ik prince and paris were stressing him out but can u make a fanfic like a compilation of moments from home videos where he is stressing out because of reader who was his first kid in the mid 90s and her giving him a trial run of what about to happen with all his kids lol. idk if i explained this correctly
Practice Run
Michael x daughter! Reader
Summary: You're Michael's first child not knowing you're gonna be his practice run for his other kids later in the future.
December 1995 - First Christmas
A younger version of him appears on screen, hair messy, wearing a sweatshirt that looks like he’s owned it for years. He’s sitting on the living room floor with a tiny bundle in his arms, you. His first kid.
“Okay, sweetheart,” he whispers to the camera, looking completely overwhelmed. “I think she’s looking at me like she knows I have no idea what I’m doing.” From behind the camera, someone laughs. “She’s three months old.”
“Exactly,” he says seriously. “She already has higher expectations than me.” You make a tiny noise, and his entire face changes. “There’s my girl.” He kisses your forehead. “My little troublemaker.”
The camera follows you running through the backyard, two years old and full of energy. “Slow down, love,” he calls. You turn around. “Catch me!” He looks worried. “See, this is what I’m talking about,” he tells the person filming. “Nobody warned me they come out this fast.”
The camera shakes from laughter. “You’re chasing a toddler.” “I’m chasing my toddler,” he argues, catching you and lifting you into his arms. You squeal. “Daddy!” “Yeah, baby?” “Again!”
His eyes widen. “Again?” You nod. He looks directly at the camera. “Everyone watching this in twenty years, remember this moment. This is when she learned she could control me.” He carries you around anyway. “Anything for you, princess.”
The camera turns on to find him sitting on the couch, looking exhausted. You are standing in front of him wearing a costume you picked out yourself. “Daddy, I don’t like this one anymore.”
He blinks. “You don’t?” “No.” “We bought that one yesterday.”
“I changed my mind.” A long pause, the person filming starts laughing. He points at you. “See? This is practice.” “For what?”
He gestures dramatically toward you. “For the future.” You cross your arms. “I’m not difficult.” He laughs. “Sweetheart, you just changed your mind three times before breakfast.” “I’m creative.”
“You’re four.” “Creative.” He shakes his head, smiling. “Yeah, yeah my little boss.”
The camera catches him trying to help you with homework. You’re eight. He’s trying his best. “Okay, so explain the problem to me.” “I don’t know.” “You asked me for help.” “I know.”
“So…” You stare at him. He sighs. “This is another test.” “What test?” “The test where you see how much patience Daddy has.” You grin.
“Do you have a lot?” He looks at the camera. “I have a very limited supply.” You laugh, he smiles.“Okay come here, love let’s figure it out.”
The camera is older now, the picture quality is worse. His voice is the same. You’re older, sitting beside him while everyone talks about the future. He looks at you. “You know you were the practice round, right?”
You gasp. “The practice round?” He laughs. “Yeah.” “That’s rude.”
“No, no,” he says quickly, pulling you into a side hug. “I mean you taught me everything.” You roll your eyes. “You mean I taught you how to survive?”
“Exactly.” He points at you. “You were the one who taught me the diaper changes, the tantrums, the attitude-”
“I didn’t have attitude.” He raises an eyebrow. “You absolutely did, sweetheart.” You laugh. “Now I’m prepared.” “For the other kids?” He pauses.
The camera zooms in as he realizes what he just said. “Oh.” You start laughing. “Oh no.” He looks terrified. “I forgot there’s going to be more of you.” “More of me?” “Little versions of you.” You grin.
“Good luck.” He covers his face.“ Guys, nobody told me my first child was going to be a warning for everything that came after.” You lean against him. “I Love you, Dad.” His expression softens.
“I Love you too, baby girl.” He looks at the camera. “But I stand by my statement.” You laugh. “Dad!” “What? You were adorable.”
“Were?” “Are,” he corrects quickly. “You’re always my girl.”
Everyone is gathered together, the house is loud. Exactly what you accidentally trained him for. He’s sitting in the middle of it all, looking tired but happy. Someone asks, “Do you regret having your first kid so young?” He looks over at you, you’re laughing with the rest of the family. His smile says everything before he even answers.
“Not for a second.” He points at you. “Although she did prepare me for all of this.” You gasp. “Seriously?” He laughs. “What? You were the original chaos, sweetheart.” You smile. “You loved it.” He pulls you into a hug. “Yeah.” A pause. “I really did.”
Could you write a fic where dad mike and his brothers all get a call saying all the cousins have skipped school or got a detention and so they prank them or something like playing a J5 song at school talent show or some shit 😂😂😂😂
Embarrassing
Michael x daughter! reader
All Jackson brothers mentioned.
Summary: You, your siblings and your cousins got in trouble and in detention because all of you skipped third period class and the Jackson brothers had a way to embarrass y'all.
The school office at Buckley was quiet, save for the low hum of the copy machine. The Jackson cousins sat in a line of plastic chairs, trying to look anywhere but at each other.
Prince and Paris sat shoulders squared, while Bigi kept his hood pulled low. Beside them, Taj, Taryll, and TJ looked mortified to be grouped in with the younger kids. Jermajesty and Jaafar were whispering in the corner, Genevieve was tapping her foot impatiently, and Randy was trying to suppress a grin. You sat right in the middle, staring at your sneakers and bracing for impact.
"We are so dead," Jermajesty muttered. "My dad is going to ground me until college." "Worry about your dad?" Taj hissed back under his breath. "Uncle Michael is flying back from Vegas today. If he finds out we all ditched third period to go to the diner, he’s going to give us the Lecture."
The heavy wooden door of the principal’s office swung open. The secretary, Ms. Gable, looked over her glasses with a look of pure exhaustion. "Well, kids your parents are here all of them." A collective groan echoed through the hallway.
The front entrance of the school open. Jackie and Marlon came in first, shaking their heads. Tito and Randy followed, looking stern, with Jermaine adjusting his jacket. Bringing up the rear was Michael, wearing his signature black fedora, sunglasses, and a red military jacket. "Michael, please, let me handle the talking," Jackie muttered, adjusting his collar. "They skipped class, Jackie! All of them!" Jermaine sighed, running a hand over his hair. "Jermajesty, Jaafar, Genevieve, in a pack!"
Michael didn't say anything at first. He walked right up to the row of chairs, lowered his sunglasses, and looked down at his four children with disappointment. "Hi, Daddy," Paris said with a innocent smile.
"Don't 'Hi Daddy' me love," Michael said, his voice soft but firm. He looked over at you, his eyes softening a fraction but maintaining his strict dad expression. "And you, my sweet girl, I get a phone call at the studio saying you're cutting class? What on earth were you thinking, sweetheart?"
"It was a group decision, Dad," Prince spoke up protectively. "We just wanted to grab lunch together."
"You have a cafeteria, Big Boy," Michael countered, placing his hands on his hips. He looked down at Bigi. "Blanket, put that hood down, please. Let me see your face." Bigi sighed and pulled the hood back.
Tito stepped up, glaring at his trio. "You three are supposed to be the oldest. You’re supposed to be setting an example for the little ones! Instead, you're leading the rebellion?"
"We didn't lead it, Dad!" Taryll protested. "Ran had the keys!" "Hey! Don't snitch!" yelled, earning a sharp look from his own father. "Quiet, Randy Boy," Randy said warning his son. "You're grounded until further notice."
Jermaine shook his head at his kids. "Jermajesty, Jaafar, and Genevieve I am deeply disappointed no phones, no music, no nothing."
The principal stepped out of his office, looking incredibly starstruck but trying to maintain his authority. "Messrs Jacksons, thank you for coming so quickly. Normally, this warrants a full Saturday detention for the whole group. However, since the annual Buckley School Talent Show is literally starting in fifteen minutes in the auditorium, and attendance is mandatory for the student body, I am willing to let them serve their detention helping clean up after the event they must go to the auditorium now."
Michael's eyes lit up. The disappointed dad expression vanished, replaced by a mischievous smirk. He looked over at Jackie, then at Marlon, and a slow grin spread across his face.
