— SUMMARY: Michael felt rejected and decided to make you feel the same way. Little did he know, he was making it worse for himself.
— WARNINGS: sub!mike, bratty mike, sexual tension, lowkey angst with a hint of smut atp, lots of arguing, whole house petty, michael is genuinely sick and twisted i’m so sorry, fake (?) cheating, both trying to make each other jealous, they say mean things but they love each other guys, humiliation kink, insecurity, use of ma’am, use of traffic light system, handjob, free use kink, unprotected p in v, creampie, no aftercare, this is a long one. not proofread (yet!)
— WC: 8.5k (don’t say damn..)
— A/N: That third photo screams bratty mike and you can’t tell me otherwise idc. Also, I’m sure you can guess who exactly the model is. I refuse to say her full name, but ifykyk.
Yeah, this boy went and lost his damn mind.
Michael had been pushing your buttons that whole day. It’s not like you didn’t enjoy his presence or crave his affection, but seriously?
First, came him interrupting your sleep.
He woke you up at 5:42am on Saturday morning. His curly head was in between your legs and he was eating you like you were his long awaited breakfast. Any other day? Fine. Even exceptional, but you had a long week behind you, and a busy one ahead of you. He knew that. You wanted to sleep, and being awoken only two hours into it was not helping. You firmly, but gently, shoved his head away and gave him a stern “Enough.”
Then, came his sulking.
When you finally woke up at 9:08am, groggy and irritated, you decided to try and wind down by cooking for the two of you. He still hadn’t built up the courage to touch you again. He always came up and gave you soft kisses to your neck while you flipped pancakes. He was in his head though, after laying in your shared bed feeling rejected when you sharply ordered him to leave you alone. All he wanted to do was make his favorite girl feel happy and give you some kind of reward for working so hard this week. He didn’t mean to get so lost in the maze of your core that he’d wake you up.
So, because of his own embarrassment, he’d been sighing dramatically and setting things down on tables and counters just slightly too loud. To anyone else, it’d seem normal, but you knew Michael. He was begging for your attention. After he decided not to accompany you while you cooked like he usually did, though, you weren’t gonna cave in and give it him.
The last straw, though? The phone calls.
Long after eating together in suffocating silence – both of you too stubborn to break it – the two of you drifted off to your separate workspaces in your shared home. You were getting things in order for the upcoming Tuesday. Michael was being awarded the Guinness World Record for the best-selling album of all time for Thriller. That meant you needed to make sure you were caught up with work and that you had time to relax before accompanying your star-studded boyfriend to the highly publicized event.
Michael, on the other hand, was doing a whole bunch of nothing. Not because he didn’t need to, but because he couldn’t. He tried writing, he tried finishing up painted portraits for some of his industry peers, he even popped Peter Pan into the room’s tiny VCR, but even that couldn’t catch his attention.
Surely she’ll say somethin’ to me, right? He thought to himself after the movie was about halfway through.
But, you hadn’t. You didn’t even say anything to him for not joining you in the kitchen; something he stubbornly did just to get you to finally acknowledge him. So, he decided to a phone call. He didn’t have much to talk about, he just wanted to be petty.
“Hey, Q!” he said obnoxiously loud, loud enough for you to hear through your closed office door.
You were elbows deep into your work when you heard your boyfriend’s laughter drift through the vents of your office. You couldn’t tell what exactly what he was talking about, but you were sure it was his producer, Quincy Jones, on the other line. He would be joining the two of you to the ceremony, and he must’ve been ironing out details like you were.
Cute, you thought to yourself.
Then, it got ugly real, real fast. At some point, you finally had to walk down the hallway into his room and ask him to lower his voice.
“I’m makin’ some business calls. Could you just be a bit quieter please?” you’d asked him politely.
“Mmm, she speaks!” he joked, and you heard Quincy laugh over the phone’s receiver as well. Had he told him about your mood today? You shrugged it off as he covered the phone and responded, “Yeah, I’ll tone it down some,” and went back to his conversation like your interruption was as unimportant as an infomercial. The interaction left you a bit unnerved, but you’d check him about it later.
You were only able to make it to your second phone call when you heard the hooting and hollering from his office yet again. You tried to ignore it, you really did, but you were sleep deprived, annoyed, and embarrassed because you knew he’d been talking about you. You mumbled out a quick goodbye to your coworker and slammed your phone down, already halfway through your door. You started storming down the hallway once more.
“I thought I asked you to be quiet,” you said as his door flew open, hands on your hips. Michael ignored you and kept speaking on the phone.
“Yeah, and I was thinkin’ of changin’ some of our plans for that event…No- yeah, Tuesday’s,” he continued on.
“Hello?” you questioned him, waving your hands in his face. He covered the receiver and looked up to you briefly.
“One sec,” he responded shortly.
“Yeah. So, I was thinkin’ we invite Brooke. Yeah, she was my date-” he annoyingly emphasized this, “to the last event as well, before I went public with my girl.”
“Michael, hang up,” you spat out, any patience you had left long gone. He still ignored you.
“Yeah, not sure if she’ll like that. Brooke will be a good time, though. I’ll let her know…Mhm, yeah I’ll call you up later.” He finally hung up that stupid phone.
“What’s goin’ on?” he asked you innocently. You were heated.
“Are you actually serious? You can be a lil pissy about me not wanting you to eat me out, that’s fine. I’ll let it slide for the first couple of hours. It’s been damn near twelve, Michael. I have important shit to handle, for you and your important event. I asked you politely to be quiet and I even let it slide when you continued not to be.” You stared at him wildly, gasping for air after saying everything in one breath.
“I’m off the phone now. You can continue,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders and he started dialing another number.
“Not even an apology? Yeah, forget it. I’ll sleep in my office tonight, too,” you said in a fit of anger as you stormed back to your workspace.
Who the hell did this boy think he was? You spent at least 10 minutes pacing back and forth enough to wear a hole into your carpet. You couldn’t even concentrate on your work anymore, unspoken words settled on the tip of your tongue. You wanted to tell him to grow up, to kiss you, to fuck himself.
