**if you would like more michael shit PLS LMK because i want to but i only have ruel stans who follow and i'm afraid they will flop oop**
and i'm not new to this mj shyt TRUST i'm just coming out the closet late. *18+ only*
♡ original works (fics, my shaylas) ♡
michael jackson
what if mature!michael was Mr. Big from Sex and The City?
bookworm sugar baby!reader x mature!michael
ruel
challenge “for fucks sake, y/n can you please just do what you’re told for once”
free time in which the girl that Ruel leaves a voicemail for at the end of “Free Time” calls him back which ultimately ends in them agreeing to meet up for closure
4 am the reader wakes up in the middle of the night and just wants to be away from Ruel, but he wants the exact opposite.
vintage part two reader gets into an accident and loses her memory. as bits and pieces slowly come back to her, secrets threaten their union.
blurb one early talking stages
♡ books i'm currently reading...♡
in her own league by liz tomforde...shaking my ass and wiggling my toes every time i pick this up. may's book club selection. i'm trying to pace myself reading the tail end because i'm gonna miss monty when it's over
slow dance by rainbow rowell...one of my FAV AUTHORS but reading is on hold because my dumb ass situationship dead ass ruined this trope for me.
🐆💋 — the guilt that comes with being around dbf!michael is beginning to eat you alive. two days have passed since his drunken call. he apologized a million times, saying it was inappropriate of him to put you in that position. so far, he’s been trying to fix his mistake. bringing you to different places to buy out the stores, but all it does is give you butterflies and bring the ache between your thighs again. you thought that maybe you could move past it, that if you force yourself to be around your boyfriend, these small feelings will go away again, right?
that is until michael brings you to his place after taking you out to an event with him. the attention is all on him of course, he kept his hand on your back or around your hand. squeezing it gently to make sure you’re okay, whenever you showed signs of becoming overwhelmed, he spoke to you in your ears cracking jokes to make you feel better. it worked like a charm, always, he knows how to distract your mind. a part of you hated how your body would feel from his keen gaze and hands that never seemed to leave your body. and the grip he had around your waist on accident when some random journalist came up to you to get your number, you felt as if your legs could give out right then and there until he tells the man you’re already dating someone.
at his place, michael had a private chef cook all your favorite meals, the two of you sat at the dining table and ate. you’ve ignored your phone most of the time you were with him, your boyfriend texting you to see how you’re doing. you were tired of this shame following you around like a thunder cloud, michael told you to text him back, stating how it’s rude to ignore someone. you felt even more ashamed at how turned on michael’s stern tone made you feel, but you listened.
michael could see the stress in your body, even after all this week, he spent most of his time trying to find different ways to make you feel better. he took you out shopping more, brought you to your favorite restaurants, and sent you extra money for whatever. yet, still nothing. as you finished up your message and sent it, michael tells you to come sit beside him, the silence between you getting stronger. once you get over to him, one of his hands glides down your leg to your ankle, picking up your foot, he takes off your shoe and places your foot on his thigh, raising his hand immediately to stop you from complaining. still quiet, michael begins to massage your foot, both hands working diligently as he watches you closely. still so tense.
“things your boyfriend should have a good eye on, is this.” he mumbles, your heart beats faster. “michael.” you start and he shakes his head. “i should’ve saw it myself too, i’m sorry for not seeing it sooner, sweet girl.” the way his voice gets deeper, a little breathier, you swear you could have moaned right there. your phone lights up, your boyfriend sends you another message, michael nudges his head to it, “answer it, don’t be rude.” he says, his hands moving up your ankle. eyes still locked on your face, you pick up your phone, and see your boyfriend asking you when you’re coming over to his place. forgetting that the two of you planned to go on a date after so long.
“need me to drop you home?” michael pulls your attention back to him, his hands not stopping, the look in his eyes, you could almost give him anything if he asked. you glance back at your boyfriend’s message nod, michael hums and sighs. “after this massage, then, i’ll get you back to your boyfriend, safely.” it was intentional, michael’s annoyed, he’s so annoyed by your boyfriend’s existence but michael really loves giving you stuff your boyfriend can’t. maybe next award show he’ll take you as his date and won’t correct the next person that assumes you’re his new girlfriend.