"Oh, they'll go to the auditorium," Michael said, his voice suddenly full of amusement. "In fact, Mr. Principal is it too late to add a last minute act to the bill? A little educational performance for the kids?"
Jackie smirked. Marlon let out a loud chuckle. "Oh, Mike you're terrible."
"What are you doing?" you whispered, a cold dread pooling in your stomach. "Daddy, what are you doing?"
"Just going to make sure you kids learn your lesson, my lovely," Michael winked, completely turning around his mood. "Go ahead to the auditorium take your seats right in the front row."
Ten minutes later, the entire student body was packed into the auditorium. You and your cousins were in the center of the front row. Every eye in the school was on the Jackson clan.
"This is a setup," Paris whispered, gripping your hand. "I know that look he had that look when he balloon bombed the living room last Christmas." "If he does the moonwalk on stage, I am changing my last name," Bigi mumbled, sinking into his seat.
The curtains parted, and the principal stepped up to the microphone. "Students and teachers, to open this year's talent show, we have a very special, unannounced guest act. Please give a warm Buckley welcome to The Jackson 5!" The auditorium erupted into deafening screams. Students stood up on their chairs.
The stage lights flashed bright blue and gold. There, standing in perfect formation, were your dad and your uncles. Tito had a guitar strapped to his chest. Jermaine held a bass. Jackie, Marlon, and Michael stood at the front mics.
Marlon hit a spin, completely in sync with Jackie. Michael grabbed the microphone stand, tilted his fedora, and pointed directly at the front row, specifically at you, Prince, Paris, and Bigi.
"Uh-huh, let me tell ya now!" Michael sang, his voice flawless, filling the entire room. He busted into the classic J5 choreography, his feet moving like lightning. The crowd went absolutely wild. Teenagers were dancing in the aisles, in the front row, the Jackson cousins were embarrassment asnd aumusment.
Jermaine leaned into his microphone, singing the harmonies while locking eyes with Jermajesty Genevie Jaafar, winking smoothly. Tito winked at Taj, Taryll, and TJ, who were burying their faces in their hands, though Taj was starting to laugh.
Michael danced his way to the very edge of the stage, right above where you were sitting. He dropped into a low crouch, looking right at you and Paris, singing directly to you both with a dramatic, teasing pout, "Oh baby, give me one more chance! (To show you that I love you!) Won't you please let me, back in your heart!"
He reached down and gently booped you on the nose right on the beat of the drum, causing the students behind you to squeal in jealousy. You couldn't help it the sheer absurdity of your international superstar dad performing a reunion show just to embarrass you for skipping math class broke your resolve, you burst out laughing.
As the song reached its grand, spinning finale, the brothers nailed the iconic final pose. The applause was thunderous, shaking the walls of the auditorium.
Michael took the microphone off the stand, breathless and smiling his brilliant, blinding smile. He waved to the crowd. "Thank you! Thank you, Buckley! Remember to stay in school and study hard." He paused, leaning over the edge of the stage, looking dead at the front row. "Never ever skip third period. Love you, lovelys!" He blew a kiss directly to you and your siblings before the curtains swept shut.
"Well," Prince said, wiping a tear of laughter from his eye as the house lights came up. "That was definitely better than a lecture." "Yeah," you laughed, shaking your head as your cousins started to stand up. "But we are still totally scrubbing those cafeteria floors later."
"Alright, kids, up you get," Marlon’s voice boomed from the side aisle. The brothers had already jogged off the stage and were walking down the steps into the audience, completely ignoring the sea of students trying to get their attention.
Marlon had his sleeves rolled up, a mischievous smirk on his face. Jackie walked up behind Prince and Paris, tossing a brand new pack of yellow rubber gloves into Prince's lap. "Let's go, Big Boy. Time to pay the rent for that diner lunch."
Michael stepped up last, handing his fedora and sunglasses to a security guard before walking over to you. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a side hug and kissing the top of your head."Did we embarrass you too much, my sweet angel?" he cooed, his voice soft and teasing."Daddy, you reunited the Jackson 5 in a high school auditorium because we wanted burgers," you sighed, though you hugged his waist tightly.
"Yes, you embarrassed us completely." "Good," Michael chuckled, his eyes crinkling. "That means it worked. Now come on, let’s go see what kind of mess you all have to clean up."The principal led the massive group down to the school's lower level, opening the doors to the main cafeteria.
It was a disaster of stacked chairs, stray napkins, and sticky floors from the morning rush."Alright, we have a system," Jermaine announced, clapping his hands together and looking at Jermajesty, Jaafar, and Genevieve. "No cell phones allowed during detention. Hand them over." A chorus of whines echoed through the cafeteria as a basket was passed around.
Randy reluctantly dropped his phone in, muttering, "This is cruel and unusual punishment, Dad." "What's cruel is making me drive all the way from the studio because you decided geometry wasn't important, Ran Boy," Randy shot back, leaning against a table with his arms crossed. "Less talking, more wiping."
The uncles pulled up a row of plastic chairs near the exit doors, setting up camp like camp counselors supervising a campground. Tito pulled a small acoustic guitar out of nowhere likely borrowed from the music room and started softly strumming old blues chords."Hey, keep the rhythm going, Tito," Marlon laughed, grabbing a broom and tossing it to Taryll. "Gives them a beat to sweep to! Chop chop, boys!"
You were assigned to table wiping duty alongside Paris and Bigi. Michael pulled up a chair right at the end of your row of tables, watching you work with a giant, entertained grin. Every time you wiped a spot on the table, he would lean over and inspect it."You missed a spot right there love," he teased, pointing a sequined gloved finger at a perfectly clean patch of wood."Daddy, stop, I did not!" you laughed, trying to swipe the rag near his hand to scare him off. He laughed resting his chin in his hands.
You looked over to see Bigi lazily pushing a mop back and forth in a three-inch circle, his eyes half closed. "Blanket, you've been mopping the same tile for five minutes," you called out.
Bigi didn't even look up. "If I move too fast, Uncle Marlon will give me a heavier broom. I am pacing myself." "Smart kid," TJ muttered from across the room, where he and Taryll were lifting heavy trash bags into a rolling bin.As the hour ticked by, the initial dread of detention melted into a chaotic, loud family gathering.
lullora!!! I was wondering if you could write a little blurb with mike x reader sleeping skin to skinnn..? 🫣 not really in a sexual sense but more of like I’m so in love with you and I just wanna be so close to you. (Ofc u can take it in any direction u want since im in love with your writing) Like extra yearner micheal ugh I can already imagine it. Anyways I’m asking you bc I feel like you’re the only one who I trust with capturing it right! Love ya pooks and I would love u a little extra if u did this! Pretty please with a cherry on top <3
— I CAN’T HELP IT
SYNOPSIS; you & michael cuddling and falling asleep together butt naked because he loves skin on skin :p (pretty much just fluff, no warnings)
WORD COUNT; 798
NOTE; thank you for your request, this is so sweet! i hope you enjoy this and it lives up to what you were hoping for babe 💕 love ya. masterlist can be found here.
Michael told you to take everything off. Not with heat or hunger behind it, though you could see the want flickering in his eyes the way it always did, the way it never fully went away when he looked at you.
He was already shirtless, already in those thin grey sweatpants he slept in that sat low on his hips and he was pulling back the sheets on your side of the bed, smoothing the fabric with his palm like he was making a place for something precious.
You stood there watching him and he looked up at you with that expression, the one where his eyes went soft and his lips parted. He tilted his head just slightly, like you were the only thing in the room worth seeing.
“All of it?” You asked, already reaching for the hem of your shirt.
“All of it.” He spoke, nodding toward the bed, his voice low and easy. “I wanna feel you, c’mon.”
You pulled the shirt over your head and stepped out of your underwear, his eyes moving over you slowly, not hungry this time but something else, like he was settling into the sight of you.
“C’mere.” He spoke as he lifted the sheets, waiting for you to join him.
You trailed over to Michael and he pulled you into bed like he’d rehearsed it, one arm sliding beneath your shoulders, the other wrapping around your waist. He drew you in until your bare chest met his and there was nothing between you, no fabric, no pretense, just skin on skin, your heartbeat pressed against his like two clocks trying to sync.