Without thinking, your legs started down that short but treacherous path of your hallway. You were about to knock when you realized he’d actually gotten quiet this time. Curious, you touched your hand to the doorknob before freezing. You heard him giggling at some feminine voice coming in through his phone.
“Yeah, and if anything, we can just say that you’re my date. Y’know, to soften the blow. ‘M sure she’ll be fine with-” You flew into the room once more, seething.
“Oh, so you’re fine with pretending to date another girl? All over some head, Michael? You done lost your damn mind. Hang up, now. Or I will.”
“Wai-” he started.
You yanked the phone from his grip by its cord and hung up his call.
“You gon’ explain yourself?” you asked him impatiently.
“You’re bein’ mean, Brooke’s a safe date. Nothin’ to it,” he said, too nonchalantly.
“I’m being mea- Michael. Do you know how fucking exhausted I am? I’m sitting here wrapping shit up for you, to show up for you, for an award you’re winning, and you can’t keep your needy ass hands off of me to sleep for more than two fucking hours. I’ve been patient and calm with you and you decided to start acting like a fucking neglected puppy by pouting and being annoyingly loud and calling up a random ass model to be your ‘backup date.’ What the fuck is your goal, here? Because I can promise you I wasn’t you to touch me even less than I did earlier,” you ranted.
“She’s not a random model, she’s my close friend,” he responded calmly.
You just about lost it.
“That’s all you fuckin’ took from that? You know what? She so close to you, gon’ head and have her come along! Let her take all the important pictures with you too! And leave me the fuck alone for the night.”
The rest of the night, neither of you spoke to each other, save for him coming into your office quietly to say goodnight and check to see if you were actually set on sleeping on the sofa in there. You were. He gave you a kiss to your forehead as you pretended to be asleep, and softly closed its door.
The next day was super tense. You accompanied him to his childhood home in Encino for a get together his family was having. The two of you tried to appear as though everything was fine, holding onto each other, choosing the other as your teammate for board games, and even sharing the core of washing dishes. At one point, though, La Toya, his older sister, pulled you to the side and questioned you.
“Why are the two of you actin’ so weird? Y’all have your first fight?” she asked in soft voice.
“We’re fine, Toya. He’s still just nervous with me around the family, I guess,” you lied. You’d been together for over three years by now, so the fib made no sense, but she believed you anyway.
The night at home was spent identically to the previous one. Your back was in pain from sleeping on the small office couch, though, so you slept in bed this time.
“I love you,” he whispered as you settled into bed next to him.
“I love you too,” you responded hastily.
“Can we cuddle?” he asked hesitantly.
“Do you think you deserve a cuddle?” you asked him back. He sat in silence as you got your answer and drifted off to sleep.
Monday morning rolled along, and you were sick of the tension. After you finished showering and getting dressed for work, you headed to the kitchen to make Michael and yourself some breakfast as an olive branch. You expected to see him lazing in his favorite chair at the kitchen island, reading the paper. What you weren’t expecting was the handwritten note sitting in his place.
At a fitting with Q. See you when you’re home. — Applehead
Your stomach sunk and you decided to miss the most important meal of the day.
Michael knew he was wrong. He knew he was wrong to be loud when you were working. He knew he was wrong to offer another girl to be his date while his girl was standing right front of him. He knew it was wrong to write a note and not end it with an I love you. But, he couldn’t stop something deep in him for loving the tension this was creating, and for that, he knew he was even more wrong.
His fitting went by in what seemed like a blur, due to his brain being preoccupied. He would start feeling guilty for his then immediately get butterflies in his stomach the thought you open up and angry with him. Every officer ring he heard in dressing room would send some into knots, hoping it was you, but it wasn’t, and then he’d be ashamed again.
Brooke, his model friend, had turned up near the end for her own dress fitting for tomorrow night, and her presence distracted him just enough to appear normal again. They chatted about nonsense, and he stayed outside her door until she finished her fitting, offering to grab lunch with her at yours and his favorite lunch spot near home afterwards.
What a stupid idea.
You’d gotten off of work early because your duties at work weren’t needed. Your employees picked up extra work to keep ahead while you were taking time off for your boyfriend, and although you were grateful, you were upset because you had next to nothing to do. You stayed longer than you should’ve, and once you realized you were just wasting time, you headed out and decided to comfort yourself with lunch from your favorite place.
As soon as you walked into the restaurant, though, your heart flipped. Because standing in line in front of you was one of Michael’s security guards, ordering two meals. One of them was your boyfriend’s usual, and the other was unknown.
“Hi, Maurice! Is he here?” you asked him almost cheerily, he referring to Michael. You figured it was for Michael and Bill, and considered riding home with them and having Maurice take your car for you so you could catch up with Michael.
“Yep, he’s in the car out back. I can place your order too, if you’d like?” he offered politely.
“Yes, thank you! I’ll take my usual as well. Can you drive my car home for me, too?” you asked him, handing him your keys.
“No worries, hun. I’ll see you later.”
You snuck around the building and walked over to the car’s usual hiding place with an extra bounce in your step. You were ready to put the petty distance behind you and cuddle with your boyfriend again.
You opened the door without warning, and were met with a sourness so potent, you nearly hurled over and puked. She was there. And your boyfriend was sitting a little too close to her looking a little too comfortable.
“The fuck?” was all you could say.
“H-hi, baby. She’s just-”
“Brooke. Maurice will be here in a few minutes with my car. Tell him I said he could drive you home. Have a lovely day,” you interrupted him calmly. There was a pause. You raised your brow ever so slightly, and she exited this car with a quick apology. You slid in and took her place–your place– next to him, without a word.
“It’s not what you think. She just had her fitting after mine a-and I offered her lunch-”
“At our favorite spot,” you interrupted again, still too calmly.
“…Yes, but it’s just cuz I was cravin’ it-”
“And you didn’t leave a message to let me know she’d be with you. Nor did you think to let me know you were getting it so you could get some for me for later. Interesting.”
You could hear him stop breathing.
“And what was the fitting for, Michael? So she could be your date for tomorrow?”