Synopsis: Being Michaels girlfriends means you get the privilege of spending many late nights in the studio with him over the years.
Era: Goes through all of them!!
Content: Pure fluff. Established relationship.
Masterlist
OTW!Michael: When the two of you start dating he's hesitant to invite you to the studio while he's working. He always nervous that you won't like his music or you'll get bored.
OTW!Michael: Can't help but watch you from the booth, eyes tracing over your face carefully determining how you feel about the music. He gets jittery when he knows you're listening to him running through his songs.
OTW!Michael: Always makes sure you're comfortable, asking through the sound system if the couch is soft enough. He asks if you're hungry or thirsty. He always seems to have your favorite drink stocked in the fridge.
OTW!Michael: When things get hard for Michael, you're always there to kiss his cheek or tell him he's doing a good job.
Thriller!Michael: Starts getting more comfortable with you hanging around the studio. You become a integral part of the space, your presence always calming him down when he gets frustrated.
Thriller!Michael: Who winks at you everytime he records or re-records PYT. Before each punch in he calls to you from the booth, "This is for my very own pretty young thing." And gives you a wink. You always get flustered
Thriller!Michael: Gets thrilled when you start asking him questions about how things work. He'll spend hours teaching you different mechanisms and techniques that he and quincy use. Always smiles when he sees you light up after Quincy let's you hit the big red start button.
Thriller!Michael: When things start to get stressful he always sits closer to you on the couch. If he and Quincy are butting heads he's the first thing he reaches for. He'll either grab your hand or your thigh, like your his anchor. You always squeeze his hand and make sure he's okay, often stepping out into the hallway with you.
Thriller!Michael: Who always always always includes you in the recording of each song in someway. Has you do small harmonies or has the your voice humming the instrumental lightly.
Bad!Michael: He starts asking you more about how you feel about his demo's. He trusts that you've been around long enough to know what may be missing from his songs.
Bad!Michael: Get's way more flirtatious in the studio, always smirking at your or getting you worked up before he locks himself in the sound booth.
Bad!Michael: Session's become way longer, often going long into the night and into the early morning. You refuse to leave until he does, making sure that you're with him through all of the stress.
Bad!Michael: The two of you often curl up on the couch together, taking quick power naps after pulling all nighters working. He pulls you on top of him, wrapping you up in his arms.
Bad!Michael: Gets a lot snappier with everyone in the room, including you. You know it's the pressure of following the success of Thriller, but when he snaps at you for playing around you can't help but deflate slightly. He always apologizes afterwards and makes it up to you by treating you to a nice dinner.
Dangerous!Michael: You're now a vital part of the studio. Things don't feel right when you're not there, like a piece of him is missing. When you're not there he has a harder time focusing, his mind wandering to thoughts of you. Quincy has called you plenty of times begging you to come to the studio so Michael can get at least one take done.
Dangerous!Michael: You've now moved from the couch in the back to sitting at the mixers right next to Quincy. After spending so many years there, watching, observing, and learning, Quincy trusts that you know how to run some of the sessions.
Dangerous!Michael: When Michael has an idea while the two of you are at the ranch he wakes both of you up and drags you both to his home studio.
Dangerous!Michael: When he first started waking you up you were very grumpy and not happy at all. But you soon got used to his bizarre sleep schedule and found his passion admirable.
History/BotDF!Michael: You both try your best to not be stuck in the studio while making this album. You start to prioritize going out into the world and experiencing things together. But you're always ready to drop everything and go to the studio if Mike gets a good idea.
History/BotDF!Michael: When the two of you do go to the studio you always make sure things are exactly how he likes them. You dim the lights to his liking and always ALWAYS have orange juice on standby.
History/BotDF!Michael: Now that you've started helping out with making the albums you and Mike get into fights more often. Some might think that it puts a strain on your relationship, but it's the opposite.
History/BotDF!Michael: If there is a particularly bad fight, you both take a day or two to sort things out on your own before making up.
History/BotDF!Michael: You both want what's best for the other, and sometimes you need a reminder of that.
History/BotDF!Michael: On the rare occasion that he does an interview, he always credits you for helping out with the process of making the albums.
Invincible!Michael: Michael loves to say that he's been working on this album from the moment he laid eyes on you. When he first told you he was dedicating the album to you, you cried.