He shifted, adjusting himself, his leg sliding between yours so that your bodies were tangled together in a way that left no room for anything except closeness. His chin rested on top of your head, his breath warm and slow against your hair, his fingers tracing lazy paths down your spine like he was writing something there.
“You feel that?” He murmured against your temple, his lips barely touching your skin.
You did, you felt everything, the warmth of him seeping into your bones, the rise and fall of his chest matching yours, the way his heartbeat was right there, right beneath your ear. You pressed closer, your body curving into his like it was made for this.
“Mhmmm..” You hummed against his collarbone and his arm tightened around you.
“That thing you do…” He whispered, his voice dropping like he was telling you a secret. “That little sound, right against my skin like that, I swear, baby…”
“What thing?”
“Just... that. You don’t even know you’re doing it.” He pressed his lips to your forehead, staying there a moment. “It’s my favourite thing.”
You tilted your face up to look at him, to see his eyes half-closed, his lashes casting shadows on his cheekbones, his lips parted just enough that you could feel the warmth of his exhale against your mouth.
He opened his eyes, gazing down at you and what you saw there wasn’t lust, wasn’t desire, wasn’t anything that had a name you’d learned yet, it was something reverent, something that swallowed him whole.
“I keep trying to get closer…” He spoke quietly, almost like he was embarrassed. “Like holding you isn’t enough… like I need to be inside your skin or something. Does that sound crazy?”
“No.” You whispered. “I know what you mean.”
“Good.” He swallowed, his throat working. His fingers found the small of your back, pressing flat, pulling you in tighter. “Just... stay right here, okay?”
“Where would I go?”
“I don’t know, baby… nowhere, I just…” He trailed off, burying his face in your neck, his words muffled against your skin. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” You giggled and his arms tightened like the sound itself was something he wanted to hold onto. You stayed while his breathing deepened, while his warm fingers stopped their tracing and settled on your waist, his body growing heavier against yours.
You stayed while you felt him falling asleep, felt the exact moment his grip loosened, the exact moment his exhale went long and even. You pressed your lips to his collarbone because you couldn’t help it, because he was asleep now and couldn’t see the way your face crumpled, couldn’t see the tears that gathered at the corners of your eyes, not from sadness, not from anything except the unbearable fullness of being this loved, of being held this carefully, of being someone’s entire world pressed against their chest in the dark.
You fell asleep like that, skin to skin, wrapped in each other so tightly that when morning came and the light crept through the curtains, neither of you could tell where one body ended and the other began.
Okay so I’m trying this new format, not a whole imagine but little blurbs based on stuff y’all send. Lmk if y’all like it!
Nugget was ten months old, and from the day she was born, she had been Uncle Mike’s favorite. The feeling was mutual—Uncle Mike was Nugget’s favorite, too.
Michael often found himself looking for reasons to visit the little one. He happily volunteered to babysit so Jermaine and Alejandra could enjoy a date night or take the older kids to activities Nugget was still too young to attend.
Currently, every Jackson member was sitting in the living room while they waited for dinner to be served. Nugget was sitting in her uncle Jackie's lap, clapping at whatever random song he came up with. Michael sat down next to them, Nugget's eyes immediately found Michael.
"Ikey!" She squealed.
"No." Jackie glared at him. "What?" He laughed. "It's uncle Jackie's bonding time with Nugget." Michael rolled his eyes. “I’m just saying hi to my girl.” He gently pinched her bottom lip between his fingers, the baby bursting into a loud giggle. "Here we go..." Tito said from the other side of the room.
Michael repeated the gesture over and over, each time earning another burst of giggles. Both he and Nugget were red from laughing so hard.
The laughing stopped and Nugget turned to look at Jackie. With a curious smile, she reached out and gently pinched his bottom lip between her tiny fingers. The moment she did, her giggles resumed.
featuring: nugget x the jackson family.
synopsis: reader attends the "michael" movie premiere with her family.
contents: nugget being a mess, uncle michael, sibling & family dynamics. there is one specific part that can make you cry so you've been warned.
a/n: this is the follow up for this post.
After what felt like forever, you finally made it to the premiere. And by 'what felt like forever', you meant Jermajesty taking forever to get ready.
"I have never, ever in my life seen someone take so long to get ready for the result to still be the before." You looked at Jermajesty as you buckled up next to him. "At least I don't look like a navy blue Christmas tree." He flicked your forehead. "You're wearing a navy blue velvet suit, dumbass."
"Enough, both of you." Your mom said. "Scoot closer. I want to take a picture of my matching twins." You both scooted closer, flipping off the camera. "Oh put it down!" You put the fingers down, giving your mom a nice smile, making Randy laugh.
"Was it so hard for you two to take one normal picture?" Alejandra asked, shaking her head. "You look so cute! Randy, get in!"
The three of you groaned, knowing the rest of the car ride would consist of your mom taking endless pictures of you, with you, and of your brothers.
After fifteen minutes, you finally made it to the venue. The sheer number of people there freaked you out a little. You weren't unfamiliar with big crowds, but this was different. This was your brother Jaafar's moment, and it made you a little anxious.
Jermajesty noticed. He reached over, took your hand, and gave it a gentle squeeze, mouthing, "It's okay."
You nodded and let him help you out of the car. Your mom let out a sigh of relief, glad the two of you had put your banter aside for the time being.
"About damn time!" You said as soon as you spotted your uncle Michael.
He turned around, a wide smile spreading across his face as he opened his arms. You hurried over and wrapped him in a tight bear hug.
"My dear Nugget, you look beautiful!" He said, planting a soft kiss to your forehead. "Thank you! You look really nice too."
"So, you're just going to leave me standing here with my arms open?" Jaafar laughed from behind you.
You turned around to find your older brother standing there with his arms spread wide, waiting for his hug. You giggled as you walked over to him and wrapped him in a hug.
"Don't hug me too much, or I'll start crying again." You said, making him laugh. "You look beautiful, sis." He kissed your head, making you pout. "Y'all are so sweet, I love you all."
"Jaafar, if you make her cry again, I swear to God," Randy chimed in. "I already had to calm her down twice today."
Jaafar raised his hands in surrender before excusing himself to go do some interviews. You, Jermajesty, and Randy made your way over to where everyone else was. You said hello to your dad and the rest of your uncles, taking pictures here and there while waiting for Jaafar.
Everything was fine until uncle Jackie.
Uncle Jackie was crying.
And, of course, you started crying too.
"I'm so proud of him, you know? The dedication that boy had throughout the whole thing is just... beautiful." He sniffed, and you sniffed in return as your aunt La Toya softly caressed your shoulder.
Jermajesty was having a field day with it, Randy was confused.
Someone failed to notice an interviewer asking you to answer a few questions, because if they had, they would've stopped you. Not because you were going to say anything wrong, but because you ended up almost sobbing on camera.
By the time Randy realized you were gone, the interviewer was already handing you a tissue.
It didn't end there.
By the time the movie started, you were sobbing.
Little Michael scenes? Sobbing. Whenever they mentioned your dad? Sobbing. Michael showing Marlon his dance moves? Sobbing. The "I'll Be There" performance? Absolutely sobbing.
Your uncle Michael didn't know what was more entertaining: the movie or your reaction to it. Not even halfway through the film, you had already found yourself clinging to his arm and Jaafar's.
He found you staring at him with glassy eyes when the nose job scene came on. "Oh, my sweet girl." He whispered, resting his head on top of yours. "It's okay, I'm okay."
Then the Twister scene came. Michael found himself laughing hard when he saw you glaring at the rest of his brothers.
You were fine for a bit, until Bubbles.
Mind you, you knew the real Bubbles. But you couldn't stop yourself from crying when you saw baby Bubbles, even if he was fake.
The entire "Thriller" album development sequence had you in a chokehold. Your eyes were glued to the screen—literally.
The way "Beat It" came to be, the dance scenes, and the "Thriller" music video had you completely captivated.
"Thriller" had always been your favorite music video ever since you were four. That's how everyone knew you were going to be a little shit, uncle Marlon's words.