“Wait. No, no you said-”
“You’re clueless. Bill, drive us home, please,” you asked evenly as you rolled the SUV’s partition halfway down. The fact that it was even up in the first place…You didn’t want to get into this in front of Bill, the situation already leaving you embarrassed. Fuck the food.
Unfortunately for Michael, your demeanor only egged him on. Because, yes. He knew that taking Brooke to your place wasn’t okay, and he knew offering her a ride home in his private car was disrespectful. He hadn’t expected you to be there, but that made it worse. You were so close to snapping, and he was so close to begging for it.
The car hadn’t even been fully brought to a stop before you were opening the door and yelling out a quick, “Thanks, Bill!” You intentionally let the door close in Michael’s face.
Michael couldn’t fight the shit-eating smirk that plastered across his face as he bid Bill a goodbye, the older man looking at him in pure confusion.
When he slowly slugged through the front door and walked the timid path to the dining room, savoring the tension, his breath was nearly taken away at the sight of you. You were fuming, your posture was unforgiving, hands clasped on the table like you were preparing to reprimand him, and you were beautiful.
“Sit down.”
His feet reacted before his mind could, and he sat in the chair directly across from you, waiting.
“Do you think this is a game to me?” you asked him in a tone so cool, his bones chilled.
“I’m not playin’ any game. I just thought it would be alright with you.”
Lie.
“Why would I be okay with knowing you’re still gettin’ her fitted for dresses and takin’ her to our favorite spot. Or with seein’ her in our car?”
“She’s my friend. I didn’t wanna uninvite her last minute.”
Lie.
“But you can invite her last minute? M’kay. And what exactly is she gonna be there for? To make me look like some side piece? To stroke your ego?”
To make you jealous, he wanted to say.
“To keep up appearances. She’s always been my gate to these sorta things. I don’t wanna discard her,” he responded instead.
“You’re okay with discarding me in the process though? Do you see how fucked up that is? I’m your girlfriend. Or is this your way of getting rid of me?” you asked him, your anger cracking through your calm facade.
“She’s still coming. The press is expecting her. They’re expecting both of you. Q’s gonna be with us too, so it’ll look like a group thing,” he tried to amend.
“Then I guess I’ll be Q’s date, and you can prance around with the pretty white model all night,” you added with a shrug, pushing your chair out and walking away.
“You’re being a little excessive, don’t you think?” he asked with panic laced into each word. He hadn’t expected you to turn it onto him, and you could tell. If he’d be petty, so would you.
“I’m just doing what you’re doing. I’ll be in my office on the phone planning my date with Quincy. Make sure to give us some privacy,” you said with a wink.
He was livid.
If there was anything about Michael that he kept pretty well hidden, it was his jealousy. He was insecure, especially with all the eyes on him constantly, so jealousy was a given. He was constantly comparing himself to the greatest of the greats, trying his hardest to live up to or even surpass them. He had self-esteem issues that stemmed from his first moment of sentience. But this? You proudly announcing that you were going to take his producer, someone he considered a close friend as your date to his event? It wrecked him. And maybe he deserved it, but that didn’t mean he was taking this lying down.
So, he decided to take it up a notch.
The day of the event was hectic. The two of you had taken your flight from LA to New York ona red eye and were completely exhausted. You had only two hours to check in to your hotel and get some sleep before tending to your busy schedules . You were expected to meet at his stylists’ studio to get your hair and makeup done before they put you into your outfits for the evening.
Immediately upon arrival, Brooke was sitting in a chair getting her hair primped and curled, much to your own annoyance.
“Hey, you two! Me being Michael’s date won’t be awkward, right? He told me you were okay with it, but I promise I can back out if it makes things weird,” she asked with an anticipation that read that she wanted you to say it was all good.
“Well, he said I was okay with it!” you replied, trying to conceal the sarcasm. “Besides, I’m Quincy’s date tonight. It’s all good.”
She beamed a little too excitedly for your liking.
You didn’t really have the time nor energy to pay her mind, so you tried to allow the chaos of the dressing room to consume your attention. You tried.
Michael, on the other hand, took it upon himself to make you as jealous as he felt. He spent the entire time allowing the model to occupy his personal space. He laughed loudly at jokes that weren’t funny at all, brushed invisible hair out of her eyes, and drank iced coffee from her straw. He didn’t even like coffee. Yet, you still wouldn’t pay him any mind.
You were too busy actually reveling in seeing the bustling inner workings of the entertainment industry. You were successful, sure, but you would never in a million years get to this status on your own. You managed to even start enjoying yourself when Quincy came along and started giving you advice on show business. At one point, he took you to the side to give you a deeper talk not meant for all those ears.
“I understand he can be a lil’…stubborn. But you have to understand, he don’t know how to handle bein’ the most famous person in the world at only 25 years old. And imagine trying to navigate your first real relationship through it all. Now, I’m not sayin’ what he’s doin’ is okay, but give him some grace,” Quincy lectured.
“Q, I am. But it’s like he’s testin’ me. Like he’s testin’ my love, our relationship. He’s doin’ all this affectionate shi- stuff with her like i’m not sitting right there, I don’t understand why.” You almost sounded defeated.
“Listen, he’s used to everyone listenin’ to what he says. He’s around yes men more than he’s ever been around people who will tell it to him straight. You’re the one true person who doesn’t tiptoe around what you need to say to him. And he’s obviously sensitive. He didn’t tell me much, he really only wrote things out on notes for some lyrics, but being told no by you confused him. He was grateful for it, but a part of him felt rejected.” He sighed, realizing the conversation went a little too deep for the time.
“But that’s a conversation the two of you need to have. Now, I’m entertainin’ y’all’s game tonight, but don’t bring me in the middle of this type of stuff no more. Or Brooke. I’ma get on him about that too.”
You embraced his larger torso, your posture filled with gratitude for the words he offered you. The two of you returned to the busier area hand in hand, and you gave him a peck to his glistening forehead as you made your way to the snack table. You felt a few sets of eyes on you.
Michael and the model had seen the whole thing. His mood visibly shifted from playful, to full on anger, to unreadable within seconds. Those were his lips.
In that moment, he fought with himself to not use the ones attached to his own face disrespectfully as well.