Invincible!Michael: This is by far the most nervous he's been when making an album, he's always looking to you to see if you like what you hear.
Invincible!Michael: Ask you to come into the sound booth with him so he can get a good look at his muse.
Invincible!Michael: Despite how freaky some of the lyrics are, you know that he's a gentleman at heart. He always checks with you to make sure you feel respected before giving the greenlight on some songs.
Invincible!Michael: Yall make out a lot during the process of this album. And I mean A LOT.
being mature!michael's controversially young girlfriend ❤︎ minors dni
mature!michael that shows you off in any way he can. takes you to big galas, introduces you to important people you could only see on the head pages of the magazines, invites you on stage during his acceptance speeches. he prides himself in being your boyfriend and doesn't hide how he truly feels about you — and you don't either. you don't ever hesitate to kiss him in front of the cameras, performative but real at the same time, letting everyone know that you're his and he is yours.
mature!michael that has his arm wrapped around you at all times. he claims you that way, a silent, possessive gesture that sends a clear message: stay away.
mature!michael that spoils you to the limit — takes you to shopping malls (with his bodyguards staying right behind you the whole time) and lets you pick whatever you want, complimenting you as you try yet another dress on. bonus points if you ask for his opinion on a set of fancy, sexy lingerie. he won't let you leave that changing room for a hoooot second.
mature!michael that takes care of you each time he's close. he won't let you lift a finger — he prepares bubble baths for you, makes dinner (he's a surprisingly good cook!), washes your body in the shower after you've had a particularly hard day. he'll whisper sweet nothings into your ear as he massages the shampoo into your scalp, pressing soft kisses onto the sides of your wet face.
mature!michael that, even though he'd never admit it, gets off to your age gap. something about you, so young and innocent, giving all of your undivided attention to the man twice your age, makes that sick satisfaction bloom in his stomach.
mature!michael and his daddy kink. he'll have you bent in half, cock nudging that sweet spot deep inside you with every, perfect stroke, voice dropping to something dangerous and delicious while he talks you through it. 'feels so good to have daddy so deep inside, doesn't it, baby?', 'daddy fills you up good, huh?', 'are you gonna be a good girl for daddy?' 'daddy's gonna cum so deep inside you you'll feel me for days' while he's pressing on your stomach. on and on. that man's a beast.
mature!michael that loves fucking you in public. you might be on a gala, even a family dinner, and he'll still find a way to get into your panties. he'll love to tease you about it, too; whispering how much of a dirty girl you are for giving yourself in to him like that, letting everyone see how good he fucks you. he'll cover your mouth with his hand, too, silencing your moans and whimpers so that no one else besides him hears. if he's feeling generous, he'll stuff your mouth with his fingers so you have something to suck on while he fucks you against the wall.
mature!michael that has learned to save photos into his phone just because of the nudes you send him. he might be on an important meeting when all of a sudden his phone buzzes, and he sees the most obscene, delicious picture of you he's ever seen with a little, cute message underneath: missing you extra hard right now, daddy x. — best believe, you'll regret sending those pictures as soon as he comes home.
mature!michael that facefucks you as a punishment for disobeying him and acting like a brat in public. he'll have you with your head hanging off the side of the bed, tongue lolling out and eyes watery as he drills into your mouth, not stopping until he's had enough.
mature!michael never ever leaves you without some proper aftercare. he'll massage your back, kiss the bruises he left on your skin and shower you with attention, letting you fall into that familiar headspace. he'll cradle you in his arms until your breath evens out, only then allowing himself to sleep.
mature!michael that can't sleep unless he's by your side. he needs to feel your smaller form cuddled up against him to properly rest. best believe, he's not going anywhere without you.
mature!michael that treats you like his personal muse. he's bought a digital camera to take multiple pictures of you (some less explicit than the others). he takes them to the studio with him, looking at them while he's stuck on a certain lyrics he just can't finish — immediately feeling that surge of inspiration come over him as he sees you.
mature!michael that doesn't let you be alone for a second. he takes you everywhere with him, knowing just how much you need to be close — you're too clingy to stay away for more than an hour.