You were dancing in your seat, and Michael couldn't help but be amused. Jermaine, who was sitting right next to him, watched the whole scene with tears in his eyes. His mind drifted back to when you and Jermajesty were younger and would perform for him and Alejandra just so you could earn some extra ice cream.
Then the Motown 25 performance came on.
It was one of, if not your favorite Michael Jackson performances. You loved it so much that you had memorized the entire routine long before Jaafar ever had to learn it. Hence the reason he asked you to help him rehearse.
You fist-bumped Jaafar, your eyes never leaving the screen.
Then the Pepsi incident happened.
You cried through the entire sequence. You knew he got through it because he was one of, if not the strongest men you'd ever known, but your heart still broke at the thought of how much pain he had endured.
Michael's eyes watered. He knew his family loved him, but the connection he shared with you was different. You were very much alike; you both felt things deeply and cared for others with the same intensity. He softly squeezed your hand, giving you a reassuring smile.
The Victory and Bad Tour performances were your absolute favorites.
The "Human Nature" performance? You felt it in your bones. Joseph's face? Priceless. The "Bad" performance had you feeling like you were about to pass out.
"I might pass out." You said, hand to your chest.
"Please don't." Your brothers said in unison.
By the time the movie ended and the lights came back on, Jaafar nearly jumped when he saw you.
"What?" You asked, evident confusion in your voice. "Uncle Mike, sunglasses please?" he said, staring at your face in horror. "What? What's—" Michael started, but then he saw your puffy eyes and immediately took off his sunglasses. "You keep these, and do not take them off."
"Holy shit, she looks like she smoked a joint." Randy laughed.
"Happy Meal type shit." Jermajesty grabbed the sunglasses from Michael's hands and placed them on your face, wiping away some fresh tears in the process.
"Did you like the movie?" Jaafar hugged you from the side.
❀ How the demon brothers react to a m/c who becomes evil as soon as it’s too hot outside
Incl: luci, mammon, levi, satan, asmo, beel, belphie
1.1k words, gn!reader
Mammon had noticed something.
A pattern, actually, which was really no surprise given all his gambling.
Every time you stepped out into the heat you became…irritable, to say the least.
"Irritables an understatement,” Levi winced, remembering the incident that morning where you had come into his usually cold room to cool off. All was well until he convinced you to play games with him, which led to you being stuck next to his 500 degree pc and in an even worse mood than before.
"Definitely," Satan sighed, remembering the look on your face when that cashier told you their ice machine wasn’t working so they were only serving hot drinks. You didn’t even order any food, just up and left with a look of utter despair.
Now, the Devildom was always hot—that was no surprise—but it did have its cool months. This time of the year though? Yeah, it really reminded you that you’re essentially in hell, and probably right up against the earth’s flaming hot core.
The demons could handle it fine, they had adapted to the heat years ago. Because of that they never had ac, and failed to take into account how that would be for their very human exchange student. So yeah, irritable was an understatement.
“It feels like nothing we do will cheer poor m/c up,” Asmo pouted, remembering his own incident just last night.
When he had walked past your room to spot you grumbling while searching through pyjamas, he immediately asked what was wrong. When you frowned and said something about only having clean pyjama pants, Asmo had happily dragged you into his room to borrow some of his.
He didn't understand why that was a problem at the time, and was too giddy to share some of his with you that he didn't bother asking. He just let you search through his closet that was something out of Barbie Life in the Dreamhouse until you found a nice silk pyjama set of shorts and a shirt.
Then that smile was right back on your face and all was well, until he hugged you goodnight. He forgot demons have a naturally high body temperature—and there you were back at square one; hot. Your nose scrunched, wiggling out of his arms and giving him a half-hearted goodnight as you fled back to your room.
"Okay, so no hugging M/c.”
That earned a symphony of whines and complaints from the alleged strong, powerful rulers of the Devildom. Even Belphie huffed at that, realizing it most definitely meant no cuddling with the extra heat of all of 5 of his blankets, either.
As they continued to discuss how to help your mood, they spotted Lucifer walking into the common room with you next to him—chatting about whatever.
Levi cringed, sweat beading at his brow. "Oh no."
"They're gonna kill him,” Asmo whispered. Lucifer was annoying enough to someone in a good mood.
"M/c, I noticed you haven't been completing your lessons on time.” The brothers were now hiding behind the couch, watching the words that would likely seal their brother’s fate.
“Are you stressed? You could always start the kettle and have a nice hot cup of tea, or perhaps kindle the fireplace?" Lucifer asked, trying to offer several things that he knew could be calming when stressed but not calming enough to save him from your reaction.
You proceeded to give him a look so nasty that the others flinched.
"Stressed? You're the one whose stressed. How about you go kindle those grey hairs, grandpa."
Mammon and Levi gasped in unison. Belphie and Satan snorted. Asmo was recording and Beel had to push his jaw closed.
Your eyes set on them and they jumped, immediately ducking their heads back behind the couch like they hadn't been watching the whole thing like it was reality tv.
"Got something to say, peanut gallery?"
They shook their heads.
And so you left the room, leaving them all to sigh with relief as if a target just got lifted from their backs.
Lucifer seemed unbothered, but the way he subtly shifted his hair didn't go unnoticed. "Do they seem unsually… peevish to you?"
They sighed in agreement.
Levi rubbed his eyes. "We've gotta do something."
"Like what?” Asmo raised an eyebrow.
"We could get an ac? Remember the one when we visited the human world?" Satan suggested.
Lucifer shook his head. "They don't make them here. We would have to get one from the human world, which might take a few days to deliver and install.”
"Okay, so all we need to do is dodge m/c's wrath for a couple days? That ain't too bad!" Mammon grinned. "I say we all just avoid them until we can get it installed. Can’t make em’ mad that way!”
"You couldn't go a day without talking to m/c, let alone a week.” Lucifer pointed out.
"Hey neither could you! How bout you come up with something then?
“Guys.” Beel started.
“We could buy heaps of icecream?”
“No, then Beel would just eat it!”
“Guys,” he tried again.
“I say we all just move out until the ac gets here.”
“Thats the stupidest idea I’ve ever—“
“Guys.”
“What?!” They all turned to him, all with a glare so similar to yours you’d think the heat was getting to them, too.
“Where did Belphie go?” He asked, and they all looked to see their youngest brother was definitely gone from where he had been draped across the couch.
Cue the sound of a deafening, house-shaking roar coming from below them.
They all gave each other matching confused faces before bolting out of the room and towards the underground tomb where the unmistakable sound of Cerberus being disturbed was.
After scrambling down multiple flights of stairs, they finally made it to the source of the sound to see Cerberus was thankfully not using their brother as a chew toy but instead seemed to have been appeased by a giant rubber ball.
As he was chewing on that in the corner of the tomb, their eyes landed on a pile of blankets in the centre of the room where you and Belphie were curled up, unbothered.
Mammon gawked. “What the hell?!”
Belphie peeked an eye open, shrugging. ”It’s cold down here.”
He shifted, looking at you curled up beside him and slowly sliding his pillow toward you like he was trying to feed a skittish stray.
"...Cold side,” he muttered.
You smiled, taking it gratefully.
“Ay! No fair, why do you get to be with them?” Mammon complained before leaping onto the pile of blankets and pillows, tugging you against him and sticking his tongue out at Belphie.
”I wanna join!” Asmo beamed, shoving between you and Belphie to get his long-awaited hug.
”Me too,” Levi blushed, moving to lay against your leg with his tail coming out to curl around it.
So one by one they picked their spot around you until you were completely surrounded and trapped in a pile of clingy, scorching hot demons.
And just like that you were sweating again.
a/n: all powerful rulers of hell btw. A request from my amazing genius friend jinglebutt ✌️ Can you tell I had a little too much fun writing this? Also I’m pretty sure its canon that the HOL does have ac and the demons do still get hot, but im ignoring that for the sake of this fic (๑ᵔ⤙ᵔ๑)
warnings: 18+ (mdni). this is fucking disgusting, detailed and explicit. don’t wanna see minors in this bitch. oral (f receiving), pussy examination/pronouns/sniffing, panty nibbling. lots of cum. you’re disgusting and wet and it’s everywhere.