Maybe she’d finally put me in my place, a voice in the very back of his mind croaked into his cranium.
The energy inside the black SUV the 7 of you — Michael, Quincy, Brooke, 3 security guards, and yourself — rode together was noticeably stiff.
Quincy and the model kept up most of the conversation, trying to get you and Michael to chime in here and there. You felt guilty for how awkward the two of you were making things seem, so you tried ribbing with your boyfriend. He basically iced you out.
The flashes upon arrival were enough to allow yourself to tune out the noise in your head. Your small group was ushered in quickly, accompanied by your security, and the secret backstage pathway gave you something to focus on.
Michael gave a heartfelt and beautiful speech to commemorate his record win, and he actually saved a piece in it to honor you. Your entirely being visibly relaxed and filled with unadulterated adoration.
As he finished up his message, he called for Quincy to join him on the stage as well. You gave Q a hug and tried to kiss him on the cheek— the quick and awkward action ended in the peck landing in between his jaw and neck— and applauded cheerfully. As Quincy hugged Michael, you could see his face flash with a fleeting expression of discomfort that he quickly covered up.
When you all converged backstage, floating on the high of seeing a loved one be honored with such a notable prize, the room buzzed with a glittery noise of excited chatter. You kept trying to break away from conversations so that you could be by your boyfriend’s side, but he was engrossed in conversations left and right.
People were asking you about why he’d brought Brooke as his date if you were there, why her outfit matched his more than your own did, why you were letting him take photos with her kissing him. The last question snapped you out of your dissociation, as you followed the questioner’s eyes and saw the scene a few feet away from you.
He was gripping her by the waist and kissing her a little too closely to her jaw, throwing you a smirk as he caught your eyes. You swore you turned physically green with jealousy.
There was something you used to do whenever Michael would cross lines early on in your relationship. He was new to dating seriously, and you were new to being taken seriously, so you had to explain to him what was or wasn’t right to do in them, especially since he was used to taking whatever affection came his way as a star.
After one of his more particularly excessive displays of insecurity and jealousy, you came up with a method to keep Michael and yourself…grounded. You’d hold fingers up on your hand— or hands—, depending on how many seconds of leeway you were giving him before your mood soured, and you would put one down every second, essentially counting down how much time he had left.
In the beginning, you’d give him ten, allowing him time to get used to the action. Your default after the familiarity was five. You hadn’t needed to go lower than that, ever. He’d usually get the hint at the mets sight of your hand raised.
Right now, discreetly to everyone else’s eyes, but very visibly to his, you raised three fingers. He smirked and hugged her closer to him. You put one down. He briefly parted from your gaze as your second finger went down, to make eye contact with a camera. He faced you again, pointed to his cheek, and she gave him a kiss there. You put your last finger down, and watched with burning fury as he laughed heartily.
You politely trudged through the group of onlookers and perched your lips to Michael’s ear.
“It’s time to go.” The decisiveness in your low whisper sent a shiver down his spine that he covered up with a fake cough.
“All right, guys! Thank you again so much for being apart of my success, but I must leave now. I have a long flight ahead of me tomorrow!” he announced with enthusiasm. True enthusiasm. And with a lie — your flight wasn’t until Thursday.
He gave out hugs and handshakes, told Brooke to hold onto Quincy’s arm, and the four of you, protected by security, left the venue. You rode in separate vehicles this time; you with Michael, Brooke with two security guards, and Q with his own personal driver.
You said not a word to Michael as your vehicle trekked through large crowds and traffic. His arm was caged between one of your hands with a tight grip, and he shifted uncomfortable in his seat 22 times thoughout the ride.
As the two of you made your way to your room— walking through the vacant hotel that his team made sure would be completely unoccupied for your stay— you could hear nothing but the aggressive clunk of your chunky heels against the pristine marble floor.
You entered your suite first, already having your keycard prepared for entry, and sat down on one of the lounge chairs. Michael approached you hesitantly, but still very much excited.
“Explain yourself.”
Your voice was so direct, it even scared you a bit.
“I have nothin’ to explain. Why’d you wanna go?” he asked, feigning confusion.
“I’m not asking. Explain yourself,” you repeated. Your patience was wearing thin, and your body was already getting hot. You decided to remove your shoes, jewelry, and dress, ignoring the way Michael’s eyes shamelessly trailed over the way your tight boyshorts and camisole hugged your body.
“I don’t need to explain myself to anyone.” He invaded your personal space, and the scent of his cologne made you dizzy.
“Who do you think you’re talkin’ to like that? And who the hell do you think you are? Kissin’ up on some girl for photos when I’m right there, neglected. Ignoring me when I give you my warning count. What, you don’t respect me no more?” you spewed at him, pushing your pointed, manicured finger into his chest with every word.
“She’s not some girl,” he replied with defiance laced into his tone.
You wanted him out.
“Oh, I forgot! Your date. Your real girlfriend. Go head ‘n call her up then! Go stay with her at her hotel! I’m done with the fucking games. Was this your goal? You wanted me to snap? Well, there you go. I’m DONE.” you yelled in a fit of anger.
“Me? You kissed Quincy! Multiple times! You were holdin’ his hand and you kissed him on the neck in front of everyone!” he yelled back.
“First of all, you were the one acting like a damn crybaby all weekend. You started the bullshit with the loud phone calls and asking a supermodel to be your date instead of me! Then you took her to our lunch place! On top of that, you had the girl nearly in your lap in our car, without even knowing I’d see, and then you continued to bring her as a date! I was giving Q a platonic kiss on the cheek, as I’d do to anyone I see as super close to me. And the ‘neck kiss’ was a fuckin’ accident! We moved too quick, and I missed his cheek! But thanks for letting me know you considered the ones you gave Brooke as more than platonic,” you said as you got more up in his face.
“Don’t start shit and not know how to finish it, Michael. It’s pathetic.”
He looked at you in a mix of bewilderment and lust. Pathetic, he echoed in his mind and clasped his hands in front of his groin very conspicuously.
“This is fuckin’ turnin’ you on? Seriously? ‘N you have nothin’ to say? I’m hurt and you’re tryna cover up a boner. Wow.” You pushed past him and picked your belongings off the floor.