mature!michael that knew he loved you as soon as he saw you. it took longer for you to feel the same way, but you fell for him sooner or later. he fell first, but you fell faster doesn't apply to your relationship — he would hang the stars for you if you asked him to. yeah, he definitely fell faster.
what if mature!michael was Mr. Big from Sex and The City?
hear me out...
new york city in 1998. not so gentle to a 24 year old girl with an addiction to high fashion, but then again, who moved 2,000 miles for kindness? with my adult attentions split on rent payments and article deadlines, the only light in my life was found in my Carolyne slingbacks while catching cocktails with my girls.
that's what i saw him. Mr. Big.
a black felt hat and shades covered most of his face but his cheekbones were undeniable from the bottom half. loose black curls waved in front of his face as he nursed a short glass with a tight lipped grimace. he didn't look like he wanted to be there despite the crowd surrounding him at the bar.
he was leaning towards a blonde woman who seemed to be having the time of her life. i don't usually go for the most sought-after man, but the wave of disapproval he gave off felt like a challenge.
my friend didn't have much information on him at all. he was one of those wall street guys, early 40s, known to be a great night if given the chance.
as i strutted over to his side of the bar for a third cosmopolitan, i thought to myself, "why not go for the hot rich old man for once?"
i didn't have to do much. once i shouted my order obnoxiously in his elbow room, i heard a light "do i know you?" whispered into my left ear.
i shot back "should i?" with an annoyed glare before i could give it a second thought.
that, ladies and gentlemen, is called taking a shot in the dark. sometimes, not worth the risk. sometimes it can get you as far as the backseat of Mr. Big's tinted out company car, sitting an uncomfortable distance from him with your hands fiddling in your lap. it had been five minutes and i realized he wasn't planning on taking off his shades anytime soon.
it was very intimidating to talk to him that way. i think that was the point.
"so what do you do for work?" his voice was even softer inside the vehicle and it sent shivers down my spine. the mystery behind his outside exterior said anything but soft, so the contrast was really doing it for me.
that must've been why i said "i'm a sex columnist," plainly with a tiny grin. there are plenty of other ways to describe my job, but i was already playing with an empty hand so i went as far as i could go for the sake of my work.
because of course, i'm writing about this.
his shoulders bounced in a silent laugh as he lowered his shades to meet my meek gaze. "oh yeah? and what does that entail?" that smile was delicious and inviting.
"exactly what i'm doing right now. it's a newspaper column called 'sex and the city.' i like to think of myself as a kind of sex anthropologist." with that, the hat and glasses came off.
"and what sort of piece are you working on right now?" he raised his eyebrow and flashed me that rich ass wall street grin again. he seemed genuinely curious. this was no longer mess-free flirting. i quickly found myself wanting to impress him. wanting to be truthful. real.
"well, right now i'm researching for an article on women who sleep around the same way men do." he dropped his chin to deadpan me, mouth slightly open. his eyes were filled with doubt. like he couldn't believe what i was saying. so i kept going.
"you know, they go out, have a romp and feel nothing afterwards. i think this is the mindset that keeps our body counts so low. but, why can't women strive for the stars as well?"
he tilted his head and softly shakes his head, "but you're not like that." not a question, a statement. like he could read right through me. i couldn't tell if he was disappointed or not. the car was moving and he hadn't yet asked where to drop me off or if i wanted to go home with him. i think he was still deciding.
"well, aren't you?"
he was smiling much bigger now. "not even a little bit. not even a drop."
i turned completely to face him. with that face and a private driver zooming through manhattan, he was so like that. but what's the harm in playing the dumb fawn who doesn't see it coming?
"wow," i leaned my shoulder towards him, "what's wrong with you?"
okay, okay, stop me if you've heard this one before. a nearly disemboweled clown walks into a medical tent...that's all. enjoy! ❤️
pairing: clown!au!mj x gn!doctor!reader
era: 1984 + au
wc: 1881
tw: graphic violence, medical malpractice, unhealthy obsession, cannibalism, and clowns (of course)
a/n: did a lil' research on clowns n have decided my michael clown in this au is named piero because i'm super creative and original. i would also like to formally apologize to the late michael joseph jackson for stumbling across a photo of him dressed as a clown and turning him into a gut slut. please don't place a curse upon my bloodline mr. jackson thank you amen
-val
﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋
the second you had eyes on piero, you were obsessed.
