasn’t a hard mark to beat.

“Alright, what’s wrong talk to me.”

“Nothin it’s- you're just big. Bigger than I’ve had. M’not sure if it’ll fit. If that’s what you want.” Michael got shy at the compliment hand coming up to cover the grin breaking out on his face. Nervous habit of his to smile in situations that probably didn’t warrant it.

“Of course I want it.”

Finally you pulled his boxers down and he sprang out, he was already embarrassingly wet, leaking pre cum off the tip. And he shivered as the cold air of his room met his sensitive flesh.

You brought your hand up to your mouth, wetting it, bringing it down to stroke him, mixing your spit with his pre cum.

“You have a really pretty dick.” you couldn’t help but tell him, your eyes trained on his trying to soak up every reaction. And it was true. He was the prettiest you’d seen and you’d seen some pretty ugly ones.

You weren’t even sure if he heard you at first when he didn’t respond, eyes squeezed closed at your ministrations.

God your hand felt so good on him. Far better than his own if he was being honest.

“Mmm thank you.” it felt a bit awkward to say while trying not to cum all over your hand. And he was nearly there, squeezing his body uncomfortably tight trying not to let go.

He wanted to hold out for you.

His hand moved to your thigh gripping the flesh a bit hard. “Please I can’t take this. Need you now.” he didn’t exactly know how to voice what he wanted.

But he hoped you got the message as he brought his hands to wedge between your thighs. He didn’t touch you where you wanted him to. Just rested it there, gently caressing the skin of your thigh.

“Okay m’ sorry, just a sec.” you removed your hands from him and moved to take off your shorts and panties, your shirt and bra quickly following. And he’d never seen this much of you. This much of anyone.

But only this moment mattered to him.

You straddled his hips again and brought your hips down over his dick and you were so wet, your slick coating over his shaft as you made contact.

The feel of your pussy on him was absolute heaven and it was driving him crazy. He couldn’t help but buck up into you. “Oh my gosh please.” he didn’t know what exactly he was begging for. But he knew he needed more of you.

You canted your hips back and forth, him slipping between your folds. You were a bit worried about his size but you’d been thinking about this for so long yourself, you were determined. You had to have him inside you.

You leaned down to kiss him more before you lifted up and sank down on him.

You were torturously slow to lower your hips and as soon as your warm wet heat wrapped around his tip, he knew he was a goner.

It was a small struggle to take him but you were so wet his size wasn’t that much of an issue. But there was an obscene amount of pressure in your gut at the amount of space he took up. Practically smooshed to your walls. And you were tightening around him more and more, heightening the sensation.

He was practically vibrating with need and energy as you slid down further until your pelvis was flush to his, bringing your hands up to his chest, you start to ride him, slow at first.

Michael had kept his eyes almost closed this whole time but there was no way he was going to miss this. They way your eyes rolled back and squeezed shut, head tipping back to expose your neck.

He swore he was in heaven.

“Hmm Michael y’feel so good ohmygosh.” you were blabbering and he was eating up all your praises.

He couldn’t help but rock his hips up when it started to feel too good. Your wet heat gripping him so tight, he was on the verge of cumming already. He wanted to hold out so bad.

“Ahh please please!” he didn’t know if that was his voice or yours. It was probably him he guessed.

You were in complete ecstasy, unable to focus on anything but the slide of his dick in and out of you as you bounced in his lap. Your combined wetness was leaking over causing obscene noises to ring out as your skin met.

You just couldn’t stop. And you didn’t want to. He had to be the best you’d ever had. And he’d never even had sex before this.

“M’gonna cum, m’sorry I can’t anymore.” he whimpered out, looking into your eyes. His were blown wide and darkened with lust and desire.

“S’okay baby, jus’ cum I’ve got you.” and the way you spoke to him had him tipping over the edge, hips stalling as he came deep inside you.

And he came a lot, ropes and ropes spilling and oozing out of you.

You brought your hand to your clit, rubbing circles as you kept going, chasing that feeling in your gut that had been building.