His eyes followed your body as you retreated from him, and he licked his lips at the sight of you bent over.
Facing him once more, you crossed your arms against your chest, and his gaze eyed the way your breasts visibly at the contact.
“Go.” He blinked at you, his brain seemingly unable to comprehend the command.
“Michael. Leave. Now. Go be with your dream girl,” you said as you grabbed onto his slender arm, needing him to your suite’s door.
His feet followed yours until his brain caught up, and then he planted them harshly onto the floor. You yanked and he didn’t budge.
“No.” His voice came out with such intensity, you nearly doubled over.
“I’m not asking you. Get the fuck out, Michael. I don’t want you near me right now.” You were shoving him out now, having dropped his arm and stomping behind him before you could stop yourself. “You don’t respect me.” Push. “You don’t take me seriously.” Push. “You probably fucking hate me.” Push.
Michael started to feel guilty. Had he really made you feel like that? He just wanted to work you up a bit, but this wasn’t what he meant.
“No, what?” His voice shook with regret.
You stopped and leaned your forehead against his back, taking in a huge breath.
“Then fucking explain yourself!” you demanded, lifting your head up to look at him as he turned around to face you.
“I don’t- I…” He took a deep breath. “Everyone looks to me for answers. They see me as a leader, as their authority, as a deity of sorts. As flattering as it is, I don’t want that! I want to be led sometimes. I want someone to take control of me. ‘N I love when you do! But I want more. I’m selfish. I’m greedy. I want to push your buttons and test your control with me. I dream about you making me do things for your pleasure. I crave for you to put me in my place and make me beg for you because I want to feel like I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve you.”
He grabbed onto your hands in an act of surrender and continued.
“Everything I did was wrong, I know that. That was the point. I felt rejected that mornin’ because you told me to stop. Then I wanted to make you feel bad because I felt bad. And I kept goin’ because-” He audibly gulped. “B-because…” He let go of your hands and slid them down your bare thighs, cupping the backs of them as he drooped down to his knees. His fingers left goosebumps on your legs in their wake.
“Punish me. Please. I deserve it. ‘N I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. I do respect you, and I do take you seriously.” He pressed a kiss to your left knee. “‘N I could never, ever hate you. You mean more to me than anything, by light years.” He was looking up at you from his position at your feet, eyes full of sorrow, sensuality, and pure love. You finally spoke.
“Get up.”
“N-no. Please, I don’t wanna go. *mwah*” He started kissing any skin he could reach; the tops of your feet, your shins, your thighs.
“I’m sorry. I don’t love her. I don’t love anyone that way but you!”
“I said get up.” Your voice was still surprisingly even, considering how many emotions were flooding through you in the moment.
“Baby-” You grabbed him by his sequined collar and yanked him with more strength than you meant to.
“Don’t make me say it again,” you nearly whispered.
He was on his feet in an instant, his head nearly colliding with yours at the swift movement. You let go of his collar and walked over to your suitcase, searching for something. You found the item and walked over to him with a leather belt in your hands.
Setting it down on the trunk at the end of one of the two beds in the room, you climbed onto the furniture, feeling the mattress sink beneath you. Your legs dangled over the side of the bed and you kicked them back and forth menacingly.
“You’re sorry? Show me, then. ‘Cause I don’t see it. All I see in front of me is a boy so selfish that he’d rather be a brat and hurt his own girlfriend’s feelings than say he wanted to be used.” Your tone was harsh, but you didn’t care. He wanted a punishment? He was getting it your way.
“Yes, I’m a selfish brat. H-how should I apologize? What do you want me to do?” he asked cautiously, eyeing the belt in front of you.
“Figure it out.” Your voice came out flat.
His face contorted into one of panic and need. He didn’t know what to do, but he needed this. He needed you. For the second time that night, he sunk to his knees, but this time, he started crawling towards you like a dehydrated man in the desert seeking water.
The absolute hunger in his eyes very slightly chipped at your resolve. You’d never felt more wanted in your life, and it was just by the unfiltered look in his eyes, which never left yours.
You could see him plan out his next move before he acted. He removed his shoes, socks, and stood up and took off his jeans, looking at you silently for permission before he even unzipped them. He then removed the sequined coat, and he was left in a plain t-shirt and boxers.
He met you back on his knees, and resumed kissing you from the feet up, like before. Every peck that met your hot skin was followed by an, “I’m sorry” or, “You’re perfect” or, “I adore you.”
His actions quickly became frantic. You weren’t responding at all, and he was getting nervous.
“Am I doing good?” he asked, basically begging you to say yes.
“Eh,” was your quick witted response. You were riding the high of the once cocky superstar now begging you to take control of him and accept his apology for being bad.
“‘M sorry. Please, can you spread your legs a bit? Wanna show you…”
You obliged, secretly craving for some sort of relief. You were pent up.
“Thank you.” He continued kissing up and between your thighs, licking them and whimpering like a wounded animal. He was getting closer and closer to your now pulsing heat, and an idea you had earlier sprinted to the direction of your mind as soon as his tongue darted to your clothed core.
“No. Take off your boxers ‘n get on the bed.”
Dazed, he followed your command and stripped himself of his undergarments, feeling slightly embarrassed by how visibly hard he was now.
“Get close to the top of it, take off your shirt, and put your arms up.”
He looked at you shocked, hesitating.
“Do I need to repeat myself?” you challenged with a raise of your brow.
“No, ma’am. ‘M sorry,” was his response as he obliged.
“That’s what I thought.”
You retrieved the belt from the trunk and slapped it intimidatingly against your palm as you paced in front of the bed. Michael’s arms were suspended above him on a myriad of pillows.
With steps as light as a ballerina’s, you walked up to the side of the bed he was on and leaned over his slender frame.
“Do you wanna touch me?” you asked lightly, a coyness drizzling from the question.
“Yes, of course. Th-that’s all I wanna do right now,” he responded immediately, like he wanted to give you the right answer. He did. You straddled his torso, making sure not to let your lower body touch his burning one at all, and began wrapping the belt around his wrists.