“look at that, baby,” michael whispers in fascination, eyes fixed onto your twitching pussy. he’s kneeling between your legs, the back of your knees hanging over his shoulders. “so responsive t’me.”
his thick thumb rubs up and down your lips through the already soaked lacey material. your pussy breaches open around him like a flower, lips almost hanging out, and every time his finger strokes over your gaping, puffy hole, you feel more wetness drool out of you in slow, stringy drips.
“need you so bad,” you beg back, voice high and needy. “so fucking bad.”
michael chuckles, lips merely inches away from your pussy. “yeah? i can tell princess,” the action sends a wave of heat over your skin. his hair tickles the insides of your thighs, and your legs are on the verge of closing around his head. “she’s fucking dripping. so wet f’me, all mine.”
you can feel your slick spreading over the fabric of your panties while he noses through your folds like an obedient cat. “smells so delicious, baby, fuck. gonna eat y’up.”
your legs shake every time the tip of his nose bumps over your clit, back arching off the bed as he presses a tiny kiss over the sloppy, wet material of your underwear, right over your empty, fluttering hole. “she’s so good f’me. can only reward my best girl.”
and that’s the moment his brown eyes flit up to yours. his tongue meets your clit through the thin fabric of your panties. your hips immediately shoot up from the bed, and you let out one, drawn out whimper.
the heavy weight of his tongue against your folds has your head lolling back into the mattress. “shit, mikey, i—” white spots flash before your eyes, unable to keep your eyes open due to the delirious friction from his tongue lapping up, sucking up, your essence.
“keep feelin’ it, princess. that’s it,” he praises you in between licks and soft nips to your clit, voice strained and broken. “can taste you on the fabric, baby. shit—”
at this point, the material of your panties is so soaked and wet, it clings to your lips, perfectly outlining you through the lace while michael eats you out like a man starved. he alters between gentle nibbles at the fabric and nudges of his tongue into your entrance, only a thin layer of lace separating his tongue from your cunt.
“swear y’have the cutest lil’ pussy i’ve ever seen,” michael mumbles as he distances his face a little from your sex. the lace is so wet and creamy that it stays poking into your hole from where his tongue prodded into you just moments ago. he slides one light kitten lick over your clit. “purrin’ for attention. don’t worry angel, i’ll give it to ya.”
“oh my— you’re so nasty, mike,” you whine out, hips bucking up into the air before michael pushes you back down.
“feel how i was juuust in there?” he pushes the thick tip of his middle finger right into the little dip his tongue made, slowly twisting his fingertip around at a maddeningly torturing pace, practically fingering you with a layer in between.
the touch of his fingers to your creamy, messy panties produces the echo of a squelching sound, like a sponge being wrung out, like honey sticking to his fingers. under the pathetically sodden fabric of your lace panties, your warm slick bubbles around your hole, your white cream mixing with his spit, dribbling over the crease of your opened thighs, meandering over the globes of your ass.
part of you feels ashamed of how filthy you are. how thick, slimey globs of cum just gush out of you with every contraction of your hole, and because of the barrier of your panties, it has no place to go. the only option to seep out the sides of the panties’ gusset, as if revealing a dirty secret of how aroused you really are.
“pretty, dirty girl,” the man beneath you praises, voice cracked open in admiration. “should see how messy she’s for me, baby. ‘s a fuckin’ work of art.”
later, when you find your panties thrown on the floor of the bedroom, you notice tiny, little, miniscule holes right around the middle part of the gusset.
“mikey, you nibbled on my panties. you ruined them!” you exclaim in disbelief, holding the pathetic excuse of what you’re supposed to call panties between your thumb and index finger.
BONUS (bc i’m disgusting)
when his fingers pry off your drenched panties, michael’s eyes stay directed on the transparent, white strings extending from your drooling entrance to the sloppy lace material. “so messy y’are for me,” he says, lopsided grin on his face. “push it out. wanna see.”
“see what, mike?”
“see this,” he holds up your panties, gooey remnants of your thick cum glued to the material. “wanna see it pour outta you, baby. up close.”
your bravery sickens you. you clench your abdomen together, gaping hole opening and closing as another sticky wave of white shyly oozes out of you. your face heats up out of embarrassment when you feel the cool, wet patch under your ass spread out.
you cover your face with your hands.
“d’awhh, baby. don’t be shy,” michael places a kiss on top of your bare mound. “don’t be shy w’me. you’re so sexy when you’re being nasty for me.” he coos as he places another kiss to your pussy lips. “y’r just your mikey’s nasty girl.”
what’s worse, you feel warm drops of wetness dribble out of you again at his praise, right against his soft lips.
“fucking beautiful. look at’cha, pretty.” your boyfriend puckers your pussy lips together, trying to coax another glob out of your sex. instead, your tacky lips stick together, and michael peels them open again. “don’t want my baby down here poutin’. gonna lick ‘er clean.”
you’re all mellowed out, his words not really getting to you. your chest keeps heaving, your skin coated with a thin filter of sweat, drool piling up at the corners of your mouth, trickling down your cheeks as you give yourself completely to michael. you just let it happen now.
he’s going to have his way with you, anyway.
this continues the entire night like so. michael just playing with your pussy, literally, whilst you’re trying not to go insane.
LUCIFER had you pinned under him for hours now, using his own body weight to keep you under as he pounds you relentlessly. He told you it's going to be rough for you if you decided to be bitch and fuck around to find out and guess what's happening now? He's only keeping his promise. So if you come crawling away as soon as he lifted himself for a second to adjust his position, what do you think he'll feel? Sad? Offended? No, he'll feel fucking pissed.
"What did I say about pulling shit like this?" He doesn't curse, he thinks he's above them so the mere emphasis he puts in a single crude word was enough to stop you before his cock is even halfway out of your sore hole. He scoffed, "Did I fuck you too much you think you have a choice now?" he smirked before pressing his whole body down on you again.
MAMMON has always been a gentleman. He let's you do whatever you want with him, you can strap a vibrator on his tip for hours and he won't say a single thing outside of praises and words of gratitude. So when you let him do the same to you, he was beyond euphoric.
Getting to fuck his baby the way he wants to is such a dream, and you're giving it to him for free? He was in ecstasy, that is until you tried to crawl away that you felt his soft palms on your shoulders clamping harder. "You're pulling away? That's unfair." His eyes were wide and in disbelief. "I let you do anything to me, so be fair and stop being such a baby and take it all like I did."
LEVIATHAN who has been fucking you since he got off that stupid game. You've been whining about wanting his attention and when he gives it to you, you're being a bitch like this. Being so ungrateful and trying to pull away from his cock? Ah, could it be that you want two? Sure, he can work with that.
"What? What now?" he groaned after you clamped your teeth on his tail that has keeping you quiet by fucking your throat. He looked to your eyes and saw you motioning towards the two cock plunging in and out of your hole without abandon. He knew you're nearing on blacking out, but this is what brats get, right? "Mhm, don't tell me you want my tail down here too?"
SATAN was prim and proper. The type you will expect to make love in cotton sheets in a room filled with candles and rose petals. Laying you down slowly and making you feel valued and loved, patiently preparing you for a night full of sensuality. But even the calmest seas have waves.
Getting him riled up is harder when you want it for sex. He refuse to hurt or be rough with you, he wants sex with you to be about love than pleasure. But it's so hard to not prove you wrong when you try to frame him as a limp dick who can't get it up for that long. But now, he's seeing who really can't get it up. "What was that, limp dick you said? What about now? Am I still a 'limp dick'?" he laughed cruelly, "I guess it won't be going limp for another three hours... You sure you're still awake by then?"
ASMODEUS was the perfect man. High libido, perfect performance, nothing about him is unsatisfactory. That's why being in a relationship with him can put pressure on you. Pressure to meet the same level of quality when it comes to sex. You want to make sure he's satisfied, and you're sure you can't give him that type of satisfaction he gives you unless... You let him achieve it himself.