Michael watched you with rapt attention, mouth hanging open trying to catch his breath. The sight of you chasing your high and bouncing in his lap was too much.

He was getting hard again.

And god that friction was leading into overstimulation for him and he didn’t know if he could take much more. His toes were curling in his socks and he was a mess under you.

That was what did you in and you came crying out his name then slumped on his chest.

He was still twitching inside you moments later when you didn’t pull off of him.

“I’m glad you were my first time.” he spoke when his breathing finally calmed down, his hand rubbing soft soothing circles on your back.

“I’m glad I was too.” you sat up to look at him.

“Y’know Michael, I would do anything for you too.” you referenced his earlier words, a conversation not long forgotten.

He nodded at you a bit unsure where this was going.

“I know that.”

“I wasn’t gonna say anything because I wasn’t sure if you felt the same about me but- I really like you. I have for a long time and I just wanted you to know. You’re one of the most important people in my life.” you confession was nervous and rambled out. And you didn’t exactly dream of it happening with you sat on him and leaking his cum out of you.

But you couldn’t think of a better moment.

“You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear you say that.” he was beaming at you, eyes full of light and love.

“I’ve always loved you. From the very beginning really.” you couldn’t help but to kiss him then.

“I love you too.”

©megsnotokay

⊹ ݁ 𝐟or the 𝐦emories .ᐟ

݁ 𓈒 ❝᷀ົ capturing your handsome best friend on film

summary. ❪ 1.9𝒌 ❫ pre-otw era! 𝒎ichael 𝑥 𝒻. childhood bsf! reader ╱ accompanying the Jackson family to an afternoon photoshoot leaves you with the perfect opportunity to take far too many candid pictures of your oldest friend—strictly for the sake of preserving memories, of course, and certainly not because you cannot stop thinking about how handsome he has become.

❛ 𝓐UGUST 17, 1978 — 𝓦ESTLAKE 𝓥ILLAGE, 𝓒ALIFORNIA ❜

By the time the photographer announced that he needed only a few more pictures, Michael had already changed clothes twice, endured nearly an hour of his brothers deliberately ruining otherwise usable shots, and been instructed to smile so many times that the expression had begun to feel unnatural upon his face. It was one of those long afternoons that had technically been arranged for work but carried all the disorder of a family gathering, with everyone drifting between Jackie’s house and the private lake behind it, teasing one another beneath the California sun while assistants rearranged equipment along the dock.

You had accompanied the family often enough that no one questioned your presence anymore. Katherine greeted you warmly the moment you stepped inside, drawing you briefly against her side before asking how you had been. “I’m good, Mrs. Jackson,” you answered with a smile, returning her affection before Jackie leaned around the doorway and politely offered, “You want something to drink? We’ve got lemonade in the kitchen.”

“Lemonade sounds perfect. Thank you, Jackie.”

You had barely finished speaking when Marlon appeared behind you and wrapped one arm around your shoulders, rubbing his knuckles playfully against the top of your head. “Look who finally decided to show up.”

“Marlon!” you protested through your laughter, attempting to duck free just as Michael hurried into the room.

“Leave her alone,” he complained, shoving his brother’s arm away with far more urgency than the harmless teasing required. Marlon merely grinned at the two of you before wandering toward the kitchen, leaving Michael to smooth the hair he had disrupted with an almost offended little frown.

“He mess it up?” he asked.

“A little,” you teased, watching his expression fall before gently adding, “But I’m sure you’ll fix it for me.”

That was enough to make him smile, shy and pleased with himself, and he remained beside you for the rest of the afternoon as though your arrival had quietly improved the entire occasion.