the word 'obsessed' didn't do your feelings justice, not by a long shot, but tethering that word to your feelings made them feel a little less burdensome. like it was some fleeting schoolyard crush, and not a dangerous fixation eating you alive from the inside out like a parasite.
calling it obsession made it human, made it almost tangible. if you called it what it really was, it'd be animalistic. primal. if it was that, it'd be uncontrollable. if it became uncontrollable, you'd probably do something very, very bad. you'd tear him apart and leave him desirable only to yourself.
at least, that's what you think will happen. you knew better than to let these deep rooted feelings manifest beyond yourself. sure, you were a backdoor surgeon with a suspended license and more than a couple warrants for your arrest, but you weren't some kind of monster who let their emotions go unchecked.
that's what you tell yourself, anyway.
part of you felt thankful for those warrants and that suspension. if you hadn't been caught elbow deep in a patient's abdomen and pulling out their viscera to shove down your own throat, you would've never ended up with piero at the circus.
metamora, indiana's infamous cirque du brise-os had been your shelter from arrest for nearly a year now. you weren't sure who exactly was running the show, the head of operations seemed to change by the week, but you weren't worried about who you had to report to. all you were concerned with was piero and his reliance on you.
you had seen him in all forms of agony and duress. the tricks and stunts he would attempt to perform often led to him taking a bad fall, or landing incorrectly, and ended with him practically maiming himself.
you've relocated joints all across his body, performed hundreds of bone resets and fracture reductions, and even put his eye back in place after it was knocked loose from his head and left bulging from the socket.
you've seen him at his most vulnerable more times than you can count. the shameful hang of his head and the mumble of "i got hurt again" were part of your routine. the frequency of his visits had been on a steady uptick since you began your dodgy medical work for cirque du brise-os, it almost had you wondering if it was on purpose.
wishful thinking, you'd tell yourself. it'd be a real sticky situation if he was getting hurt to see you purposefully.
you'd probably just hurt him yourself so he had no reason to leave the tent.
it was certainly hard to deny the facts, though. monthly visits soon turned weekly, and now you were seeing him every other day. you don't know how he could mangle a leg one day, and then walk on it the next day like nothing had ever happened.
you didn't really care to figure him out, especially if it kept him running back into the big top, nearly killing himself during a stunt, and then limping back to you. anything to keep the routine.
broken bones and joint dislocations were the majority of his ailments when he came by to see you. that's what you were anticipating today, a typical shattered humerus or a bloodied broken foot. you were greeted with neither.
stumbling into the tent was piero, slouching with arms folded over his stomach like ribbon wrapped tight around a christmas present. his head was hung low like usual, but this time, he was wheezing.
he looked up at you, separated across the tent by a stained orthopedic table, his eyes half-shut and fluttery. he tried to clear his throat, but a ragged cough forced its way past his mouth. blood gushed from his mouth and dribbled down his chin.
"i got hurt again."
every nerve in your body started to pop with electric shocks. the muscles in your hands began flexing and twitching, squeezing into tight fists. your eyes were becoming just as fluttery as his were.
you could see blood seeping through his clothes, that stupid polka dot romper, even with his arms shielding his abdomen. putting pressure on an open wound, perhaps? he definitely took something sharp to the stomach to warrant so much blood.
"again? what did i tell you?"
he shrunk into himself further, his eyes darting across the tent's dirt floor.
"you...told me to be more careful. not do all those tricks the other showmen tell me to, 'cause i'll...get hurt. again. 'm really sorry."
he wasn't wrong. you've told him a hundred times to stop trying to perform acts he wasn't capable of doing, but you had also told those other showmen to keep egging him on. piero never stood a chance against a little peer pressure, and you had to make sure he kept coming back to you.
besides, how sick do those guys have to be to actually encourage their fellow entertainer to mutilate their body for the sake of some stupid trick, all because some ex-doctor-turned-medical-pervert told them to?
those guys were total apathetic sadists, every last one of them. it was their fault piero kept getting hurt, and you just so happened to be the only one on the circus's property who could handle it. if anything, you were doing piero a favor by taking care of him. those guys were the sickos.