He looks dainty and put together everytime that you forget he's the literal avatar of lust. And so he needed to remind you. With his arms around your neck and plowing you from the back, he's never been so barbaric in bed until now. Never been so... Demanding. "Come on, keep up." He said between thrusts and sneers. "You want me to be satisfied right? And you're tapping out?" He laughed, "Thought you're better than that!~ Thought I taught you better than that...~"
BEELZEBUB who has been fucking you how you like it, he knows he's big and that it hurts but he just can't ignore the fact that he's still rock-hard even after five rounds, don't you pity him? The last thing you heard was a primal growl before you knew you were fucked.
Thick arms wrapped around your neck before you realize, forcing your back to arch the way he likes. He whispered, "Don't go, don't go, don't go, don't go..." He chanted like a prayer as he drilled his cock in and out of your cunt without a break, "Just one—no, five more..."
BELPHEGOR has been fucking you without a break. Fast and rough, one look and you might think that he's a rabid animal submitting to heat. His mouth is swearing he's got everything under control but the way he's been moaning loudly too from how much he has pushed himself to keep fucking you even during his own orgasms.
So when you tried to pull away even just for a bit, just so that his cock stops hitting that sensitive spot inside you, his hand clamped down the back of your head and pulled it hard. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" He asked in such a hurried tone. "Not hard enough? Which is it, tell me. Don't fucking do that." He asked as he pushed himself deeper to your guts.
DIAVOLO has been in prep for forever. It takes him so long to loosen you up that before he even starts, you're already done. This is another case of that. His tip has been on your sweet spot for half an hour now, poking just enough to make you twitch and drool but not enough to drive you crazy, not rough enough.
It has been hour of edging for you and the only reasonable thing for you to do is run away from the source of your demise. You found out that isn't exactly the best choice when his large hands engulfed your head, pushing it down on the pillow, "Going anywhere? I'm not even halfway in yet, don't be greedy." His smile was there but his mercy sure is not.
BARBATOS was the one assigned to teach you courtly manners so that when you're around the future king of the Devildom, you won't embarrass yourself like the human you are. That includes all types of manners including the ones in bed.
"I said to swallow all." a harsh slap landed on your cheek as his gloved hands tightened around your locks. "What would others think if you can't do even the simplest of the simple things?" He cruelly asked before pushing his cock down your throat. "Or perhaps my cock just isn't that deep down your throat? I see, so that's the problem. That's easy to fix—just open your mouth wider."
SIMEON is an angel. In no dimension will he end up so greedy for sins of the body that he will not listen to your demands for a break. He's not the same as other men who will push you beyond your limits for their own satisfaction. Simeon is an angel. Well, was an angel.
"Are you doing okay there, honey?" he looked down on the back of your head, you face planted on the pillow so hard he doesn't even know if you're getting enough air to breath. "Don't worry, love. Just two more and we'll switch to a different position."
SOLOMON has been as cheeky as he was the first time you met him. He's playful when it comes to bed but he knows your bounderies. He knows when you don't want it, when you've had your fill, and when you're begging for more despite the opposing please.
His giggles echoed inside the room as sweat drips down from his forehead the same way his cum drips out from your hole. "You want me to pause?" His giggle got louder and his pace got faster. "Unfortunately for you, I will keep doing whatever I want."
MEPHISTOPHELES is one of the people who are easy. It's easy get under his skin and easy to get inside his pants. Somehow, you always manage to do both without even trying.
"Fuck," His husky voice reverbrated through his chest as he kept on bouncing you on his cock. Even when you try to push his chest away, he doesn't even bulge. "Can't belive this irrelevant little bitch dare to stress me out like this. Hey, you better not stop riding me until I told you so."
RAPHAEL has always been calm, not the type to be easily swayed by such vicious desires. He doesn't understand why people like the concept of "overstimulation" turns people on, everything too much is bad too.
That is until you convinced him to try doing it after his perceived limit. So when he discovered what it feels like and you started regretting telling him about it, by the time you're crawling away, he pulled you back by your wrists, "What's wrong? You want to change position? Should I pin you on the headboard? You always liked that—" he was desperate to solve whatever discomfort you're having just so that you two can continue but when you said you needed a break, he panicked. That's not possible.
THIRTEEN she's one of the most cruel. It doesn't matter if you're swollen, if you can't cum anymore. Your body will create more of that later, for now, enjoy the fucking pleasure in pain first.
"C-can't cum?" she asked between pants, "That's fine, don't worry! You don't need to cum! Just let me fuck you, that's all!" she looked at you like it was all common sense.
can we pls get more texts with hubby michael? maybe he wants to have a baby but had previously told reader he didn't want to be an old dad? make it funny plssss
Summary: Michael suffers from insecurity after gaining a bit of weight, so you, as a good wife, help him see his beauty.
Content/Warnings: fluff fluff fluff, 18+ themes (MDNI!), oral sex (m!receiving), dad body michael arghhh he's so cute, insecurities. reader in her late 30s, being a mom of two hehe. no use of y/n!
W/c: 1,4k+
“Prince! Prince, get over here, let me strap your kneepads on... Prince?”
You sighed deeply, folding your arms across your chest. A flash of blonde hair darted past your field of vision, lost among the perfectly planted hedges of the decorative labyrinth not far from the estate’s entrance. Leaning your shoulder against the doorframe, you observed the boy tearing through the foliage, silently counting down the seconds until he tripped. You were certain it was bound to happen.
Smiling at your own thoughts, you shook your head and looked over at quiet Paris, who was softly babbling away to Bubbles. The contrast was truly amusing – less than a year apart, yet your children’s personalities couldn't have been more unbearably different.
Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t even notice Prince rushing up to you and wrapping his arms around your leg with a beaming smile.
“Mommy, can I come with you today?”
You gently took his small hands in yours and crouched down, bringing yourself eye-to-eye with Prince. Softly running your hand over his fair hair, you pecked him on the nose, coaxing a bright giggle out of him.
“Daddy said this is an adults-only event, remember? Now, if you were... mmm...” You held your hand just a few inches above his head, dramatically pretending to ponder, “about this much taller, we could’ve brought you along.”
Prince stared at you in silence for a few seconds, processing your words. You tried to fight back a smile at how striking his resemblance to Michael was at that very moment. It warmed your heart so deeply that alongside the smile, you had to blink back tears.
“So if I grow this much,” he mimicked your gesture, holding his tiny hand just above his head, “I get to go with you next time? I promise I’ll grow!”
You laughed at his innocent attempt to bargain with you and planted a kiss on his chubby cheek.
“Ask daddy next time, deal?” Receiving an affirmative nod, you continued, “Now let’s get those kneepads on you so the nanny doesn't have to patch up your scrapes, you little troublemaker.”
Prince giggled and finally cooperated. Phew.
The house was remarkably quiet in the pleasant cool of the summer evening. The sun was already dipping toward the horizon, beautifully painting the rooms through the lace curtains. You strolled over the expensive parquet in kitten heels, a steady rhythm tapping against the floor. From the master bedroom, the soft sound of exertion blended with a quietly hummed tune drifted out. A smile touched your lips. The more time you shared with Michael, the more familiar his mannerisms became, and the more devotedly you loved him. Gently touching your wedding ring out of habit, you stepped into the room, instantly locking eyes with Michael through the mirror.
You found it impossible to suppress a broader grin at the sight of him clad in trousers that contoured his thick thighs with exquisite perfection, immediately catching your gaze. Gliding your eyes higher, you caught the subtle strain on the buttons of his waistcoat.
You swallowed, feeling your mouth pool with saliva.
Over these past few years, Michael had put on a bit of weight, pouring every spare moment into family life and abandoning dancing or workouts for weeks at a time. You recalled the very first time you met him on the music video set for Give In To Me, how in the blink of an eye he had pressed you against the wall of a storage closet, how you used to shower kisses over his sunken cheeks and razor-sharp cheekbones, counting his ribs beneath his black shirt with your fingertips. Undoubtedly, he had been breathtakingly handsome.