You had brought your little camera with you, tucked carefully inside your bag beside a spare roll of film, though Michael had not noticed it until sometime after lunch. The professional photographer had positioned him beside the water in a red plaid shirt that remained carelessly open down the front, insisting that the relaxed styling would make the photographs feel more natural. Michael had complained beneath his breath that there was nothing natural about being told precisely where to stand and how far to turn his chin, but he followed every direction anyway, his discomfort disappearing beneath the quiet professionalism he had learned far too young. You watched from several feet away as sunlight settled warmly across his face and bare chest, catching along the edges of his afro whenever the breeze moved through it. He looked older that afternoon—not entirely grown, perhaps, but no longer resembling the little boy who used to chase you through the Jacksons’ backyard until both of you collapsed breathlessly into the grass. There was a new sort of confidence beginning to form inside him, tentative but unmistakable, and you found yourself wanting to preserve it before the moment passed.

The shutter clicked before you had properly considered what you were doing.

Michael’s eyes immediately moved away from the photographer and landed upon you. “Did you just take a picture of me?”

You lowered the camera only slightly, pretending to examine its settings despite knowing perfectly well that there was nothing wrong with them. “No.”

“I heard it.”

“That could’ve been his camera,” you reasoned, nodding toward the photographer with an innocence made entirely unconvincing by the fact that your own camera remained raised between your hands.

“He wasn’t taking one.” Michael narrowed his eyes at you, although the beginnings of a smile had already betrayed him. “You’re wasting your film.”

“I’ll decide what counts as wasting it.”

He attempted to return his attention to the shoot, but you noticed the subtle change almost immediately. He became conscious of you watching him in a way he had not been before, smoothing one hand over the front of his shirt and shifting his weight beneath the excuse of becoming more comfortable. The photographer asked him to look toward the lake, and Michael obeyed, adopting an expression of casual seriousness that lasted only until your camera clicked again.

“Oh, come on,” he protested, turning toward you completely now. “That’s two.”

“That you know about.”

His mouth fell open in disbelief. “How many did you take?”

You smiled sweetly and raised the camera once more. “Hold still.”

Michael lifted a hand toward his face, half shielding himself from you even as laughter threatened to escape him, biting at his bottom lip in habit. He had spent nearly his entire life being photographed, yet something about being seen through your lens left him unusually vulnerable. Photographers captured Michael Jackson because he was a performer, because his face belonged on album sleeves and magazine pages and posters pinned above thousands of beds. You took pictures of Michael because his smile had appeared without warning, because the sunlight looked pretty against his skin, or because he had glanced toward you with such unsuspecting softness that you wanted proof the moment had truly happened. There was no performance available to hide behind when you photographed him. You always seemed interested in the parts of him he had never been taught to display.

“You’re gonna get these developed and realize I look terrible in every one,” he muttered, turning his face toward the water as though he had suddenly found something fascinating in the distance. “My shirt’s all crooked, and I think my hair looks funny from this side.”

“Your hair looks exactly the same from both sides.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is.”

“And I wasn’t ready for any of them.”

“That’s why I like them.” You lifted the camera again, capturing the precise moment his guarded expression softened into confusion. “They’re supposed to be memories, Michael. Memories aren’t posed.”

He glanced toward you from the corner of his eye. “You need that many memories of me?”

The question was delivered teasingly, but something uncertain lived beneath it, something that made your fingers pause around the camera. You could have offered him the obvious explanation: that he was always traveling, that his family’s schedule seemed to change every week, that photographs preserved afternoons the mind would eventually begin to blur around the edges. All of those things were true. They simply were not the entire truth. The entire truth was that you thought he looked unbearably handsome standing beside the lake, his shirt open and his skin warmed by the sun, and that something inside your chest had tightened the moment he smiled. You had been collecting candid photographs of him for years under the respectable excuse of sentimentality, carefully ignoring how often the pictures you treasured most were the ones in which he looked less like your oldest friend and more like the young man you were slowly, helplessly beginning to see.

“I need enough to remember you accurately,” you answered at last.

Michael gave a quiet, skeptical laugh. “Then you definitely shouldn’t take one of me looking like this.”

“Oh, you hush, Michael Joseph Jackson.”

The use of his full name made his smile break through despite every attempt to suppress it. He ducked his head, dragging the toe of his shoe against the dock while his hand rose instinctively to adjust the collar of his shirt. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.” You moved closer, peering at him over the top of the camera. “You look handsome.”