"doctor?"
your eyes snap to attention when he speaks again. you can feel your pupils dilate and contract in quick succession before settling on being blown wide open. silence hung over the two of you for an uncomfortably long moment.
his arms snake further around his middle, like he was trying to hold something inside.
"can i get on the table, please?"
god, his manners could kill you if you let them. always so sweet.
you didn't reward him with verbal permission, just a vague wave of your hand towards the table. he limped over as fast as he could manage, using one arm to haul himself onto the table and lay himself down.
when his back hit the table, he finally pulled his arms from his stomach. his romper looked like it had been thrown in the laundry with a handful of razor blades, shredded and sticking to his skin.
you wasted no time, taking the tattered fabric in your hands and tearing it further to widen the slashes. the threads of the fabric popped and the obnoxious red pom-poms travelling from his neck to his waistline flew to either side of the table from the sheer force you were using.
once you got a look at piero's damage, the pom-poms were the last thing on earth you could possibly concern yourself with.
you had him unwrapped like a piece of hard candy, exposing him from his collarbones to his pelvis. you could see the goosebumps begin to rise across his neck, but his stomach...
oh god, his stomach.
he was broken wide open. something had torn through him, no, basically disemboweled him. he had been butchered from his ribs to his waistline. you could see everything, absolutely everything.
his organs were caught in a cycle of twitches and spasms as they fought to keep working. you could see the inferior lobes of his lungs peeking from beneath his rib cage, violently pulling air in and pushing more blood out.
his sternum, still miraculously in one piece, was threatening to burst out of him to make more room for his pounding heart. it was beating so audibly and so quickly, like it had been thrown into overdrive.
when you managed to tear your eyes away from the gore and towards his face, he looked absolutely drenched in guilt. his eyes were glossy and his lips were quivering, arms bent and hands curled into fists near his neck. blood trickled from the corners of his mouth and flowed down his cheeks, dripping onto the rusted metal of your table like a leaky faucet.
you had no idea how you were gonna thank those nasty showmen for getting piero to you in this condition, but you planned to worry about that later. all you could concern yourself with was getting your hands on piero as quickly as possible.
and quickly, you did. the sight of his exposed ribs was magnetic and your hands flew to them without a second's hesitation. his lungs pushed against their cage with vigor, like they were trying to force their way out between the rows of bone and touch you too.
you granted their wish, sliding your fingers between his ribs to graze the battered organs. you were gentle, at least for a while, until you swore you felt piero's back push him off the table and up into your hands.
you were leaning further over him with your hands were deep in his thoracic cage before you could stop yourself. only held back by the balls of your thumbs, you plunged your fingers into the spongy tissue. he wheezed beneath the sudden pressure, more blood spraying from his mouth and splattering across your face.
he looked nothing short of positively horrified at the sight of your face all drenched in ruby red, but you could hardly be worried about your state of being.
when you had knocked the wind out of him and sent him into a blood-spitting fit, there was something rearing its head in between his raspy pants and wheezes. something...whiny. if you dared to believe it, possibly even needy.
you couldn't see if he was flushed beneath his white facepaint, but you sure as hell felt it. the heat pouring out from his open torso only seemed to intensify the deeper you dove into him.
somewhere deep within yourself, something was begging you to stop. you're going to the point of no return, it said. you're scaring him, look at how terrified he is.
that little voice wasn't wrong. piero looked like he was ready to burst into tears, plead for mercy, beg for you to stop hurting him. he looked so pathetic on the table, writhing and squirming like a maggot under your hands.
it felt like there was some force looming behind your shoulder, gripping it tight and telling you to lay off before you did real damage, irreparable damage.
stop while you still can.
the idea of having piero wandering the circus grounds with your mark inside of him was too great a temptation to resist. whatever force of good that was trying to hold you back had vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
a void-like pit spread wide inside your chest, gaping and starving. it trailed across your body and rooted itself deep into the marrow of your bones like a disease.
it dragged your hands down piero's sternum and over his exposed abdomen. his insides glistened wetly beneath you, your eyes transfixed on the curves of his intestines and twitches of the organs nestled nearby.
your eyes met piero's as your fingers wormed their way deep into the viscera, rewarding you with a strangled grunt. his face was drenched with a somehow innocent desperation.