But truly, nothing in the world could compare to those delicious thighs and that slightly soft tummy peeking out from under his t-shirt whenever Michael helped you reach something on the top shelves. You wanted to kiss him, bite him, leave your mark. To lick him all over, all the way down to the waistband of his sweatpants, and...
“Oh, I don’t know!”
A half-frustrated, half-downcast exclamation snapped you right out of your fantasy, making you unconsciously clench your thighs against the sudden flare of heat between them.
“What’s wrong, love?” You stepped closer to him, trying to keep your voice sounding natural.
“Just take a look,” he sighed, gesturing toward his mirror image. “I look... God, I really need to start watching my shape.”
“You look...? How? Breathtaking? Magnificent? Like a wonderful husband and father?” You embraced him from behind, the height of your heels enabling you to rest your chin on Michael’s shoulder. “You look mouthwatering.”
Michael shook his head in frustration, placing his large palms over yours.
“No, its you who looks utterly gorgeous, sweetheart. Beside this beauty, I just feel... too large.”
You pressed a tender kiss to his neck, trailing upward toward his earlobe. Your hands began to roam over Michael’s body, coaxing ragged breaths from him.
“You look breathtaking,” you whispered, giving one of his buttocks a playful squeeze despite his disgruntled murmur “ Just look.”
Stepping away from his coveted frame, you moved directly in front of Michael. Nestling your back against his chest, you stared at your reflection in the mirror.
“We are perfect together.”
Michael met your gaze in the reflection and gently held your chin between his fingers, tilting your face toward his for a kiss. It was infused with such sweetness that you felt on the verge of melting right there in his grip. Surrendering to a sudden impulse, you parted your lips from his, sinking slowly onto your knees in front of him.
“Sweetheart...” he murmured, resting his hand gently on your shoulder, “we’re running short on time...”
“Just a quick one. I want to show you how beautiful you are,” your hands reached for the fly of his trousers, unzipping them with a sharp rustle, “look at yourself, Michael.”
He covered his face with his hands, hit by a sudden wave of shyness. A tender pink flush spread across Michael’s cheeks as you pulled his hardened length from his boxers and gently licked the tip to taste him. Purring with satisfaction, you took his cock into your mouth, leaving a ring of red lipstick on the skin.
Michael groaned softly, raising his head to lock eyes with his reflection. Flushed, eyes glistening, his chest heaving with rapid breaths. Words in your voice echoed in his mind: “Look at how beautiful you are... just look at yourself... so obedient for me...”
You continued licking Michael with your nimble tongue, long accustomed to his impressive size. You took his length into your mouth in an attempt to take all of him, but he was simply too big. The weight of Michael’s cock resting on your tongue felt like pure euphoria, blended with the ragged groans drifting down from above.
Michael felt waves of heat surging through him, his head spinning from the overwhelming rush of sensations. He wanted to bury his fingers in your hair, pull you close, push deeper. His hands trembled with restraint, but his conscience wouldn't let him ruin your hairstyle. Michael stared at his reflection, furrowing his brows in pleasure that washed over him in continuous waves. His slightly tousled hair and glistening eyes looked impossibly striking in the light of the setting sun. For a split second, he saw himself through your eyes, and his lips twitched into the faintest smile.
Sensing the rhythm of his pulsing against your tongue, you released a soft breath through your nose, allowing Michael to sink as deep into your throat as he could, holding yourself perfectly still. With a long, drawn-out groan, Michael released deep within, as your hands squeezed his firm thighs in an irresistible impulse.
“You’re completely crazy... a crazy woman...” he whispered, gently guiding you to your feet. Glancing down, you smirked with deep pleasure upon seeing the entire base of his length painted with red lipstick. Tenderly, you zipped his trousers, restoring Michael’s pristine look.
He bent down to press a soft kiss to your lips, a wordless token of the quiet gratitude nestled in the depths of his heart. It had little to do with sex or the comforting words, but everything to do with your unwavering readiness to accept and cheer him up.
“I love you,” he whispered, gently thumbing away the smeared lipstick on your chin.
“I love you too...”
“Daddy! Are you wearing the brooch I made for you? You promised!”
You let out a soft chuckle, melting into Michael’s arms as Paris bounded into the room to inspect his promise.
“I want hugs too, me too!”
You gazed lovingly at Paris throwing herself into her father’s arms, brushing a tender kiss against his cheek.
OMG PLEASE WRITE ABOUT THRILLER ERA MICHEAL COMING BACK FROM THE GRAMMYS WHERE HE WON LIKE 8 OR 9 AND HIM JUST GOING CRAZY ON YOU FUCKK and HIS KISS MARK LIKE YES
۫ ׅ ℘ need you michael jackson ◞
⊱ thriller!mike • fem!reader ◞ 18+. ⋮ requested 𓍼
tgs ◞ very needy michael, switch michael, worshipping, ‘84 grammys, whimpering, smut, possessiveness, slightly rough sex, established relationship, use of ‘mama’, use of ‘Y/N’ once
The limousine purred through the chaotic, flashbulb-lit streets of Los Angeles, the muffled roar of thousands of screaming fans acting as a constant baseline outside the tinted windows. Inside, however, the world was shrunk down to just the two of you, bathed in the soft, ambient glow of the interior lights.
It was February 28, 1984. Tonight was the 26th Annual Grammy Awards, and the man sitting next to you wasn't just attending; he was about to rewrite history.
Michael shifted on the leather seat, his fingers nervously drumming against his thigh. He was wearing the iconic military jacket—the brilliant blue one adorned with heavy gold braiding, a sparkling sequined sash, and, of course, the single white glove. He looked regal, larger than life, like a king preparing for his coronation. But when his dark eyes flicked over to look at you, all that carefully crafted pop-star mystique completely evaporated. He just looked completely and utterly breathless.
"Oh my god," Michael whispered for what felt like the twentieth time since you’d left the hotel. His voice was soft, rich, and trembling slightly with an intensity that sent a shiver straight down your spine. "Angel… I just… I can’t take my eyes off you. I really can’t."
You couldn't help the brilliant smile that spread across your face, your rich, brown skin glowing warmly under the car's interior lights. For tonight, you had pulled out all the stops. You were wearing a custom-made, floor-length silk gown in a light, stunning white cream that provided a breathtaking contrast to your complexion. The dress hugged every single curve of your body before pooling elegantly around your heels. Your hair was styled to perfection, framing your face beautifully, and your makeup highlighted your features flawlessly. You looked like a literal goddess, and Michael was reacting like a man who had just witnessed a miracle.
"Michael, you've said that five times already," you teased gently, reaching over to place your hand over his gloved one. "You’re going to make me blush, and I don't want to ruin my makeup before we even step onto the carpet."
"I don't care," he insisted, his grip tightening around your hand. He leaned in closer, the faint, intoxicating scent of his cologne—a mix of expensive musk and sweet vanilla—wrapping around you. "I mean it, Y/N. You look so beautiful it’s actually hurting my chest a little bit. Look at you. Just look at how gorgeous you are."
His free hand reached up, his bare fingers gently tracing the line of your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone with a reverence that made your heart skip a beat. His eyes were wide, dark, and dilated, drinking in every single detail of your face, your shoulders, the slope of your neck. There was a raw, heavy hunger buried deep in his gaze, a sharp contrast to his usual gentle demeanor.
"You're going to be the most beautiful woman in that entire building tonight," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, becoming a low, gravelly rasp that made your stomach flip. "Everyone is going to be looking at me, but all I'm gonna be doing is looking at you. I'm so proud to have you on my arm. So proud."
"Thank you, angelface," you whispered, using his nickname, a private intimacy saved only for moments like this. "You look incredible too. Tonight is your night."
"Our night," he corrected fiercely, leaning across the small space to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, being careful not to smudge your lipstick but still managed to communicate the sheer weight of his devotion. "Our night, beautiful."
The limousine finally crawled to a halt in front of the Shrine Auditorium. The noise outside swelled into a deafening crescendo. Flashbulbs began firing rapidly against the tinted glass, creating a strobe-light effect inside the vehicle. Michael took a deep breath, the public persona clicking smoothly into place, but as he looked at you one last time before the door opened, his eyes flashed with a promise that made your blood run hot.