“Good. You can’t.” The disappointment that flooded his face was only more encouragement for you. You were on a power trip now.
“Please? Pretty please, I’ll do anythin’,” he pleaded.
“I know you will. You’re gonna do everything I say, understand? Then I’ll decide if you even deserve to touch me,” you quipped, tilting his face up to meet your eyes with your index finger. He was pouting.
“Okay.” His eyes trailed straight down to the inside of your tank top, and his eyes practically bulged out of their sockets.
“You look very pretty, by the way. Love this top on you,” he complimented in the most seductive tone you’d ever heard him use. You ignored how his voice made your heart skip two beats and mumbled out a “Hmm, thank you.”
You took your manicured nails and scratched down his chest just enough to welt them temporarily.
“A-ahh!” he yelped in pain— you felt his dick twitch —and pleasure.
“Aww, what’s the matter baby?” you fake coddled him.
“That…it hurt,” Michael responded in a way that sounded like he was trying to convince himself of the fact.
“But you liked it though.” You looked at him pretending to be dumbfounded.
“Yes,” he breathed out, as if you’d asked him a question.
Leaning towards his face, you tilted your head in a way that signaled you were going to kiss him. He tilted his own head and closed his eyes in anticipation, only to be met with a sharp nibble to his neck.
“P-please!” He had no idea what he was pleading for.
His wavering tone concerned you just a bit.
“What’s your color?” you asked him seriously.
“Green. Bright green. Really, really green..” He was having the time of his life, believe it or not.
“‘Kay. Lemme know if it’s too much. I care about you, even when I can’t fuckin’ stand you,” you reassured him.
Placing your hand on his neck, you began administering bites to his collarbones, feeling egged on every time he cried out.
“Mmm. I-i’m sorry. Please, I need you,” he began chanting over and over. You ignored him each time.
You noticed his eyes close in pleasure, and that just simply would not do for you. You choked him hard.
“Pay attention to me. I never gave you permission to look away,” you nearly yelled at him. You loosened your grip when his eyes started to unfocus.
Fighting down a fit of coughs, he apologized with a strained and weak, “I’m sorry, angel.”
As you started crawling down his body, you felt something wet and hard graze your ass cheek, and Michael genuinely screeched.
“Ahhh! M-my god…” Michael whined desperately.
You reached down and grabbed his neglected dick, and wiped the precum from the slit on his tip, bringing it up to your mouth and tasting it.
“Mmm, is that for me?” you teased.
“Y-es. All for you.” He was visibly trying his hardest to obey you and wait for your commands, but at the feeling of your warm finger in his flesh, and the sight of you tasting him just because you could, he wanted nothing more than for you to fuck him into oblivion.
“It better be.” You reached down to his erect shaft and gripped him very slightly, your palm almost ghosting over it. You decided on a tortuously slow stroke, from balls to tip, as you looked him deep in the eyes.
“Aww, you look so needy, baby. You want me to move faster, huh? Stroke you harder? Bet you can’t even form a coherent thought. Poor thing,” you said condescendingly.
“‘M not needy, a-and I can think- ahh,” he protested.
“Yes you are. Look how hard you’re trying to not move into my hand. I’m barely even touching you, baby. Why you sweatin’?”
You knew he pretended to hate it, but he grew attached to how it sounded coming from you in particular.
You groped harder and stroked just a bit faster.
“Unless you don’t like this? Which is it?” you demanded. You loved playing this mind game.
“U-um. I do li- ah!- like it..” he whined.
Stroking even faster, you demanded once again,
“So you’re needy. Say it.”
“I’m needy!” he wailed when you slowed down for his delayed response.
You squeezed his dick harshly.
“And don’t you fucking lie about it again,” you ordered.
You wanted to do more, you really did, but the sight of him completely naked and surrendered to your will while he looked at you as if your existence was the answer to his life… You needed him, bad. But he still hadn’t earned your forgiveness.
Letting go of his leaking boner and straddling his thigh, you quietly pleaded with yourself to not give off just how horny you were, as well.
“Sit up and watch me,” you instructed, grateful that your tone didn’t expose the desire growing between your legs.
He immediately obliged, and whined as soon as you began grinding.
“Y-yes, please use me. Oh, God!” he cried out, breathless. “You’re so pretty, oh my- I love you.”
“F-fuck, baby. You like when I use you this much, hmm? You look so good like this.” You could feel his thigh flex and its tendon hit your clit in just the right way. “A-aah! Fuuuuuck. Y-you’re so pathetic, just laying under me fully naked w-while I have clothes on. Just watching me and not even being able to t-touch me.”
“Yes. I’m so pathetic,” he mewled.
You gripped onto his neck to steady yourself better and rode his thigh faster and harder, the pent-up tension making your orgasm approach faster than you were ready for.
“And you’re f-fucking clueless. Can’t see when a supermodel is so openly hitting on you in front of your own girlfriend.” You choked him briefly at the memory.
“S-so clueless. Just stupid. I only exist for…I only exist for your pleasure.” He’s always wanted to say that, but feared it would’ve been too much of a turn off. You seemed to enjoy it though, since you started humping his leg so hard that he was sure you’d be bruised.
“The fuck you do,” was the last coherent thing you said for the next few moments.
You mumbled something that didn’t make sense, and crushed your lips to his. He nearly cried at the contact.
Your moans were spilling into his mouth much faster now, his sign that you were going to come undone on his thigh…after using him. He could cum with you at the thought.
“F-me…have to…” tumbled from your mouth. You were losing yourself.
“Baby? What do you need from me? I’ll do anything for you,” he responded, concerned.
“Wanna fuck, Mikey. F-fuck.” You showed yourself to a stop. Your thighs were trembling while you balanced yourself on the mattress on your knees as you took your top and boyshorts off.
“‘M so wet. Need you so bad,” you whined. You missed him. You wasted no time stalking him and sinking down into his shaft. He stretched you wide, even more so since it’d been a bit since you were intimate.
“Ohmygod ohmygod plea- Want you closer please!” Michael nearly sobbed. You laid flat against his chest, your breasts swished between your bodies.