"i'll make you feel better," you whispered. "i'll make everything better."
﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋
formal apology for how short this ended up being, i knew i had to finish it off sooner rather than later or else i'd keep going for the rest of my life. i haven't written anything this spooky or graphic in a hot minute, so hopefully y'all enjoyed my freak ass oneshot 🫶🫶
in other news my freakilicious twin @moonshadowsx and i have been bouncing ideas off each other and have been absolutely obsessed with mature era lesbian fem!mj, so if the masses wish for some of that plz sound off down below >:3c
aiming to get my maestro oneshot out around mid-june and pt 2 of the captain eo fic out by the end of the month, so keep your peepers peeled for that. for now, hope y'all enjoyed my spooky mj oneshot!
ok so imagine bookworm!sugar baby with mature!michael.
he found it so admirable how she much valued the physical copy of a novel rather than using the kindles (he got her two just in case, one mini for travel plus he knew she loved tiny things) he'd gifted her early in their arrangement. she'd told him reading was one of her main hobbies on their first date and he only partially believed her, thinking she was just trying to impress the older man sitting across from her.
but once he understood that she spent 75% of her free time reading any and everything, he jumped in head first. any book she ever casually mentioned wanting to read would suddenly end up on her doorstep or in his lap as he waited in the car to pick her up on dates.
it became a ritual of some sort. his way of taking care of her. he made sure there was something for his baby to read wherever he was dragging her this time. it warmed his heart to look over on set and see her huddled in a chair reading whatever he'd given her that day.
that was his baby, always got her head in some book.
we already know this man is a book hoarder. so yes, he makes her one as well. forget closing out malls, baby, we're shutting down libraries and bookstores to spend the day with his head in her lap as she softly read whatever she wanted. hell, he could listen to her read terms and conditions just as long as it's in that voice.
and don't get me started on him discovering the smut she reads. seriously, don't. (he loves it! always asking her 'is this one clean?' when questioning what she's reading. and makes her read to him while he touches her)
sorry just yearning for my own sugar daddy michael to rent out barnes and noble for meeeee ugh. anyway, hope this can become a thing, i'll keep it going lol
in other words I WANT TO WRITE MIKE FICS BUT I DONT HAVE ANYONE TO READ THEM
the best fanfiction you've ever read was written by a woman in her 40s before she made dinner for her kids. it was written by a teenager after school when they should've been studying for a history test. and a barista came up with the idea while they cleaned the espresso machine and busser fact-checked it on their break and the post-doc edited between writing grant proposals and the nurse apologized for typos in the notes after a long shift and behind every drabble and one-shot and multi-chapter fic there is a person with a wonderful and interesting and chaotic life and it is such a privilege that we get to be apart of it because they decided to do this thing we all share, for fun.
am i going to cut off my friend of 10+ years because she keeps crossing the same boundary?
i'm not sure. but i am sure that i don't want/have to live in a world where i'm updated on my first love's life/relationships because it doesn't do any good for my mental health in any way. i have no issue with her being friends with her, that's not something i can control or care to. but leave me out of it, please! she doesn't get it, but hearing that this girl posted a guy on her story (presumably dating him) seriously broke my heart and made it sink down to my ass.
i haven't felt like a rejected 17 year old girl for a long ass time and i have no intentions of going back. i get so angry when i hear the words "get over it" from someone who is supposed to be my BEST friend. i just ignore it because she (my ex) doesn't come up often because it's such a sore subject to me, but it's starting to get suffocating to think that my friend believes i'm obsessed and not over my first heartbreak. she doesn't get it and seems to never have the intention to try and understand me. i even discussed it with my mother and my girlfriend because it was bothering me so much.
in conclusion, i KNOW that i will not put up with this much longer. as much as it's going to kill me to do it, i have to start shutting that shit down and if i have to walk away i will. i am fully responsible for the way i allow others to make me feel. i refuse to keep friends that make me feel swallowed up by my past. she just has to respect that this is still something i am healing from. if she can't, then bye!
p.s. this is like my oldest friendship and we've truly been there for each other in so many seasons of life. it will truly hurt to break this bond.
i am determined to be the biggest advocate for myself in 2025. this is just a part of it, i think.