For several seconds, Michael said nothing at all. The activity surrounding the two of you continued uninterrupted—his brothers laughing somewhere behind the photographer, the quiet movement of water beneath the dock, an assistant calling for someone to bring another roll of film—yet he seemed momentarily removed from all of it. Compliments about his voice and talent reached him every day, often from people who wanted something in return, but yours had been offered so plainly that he could find no safe way to dismiss it. A shy warmth spread across his face before he turned abruptly toward the lake, biting back a smile that had already become much too obvious.

“You only said that so I’d stop complaining.”

“I said it because it’s true.”

“Well, stop saying it.”

“Why?”

“Because.” He glanced at you again, his eyes bright with embarrassment. “Just because.”

You laughed and raised the camera before he could hide from you completely. The shutter captured him midway through trying not to smile, his face turned slightly away and one hand resting against the open edge of his shirt. It was not the composed version the photographer had spent the afternoon arranging. It was softer than that, flushed and bashful and unmistakably yours, and you knew before the film had even been developed that it would become your favorite.

Michael crossed the distance between you before you could take another, gently prying the camera from your hands despite your protests. “You’ve had enough.”

“Michael, give it back. There are only a few pictures left.”

“Good.” He lifted it awkwardly toward his face, squinting through the viewfinder as you immediately attempted to turn away. “Now it’s my turn.”

“I thought taking pictures was wasting film.”

“It is when you do it.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Hold still,” he repeated, borrowing your earlier instruction with unmistakable satisfaction.

You had barely looked back at him when the shutter clicked. Michael lowered the camera with a triumphant smile, pleased by the scandalized expression upon your face until you reached for it and he quickly held it above your head. The two of you struggled over it with the thoughtless familiarity of childhood, your shoulder bumping against his chest as he laughed and leaned farther away, careful to keep the camera secure even while refusing to surrender it. For one brief moment, your hand closed around his wrist and his other arm settled instinctively around your waist to steady you near the edge of the dock. The laughter between you quieted. Neither of you moved immediately, both suddenly aware of how little space remained between your bodies and how differently such closeness felt now than it had when you were children.

Michael was the first to look away, though he did not release you until he was certain you had regained your balance. He placed the camera gently back into your hands, his fingertips lingering against yours for a second longer than necessary.

“What was that picture for?” you asked, your voice softer now.

He shrugged, attempting to appear unaffected despite the smile returning to the corner of his mouth. “Memories.”

Weeks later, when the photographs were finally developed, most of them looked exactly as you had hoped. There was Michael by the lake with the afternoon sun across his face, Michael glancing toward you when he believed you had lowered the camera, and Michael smiling so openly that you could almost hear his laughter through the glossy print. The final photograph was slightly crooked and poorly centered, taken before you had been prepared, with your hair disturbed by the breeze and surprise still visible in your expression. You might have complained about it had you not discovered the small message Michael had written across the back after you allowed him to look through the prints.

You looked pretty, too. Keep this one for me.

And beneath it, squeezed into the remaining space in his careful handwriting, he had added:

For the memories.

© original works by honeysmoonave. do not duplicate or feed through ai. | hi my angels! ❤︎︎ here is something I cooked up super duper quick, I hope it’s not too short for yall! thank you for the lovely @ang9lic for inspiring me to write this out hehe, this one is specially for you girl!

🏷 : @gorgystarr, @daphne020708, @floralsightings, @swe3tyann, @18lkpeters, @valky4e, @justfaefaeee, @xxxercess, @sorasomi, @bbyjjunie, @rosiiee3, @iluvbeingdelulu4evaaa, @mochimommy2002, @cyb3rsw1rls, @kyumiiee, @ch3rrybl0ssomtree, @scknights, @lavendernightsky, @iris-xoxo-juhu, @bouncylikebouncyball, @lotuspetalss, @nata-de-coconuts, @slugstarzz, @michaeljacksonsonlylady, @inbredfawn, @popzeenat, @rlm-11, @yearlyjams, @glitterqueen123, @gxsela, @californiawhoo, @elizabethdots, @sudupp, @thrilleronvinyl, @sighsofvenus, @dreamylace, @michaelsgirlie