“P-put your arms around me. Hug me close,” you instructed. The gangly man lowered his arms, still bound by the wrists, and squeezed you close like you were a piece of coal that could turn into a diamond. You guys would share skin in this moment, if you could. You looked up at him, your anger long subsided.
“I love you so much,” you declared passionately. He looked like he was going to cry.
“I love you, too. Can I please kiss you?” he inquired. You puckered your lips and he met them with fervor.
You began riding his dick at a controlled pace. Every grind brought him straight to your g-spot from this angle, and you wanted to last long enough to let him cum with you. You weren’t going to let him cum if he didn’t in time with you, but you wanted to forgive him.
Getting lost in the pleasure of the kiss and the friction to your cervix, he began meeting your grinds with gentle thrusts. Michael picked up the aggression once you’d dropped your head back onto his chest and ground him harder than before, a pool of drool sliding toward his nipple.
The room sounded like a porn studio. It was a mess of slapping skin and moans and cries out to higher powers. The bed was creaking beneath you so loudly, you both internally feared that it break. If the hotel was occupied by anybody one floor above or below you, they’d have heard it all.
“Michael. God. You’re s-so deep. Could ride your perfect dick forever… And you moan like a- song. Your voice is so pretty. You’re so pretty…” you cooed. You could feel that ball of tension build up inside of you again, and every push to your g-spot felt like it would be the one to unravel it.
“You’re pretty. Mmm, if you keep t-talking like that I’m gonna cum, angel,” he warned.
“I want you to, baby. You did so good for me. So good. F-fuck. I…My god, I can feel you everywhere. Wanna feel you cum in me. I’m yours, claim me. Please, I need it.” You’ve never said please like that to him a day in your life, but you were desperate. You wanted the proof of your mutual connection and relationship in any part of your body it could reach.
“I’ll give it to you. Gon-na cum inside because you’re mine. Please, cum with- ahh! I’m gonna…” he rambled.
Your hand was sandwiched between your bodies as you rubbed your clit and rocked your hips into his, chasing your high. Your vision was getting spotty, and you could hear his heart pounding hard enough to break his ribs through his chest. He was fully fucking up into you from below, but you didn’t even have half a mind to stop him.
“Baby, please…” he whined. The sheer yearning in his voice completely undid you. Squeezing his torso with all of your strength, you ground your clit against his pelvis and let his dick slide in and out of you as your orgasm suffocated you. You moaned and drooled and cried all over Michael’s chest, and you felt a warm, sticky substance paint the inside of your walls just moments after. He screamed out your name like it was a magical spell.
You maneuvered his sex out of you, and both of you watched as your shared cum mingled onto the hotel blanket below you. He bit his lip.
You were holding onto each other for dear life. The orgasms meant much more than just getting one off, they were shared apologies and washed away regrets. It took a moment for you to realize he was sniffling, too.
“I love you. I adore and cherish you. I’ll never do that again. You mean more than everything to me. Nothin’ I did was warranted, and I know now to be less selfish,” he apologized, his voice hoarse.
“I forgive you. I apologize for my part as well. Thank you for…taking all of that. Even though I was goin’ easy, still.”
“That was you goin’ easy? I’m terrified for your enemies,” he joked.
“Oh, yes. My cold shoulder is very threatening,” you ribbed. “Oh! Lift your arms up, baby. Lemme untie you.” You’d completely forgotten about his restraint. “And you didn’t complain once. Good job.”
“Thank you…” he replied shyly as you freed his wrists. “Honestly? I thought you were gonna hit me with it- the belt. That would be very…Can we try that one time?” he questioned.
Your body reacted almost immediately to the idea.
“Michael, don’t tempt me. I’ll make you go for a round two right now.”
“You can make me do whatever you want…You own me,” he challenged.
You never backed down from a challenge. Regaining your strength, you prepared yourselves to explore each others’ limits for the second time that night.
The harsh words, petty actions, and hurt feelings from the past weekend were all amended. You were each others’ only and true loves, just fighting to stay together in a world that was actively trying to turn everyone against him and tear you down. But, Michael never wanted anything more but for his entire being to be consumed by you.
To think this all started because Michael wanted to eat you like the last supper.
ATTENTION‼️If you're a Michael Jackson fan, stay for a minute. This June 25 marks the 17th anniversary of his passing, and if we all agree to listen to all his songs that day on Spotify or YouTube? AND WE BREAK ANOTHER RECORD IN HIS NAME!!!!! If you like the idea, write it in other videos or comments in different languages etc... you just copy and paste in other comments or groups of Soldiers of Love. Thank you ❤️
Idc, normalize kink shaming. Cause y'all be using “don’t kink shame” and “it’s fiction” to excuse being into incest, pedophilia, cannibalism, etc. Like, be so fr, you ship a 14 year old with a 30 year, want to get railed by your dad and want to see two brothers f*ck each other. I don’t engage with things fictionally that I don’t like/wouldn’t want to do in real life. Yes, I’m judging you.
Toji had been crashing at your place more often than not these days, always with some bullshit excuse. "Megumi left his toys here again," he'd grunt while sprawling on your couch like he owned it, his massive frame taking up half the space.
Or "The kid forgot her stuffed bear—can't leave her cryin', right?" as if your shared daughter wasn't perfectly fine without it half the time.
Truth was, the man was glued to you, finding every reason to linger, his rough hands brushing your waist when he passed in the kitchen, or "accidentally" pinning you against the counter while reaching for a beer.
Annoying as hell, but there was that spark in his green eyes, the way his scarred lip twitched into a smirk whenever you shoved him off.
He wanted you—bad—but Toji wasn't the type to say it outright. Nah, he played it cool, hiding behind his cocky bullshit
Tonight was no different. Your daughter was giggling on the living room floor, stacking blocks with Megumi, who was half-heartedly supervising while scrolling on his phone.
Toji lounged nearby, shirt clinging to his ripped torso, those black sweats slung low on his hips. You emerged from your bedroom, dressed to kill: a tight black dress hugging your curves, heels clicking, hair and makeup on point.
Heads turned. Megumi barely glanced up, but your daughter's eyes lit up. "Mommy pretty!" she squealed, clapping.