Pairings: Perv!Otw!Michael x Reader

Genre:  SMUT!! MDNI!! Strangers to lovers

Warnings: Again SMUT!! MDNI!! My freakiest fic yet. PLOT WITH PORN, nawt the other way around. Religious themes. Blasphemy (?). Sexual repression/awakening. Mentions of J*e Jackson. Masturbation (m.). Weak upper body strength described as pasta. (That'll make sense later, I promise). Michael is a nymph, one that's overly easy. Reader is also overly easy. Manipulative!Michael. Mike's a certified freak, you hear me? He's lowkey (highkey) a creep. dom!Michael. Loss of virginity. P in V (protected). Squirting. Oral (f. receiving). Michael puts reader in a headlock. Rough sex. (Mike tears that kitty up sista.) Floor sex.

Summary: Michael notices someone moving in across the street from him. She might be the prettiest girl he's ever seen. By his appearance, you'd never guess he'd be thinking about how many ways he could turn her out before the sun goes down. He'd also like to take her to dinner, but he isn't partial about what comes first. Chicken? Egg? He'll be eating either way!

W.C: 9k (whew! it's hot in here, sista!)

Author’s Note: I've left myself speechless honey. This beast took much longer than I expected (I just kept typing, this could have easily been under 5k. 😭). BUT, im glad it's here. Let me know what you think in the comments, reblog if you love it! As always, happy reading!

-Love, B. 🤍

↪ The Archive.

𝓁ove 𝒹rug

⋮ ✶┆what was supposed to be a sweet movie night between friends turns into… something else entirely.

⋮ ✶┆ 𝒻. black reader x best friend!michael j. | smut mdni. aphrodisiac. loss of control. marathon sex. he’s technically drugged : everyone is consenting. marking. softdom!mike?. dry humping but it’s not dry at all. pining. unprotected sex. p in v. thigh fixation. pussy drunk. just lost in it really. dirty talk. lot of cum. lots of nicknames incl mama cuz I love it. circa 1979. valentines came early. purity police might execute me for this one. wc. 6K

𝓂asterlist

NSFW Alphabet with Manager!Michael

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Oh baby, he cums a lot. And it doesn't do small. Long spurts, thick ropes, it goes far. He cums very hard initially, but if you do a few rounds with him, it jerks out in short spurts.

His seed is healthy enough, tastes like unflavored paste, and has a tang to it. After 2009 and completing his final tour, he started taking his health more seriously, cutting out fast food, anything fried (rip chicken nuggets), and going on a healthy diet. He drinks more water, chugs vitamins, and gets a B-12 shot. Whatever, he was told it's good for him.

He likes to cum inside you, as risky as it is. Neither of you are prepared for the talk of pregnancy if it happens. You just released your fourth studio album, Muse, and it would be a hindrance to your growing career if you had a child in the mix, as much as he wouldn't mind one with you. Another talk for another time, but he has an insane breeding kink. He practically rambles about it when he fucks you, and he loves the way your cunt squeezes around him when he bites the words into your ear. God, it's so hot.

He doesn't really like to spill over your body, as hot as it is; it's just more to clean up, and he gets very tired after sex. He really would rather cum inside you, where it's warm and safe and cozy. He likes to feel your walls flutter around his shaft when you cum over his cock, and wow, it's rare, but when you both come together, it's magic.

If you ever wanna rile him up for round two, suck his dick and paint your tongue with his milky cum. Show him your stained tongue and face before swallowing, and hold eye contact. Girl, you will get folded over faster than an Auntie Anne's salted pretzel!

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

My love, he's in his late 50s-early 60s when y'all are officially secretly dating. He's older, but he's tired. He doesn't fall asleep right away; he still deals with a bit of insomnia, and he has a fear of sinking into sleep rapidly. Please stay with him, stroke his skin with your knuckles, let him kiss you there, stare into your eyes. He needs to be cuddled after sex.

He is the king of pillow talk. He reminds you he is a human man, an intelligent being with wondrous thoughts and ideas. He will discuss philosophical topics while your naked, slightly sweaty bodies lie intertwined. His calloused fingers will thread your hair, massaging your scalp.

It's more likely with his ministrations that you will sleep faster than him and he likes to lay his head over your heart to hear it beat. It will lull him peacefully to sleep, but please hold him.

ೄ ◞♡ imagine cockwarming bestfriend!michael while he’s terribly attempting to show you what each button on the soundboard does. You wanted to tag along with him today to see how he worked, and as the day settles into a quiet night with only you two left in the studio, you were curious on how the music is even produced.

In the midst of showing you, you wanted a closer look. Next thing you know, he’s hiking your thigh up to get over on his lap.

“And this? What does this button do?” You point to it, acting oblivious on how the clenches of your cunt around his cock is driving him absolutely crazy. He doesn’t give a damn about teaching you anymore, all he wants is to fuck up his hips into your pussy until you’re a whimpering, gasping mess.

“Please,” You hear the softest of a whisper from him, noting the way his fingers have an iron grip around your waist, trying to hold himself back. “I-I need you to move, fuck—“

You stay still on his lap, your weight settled low and warm against him. You hum, feeling every aching twitch of his cock nestled deep inside your heat. “Answer my question first, Mikey.”

His jaw tenses, thighs flexing under yours. You watch how he struggles to find his voice, swallowing hard. “T-That’s the loop button. Whatever sound it is, it plays it continuously as long as you hold down that b-button.”

You grind your hips a little, slow and deliberate, enough to have him lose his breath. Your lips stop next to his ear, voice low and husky. “Good boy.”

That’s what broke him completely, not being able to take it anymore. You were no longer in control like you thought this entire time, hips snapping repeatedly up into you as he held you still by the waist to take every bruising thrust of his cock, turning you into a babbling mess in less than a second.

You should’ve known he never liked when things didn’t go his way.

SHOW ME YOUR TEETH⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ m.jackson

summary (5.2k) dracula!michael x f.reader ╱ this fic is heavily inspired by the novel dracula by bram stoker ╱ sent to bran castle to finalize the purchase of carfax abbey, you find yourself stuck here, as you get to know more about the count that lives here the closer you two get.

mdni : 18+ vampire au softdom!michael slight blood play (?) biting oral (female receiving) penetrative sex (p in v) light praise unprotected creampie power imbalance slow burn emotional intimacy consent check-ins mentions of death & isolation blood drinking age gap (michael is immortal... reader is in her 20s) emotional vulnerability temporary captivity "good girl" is said once

a/n - thriller michael as a vampire THRILLER MICHAEL AS DRACULA LIKE please tell me you guys understand.

MAY 5, 1893

The carriage rattled to a halt just as the last of the daylight bled from the sky over the Borgo pass. You stepped down with your leather satchel clutched tight against your chest, the legal documents for Carfax Abbey still sealed inside. The driver had already turned the horses without a word of farewell. The sound of the wheels faded into the mist until there was nothing left but the wind moving through the black pines and the distant howl of something that most likely was a wolf.

　　　　　　　GIMME YOUR LOVE, GIRL!

　　　　 Synopsis: Michael treats reader as his girlfriend!

　　 Notes: fluff, michael has a crush on reader, black!fem reader

　　　　 wc: 770

FIRST DAUGHTER!READER 𝒙 MICHAEL JACKSON

. ⊹ ₊. ݁.. ݁ FIRST DAUGHTER!READER

2026 © HONEYSBLISS.

love you guys but please don’t spam like everything I beg !

drabbles

･ ༝ ･

a bit longer

release (suggestive)

happy father’s day (smut)

ladies’ night (fluff)

if i was your boyfriend (smut)

all pent up (smut)

not a jealous person (smut)

precious reminiscence (fluff)

old habits (die never) series

find me a girl (fluff)

bite my tongue (smut)

safety first (fluff)

love drug (smut)

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© megsnotokay 2026 .ᐟ