Toji's gaze snapped from the kids to you, raking over every inch like he was starving. His jaw tightened, eyes darkening. "The fuck is this for?" he drawled, voice low and edged with something dangerous, sitting up straighter.
You ignored him, scooping up your daughter for a quick hug and kiss. "Be good for Toji and Megumi, okay baby? Mommy'll be back soon."
She nodded, chubby arms around your neck. Megumi just mumbled a "Yeah, bye," already back to his phone.
Toji stood, towering over you, arms crossed over his broad chest. "Oi. Where you goin' lookin' like that?" His tone was casual, but his eyes flicked to your exposed thighs, the dip of your cleavage, jealousy simmering under the surface.
"A date," you shot back breezily, grabbing your purse. No need to explain yourself to your annoying baby daddy.
His smirk faltered for a split second, replaced by a scowl. "A date? You don't need some punk-ass date, doll. What, you bored or somethin'? I got everything you need right here."
He stepped closer, big hand grazing your hip possessively, thumb digging in just enough to make your breath hitch.
You swatted his hand away, heart racing despite yourself. "Watch the kids, Toji. And don't wait up." With that, you blew a kiss to the little ones and strode out the door, heels echoing, leaving him standing there fuming.
The date was a disaster from the jump. The guy was late, then spent the whole dinner talking about himself, barely asking about you. His touches were slimy, his jokes lame, and when he leaned in for a kiss at the end? You dodged, muttering an excuse about a headache and bolting.
By the time you pulled into the driveway, you were pissed, makeup smudged from frustrated tears, dress rumpled. All you wanted was a shower and bed.
The house was quiet when you slipped inside—kids tucked in, Megumi probably crashed in the guest room. Toji was in the kitchen, shirtless now, muscles flexing as he cracked open a beer, He didn't even look surprised to see you back so early.
"Rough night, mama?" he rumbled, smirking as he eyed your disheveled state.
You kicked off your heels, flopping onto a stool at the island with a groan. "God, yes. The worst. Guy was a total douche—kept bragging about his car, wouldn't shut up. Tried to grope me in the parking lot like some caveman. I should've just stayed home."
Words tumbled out, venting the frustration, not noticing how Toji's grip tightened on his bottle, knuckles whitening.
He sauntered over, towering behind you, hands landing heavy on your shoulders. His thumbs kneaded the tension there, rough but soothing.
"Told ya. Don't need that shit. Some loser touchin' what's mine." His voice dropped, breath hot against your ear.
You shivered, but rolled your eyes. "Yours? Last I checked, we're just co-parents, Toji. Not—" Your words cut off as his hands slid down your arms, then gripped your waist, yanking you back against his crotch.
His cock was already rock-hard, thick and insistent through his sweats, grinding against your ass.
"Just co-parents, huh?" he growled, nipping your earlobe. "Then why you always lettin' me hang around? Why you get wet every time I touch you?"
One hand dipped between your thighs, fingers pressing against your soaked panties under the dress. "Fuckin' drenched already. That prick couldn't even get you this worked up."
Heat flooded your core, pussy clenching at his touch. You should've pushed him away—kids were asleep down the hall—but god, you needed this. Needed him. "Toji..." you whimpered, arching back.
He spun you on the stool, hoisting you up like you weighed nothing, big hands cupping your ass as he carried you to the couch. "Gonna show you what you been missin', doll. Fuck that date outta your head."
He dumped you down, ripping your dress up over your head in one yank, leaving you in just panties and bra. His sweats hit the floor next, cock springing free—thick, veiny, the fat head leaking precum.
Toji grabbed your ankles, shoving your legs up and apart, folding you in half. Your knees hit your shoulders, ass lifted off the cushions, pussy exposed and dripping. The mating press—deep, brutal, claiming.
His scarred chest pressed down, trapping you beneath his bulk, green eyes boring into yours with feral hunger. "Look at this pretty cunt. All mine to breed. No more dates, mama. You're takin' my cock from now on."
"Toji—fuck—yes," you gasped, nails digging into his biceps. He lined up, fat cockhead nudging your slick folds, then slammed in.
No mercy, bottoming out in one savage thrust, stretching your walls to their limit. You cried out, back arching as he filled you completely, the angle letting him hit so deep it bruised your cervix.
"That's it," he grunted, hips snapping forward relentlessly. Pound. Pound. Pound. His balls slapped your ass with every ram, the wet squelch of your pussy echoing obscenely.
"This what you needed? Daddy's cock rearrangin' your guts? Forget that limp-dick loser—I'm the only one who fucks you like this."
You were a mess already, tits bouncing in your bra, thighs quivering against his shoulders. "Yes—oh god, Toji! Harder—fuck me harder!"
He obliged, pistoning faster, the couch creaking under the force. Sweat slicked his abs, dripping onto your stomach as he drilled you, pubic bone grinding your clit with each brutal plunge.
"Greedy little pussy," he snarled, one hand pinning your thigh, the other snaking between you to rub your swollen clit roughly. "Milkin' me so tight. You want my cum? Gonna knock you up again, make sure you know who owns this hole."
His thrusts turned punishing, cock dragging along your g-spot before slamming deep, head kissing your womb. You sobbed in pleasure, walls fluttering, so close.
"Toji—gonna cum—please!" Your orgasm crashed over you, pussy convulsing around his shaft, squirting messily onto his abs.
He didn't stop, fucking you through it, grunts turning animalistic. "Fuck yeah—squeeze me, mama. Milk that load right outta me."
His rhythm faltered, hips stuttering as he buried himself balls-deep, roaring low. Hot cum erupted inside you, rope after thick rope painting your walls, flooding your womb. He ground against you, ensuring every drop stayed put, cock pulsing as he bred you deep.
Minutes passed in heavy breaths, him still plugged inside, softening slowly. He kissed you filthy, tongue claiming your mouth, tasting your moans.
"No more dates," he murmured against your lips, finally pulling out with a gush of cum leaking from your wrecked pussy. "You're mine, doll. Kids need a family, right?"
You nodded weakly, spent and sated, pulling him down for more kisses. For once, his annoying ass felt like home.
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