The rest of the night passed in a dizzying, historic blur.
From the moment Michael stepped out of the car and reached back to pull you out with him, the world went completely mad. The cameras went into overdrive, the flashes so bright they left spots in your vision. But true to his word, Michael kept you glued to his side. His arm was wrapped securely around your waist, his large hand pressing firmly into the small of your back, guiding you through the sea of reporters and photographers. Every few paces, he would lean down, his curls brushing against your cheek, just to whisper, "You look so beautiful, mama," or "They're all staring at you, I swear it."
Inside the auditorium, the energy was electric. It was gonna be a memorable night, and everyone knew it.
One by one, Michael’s name was called. Producer of the Year. Album of the Year. Record of the Year. Best Pop Vocal Performance. Over and over again, he stood up, the crowd erupting into thunderous applause, standing ovations that shook the very foundation of the building. And every single time he stood up, he kissed your cheek first. Every time he walked up those steps to accept another golden gramophone, he looked back at you sitting in the front row.
By the time he walked up to the podium for his final acceptance speech of the night, having tied and shattered records by winning a staggering eight Grammy Awards, the atmosphere was euphoric.
Michael stood at the microphone, adjusting his sunglasses, the crowd finally settling down into an expectant hush. He thanked the academy, he thanked his family, he thanked the Records, and he thanked his fans. His voice was humble, sweet, and filled with genuine awe. But then, he paused. He took off his sunglasses, his dark eyes sweeping over the crowd until they locked onto you.
A soft, incredibly tender smile broke across his face.
"And... I want to thank someone very, very special to me," Michael said into the microphone, his voice echoing beautifully through the massive auditorium. "Someone who has been my rock, my inspiration, and the joy in my life. Y/N..."
The cameras immediately panned to you, your face filling the giant screens in the arena. You offered a shy smile, your heart pounding against your ribs as the crowd cheered.
"Thank you for believing in me when things got hard," Michael continued, his eyes locked onto yours, completely ignoring the thousands of people watching. "Thank you for your love, your patience, and for just being the beautiful, incredible woman that you are. I wouldn't be standing up here tonight without you. This is for you, too. I love you."
The crowd erupted into an absolute frenzy. Your eyes welled with tears of pure pride and love as you watched him hold up the trophy, his gaze never leaving yours. He wasn't just the biggest star in the world in that moment; he was a man completely, utterly consumed by his love for you.
The moment the televised broadcast ended, the backstage area became a madhouse of executives, celebrities, and security guards trying to steer Michael toward the official after-parties. Everyone wanted a piece of him. Everyone wanted to celebrate the historic night.
But Michael wasn't having any of it.
The second he was clear of the main stage, his hand clamped tightly around yours, his fingers intertwining with yours so fiercely it almost hurt. He was moving fast, his long legs eating up the pavement as his security detail cleared a path through the backstage corridors.
"Michael! Michael, wait!" Frank Dileo, his manager, came jogging up alongside him, puffing on a cigar. "We gotta go to the CBS party, Mike! Clive Davis is expecting you, the press is waiting, we gotta—"
"No, Frank," Michael cut him off, not even breaking his stride. His voice lacked its usual soft, compliant edge. It was firm, absolute, and completely non-negotiable. "Tell them I'm tired. Tell them I'm not feeling well. I'm going back to the hotel."
"But Mike, you just won eight Grammys! This is the biggest night of your life!"
Michael stopped abruptly, turning to look at his manager. He didn't look tired at all. In fact, his eyes were burning with a desperate, frantic energy, a wild hum vibrating through his entire posture. He looked down at you, his eyes raking over your emerald green dress, your exposed collarbones, the rich warmth of your skin, and a visible shudder went through his frame.
"I'm going home, Frank. Secure the car. Now."
Frank looked at Michael, then looked at you, seeing the absolute fire burning in Michael's eyes and the flush on your cheeks. Realization dawned on the manager's face. He sighed, throwing his hands up. "Alright, alright. Security, get the limo around back. Now!"
Within minutes, you were pushed through a back exit and shielded into the waiting limousine. The door slammed shut, cutting off the noise of the world once again.
The car hadn't even pulled away from the curb before Michael was moving.
He didn't wait. He didn't say a word. He practically threw himself across the seat, his large hands coming up to frame your face as he crashed his lips against yours.
This wasn't the gentle, sweet kiss from earlier. This was desperate. This was needy. This was a man who had been starving all night while surrounded by a feast. Michael groaned deep in his throat, his tongue immediately sliding past your teeth to claim your mouth in a deep, wet, possessive kiss. His hands tangled in your hair, completely disregarding the perfect styling, pulling you closer until your chest was crushed against the hard, heavily embroidered front of his bedazzled jacket.
"Michael," you gasped out against his mouth, your hands coming up to grip his broad shoulders as the limousine accelerated. "Michael, wait—the driver—"
"The partition is up," he panted, his lips moving down your jawline, biting softly at the sensitive skin right beneath your ear, making you arch your neck with a soft sigh. "It's up, mama. God, you don't know what you did to me tonight. You don't have any idea."
His hands left your face, sliding down the silk of your dress, his touch frantic and heavy as he gripped your hips, lifting you effortlessly and pulling you right onto his lap. You straddled his thighs, your cream gown riding up over your knees. Michael’s breathing was ragged, his chest heaving against yours. The heavy gold trophies were sitting in a bag at the floor of the car, completely forgotten. The only thing that mattered to him was the feel of your body against his.
"You looked so beautiful," he whimpered, his forehead resting against yours, his eyes dark, wild, and dilated to the point where the iris was almost entirely gone. He looked completely unraveled, his usual composure entirely stripped away. "Seeing you sitting there... watching me... knowing you're mine. All those people staring at you, wanting you. I thought I was gonna lose my mind, baby. I swear I was."
"Michael, I'm right here," you whispered, running your fingers through his damp curls, feeling the frantic heat radiating off his skin. "I'm yours. Only yours."
A broken, needy sound left his throat, and he buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. "Show me. Please, just let me get you back to the room. I need you so bad. I'm shaking, mama. Look at me, I'm shaking."
He held up his hand—the gloved one—and it was indeed trembling with a raw, kinetic energy. The sheer adrenaline of winning eight Grammys, combined with the agonizing, hours-long torture of wanting to touch you, had pushed him completely over the edge. He was a desperate man, and you were his only salvation.
The trip up to the hotel penthouse was a blur of shadows and hurried footsteps. Michael kept his arm wrapped securely around your waist, his head down, his fingers digging into your hip through the silk of your dress as if he feared you might vanish if he let go.
The moment the heavy wooden door of the penthouse suite clicked shut behind you, the silence of the room was immediately shattered.
Michael didn't even turn on the lights. The only illumination came from the moonlight pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long, dramatic shadows across the luxurious room and highlighting the city skyline outside.
He grabbed you by the waist and pressed you back against the closed door, the heavy wood cold against your back, but your front was burning hot against him. He tore off his sunglasses, throwing them carelessly onto the floor, followed immediately by his single white glove.
"Michael—"
Your words were swallowed by his mouth. He kissed you with a ferocious, unbridled passion that left you completely breathless, his tongue plundering your mouth over and over again. He was needy, Whimpering into the kiss, his hands moving frantically over your body, tracing the curves he had been staring at all night.
"I need to see you," he panted, breaking the kiss for a fraction of a second, his eyes wild in the dim light. "I need to see this beautiful, gorgeous body out of this dress. Please, baby. Let me see you."
His hands found the zipper at the back of your cream gown. With a swift, practiced motion, he pulled it down. The silk hissed as it parted, loosening around your frame. Michael didn't waste a second. He pushed the straps off your shoulders, the heavy fabric sliding down your body, pooling at your feet in a dark wave on the carpet.
Michael stepped back just an inch, his breath catching audibly in his throat as he looked at you. You stood before him in just your underwear, your rich brown skin glowing like polished bronze in the soft moonlight. The contrast against the dark room was breathtaking, and Michael looked like he was staring at a masterpiece in a museum.
"Oh, God," he breathed, a hand coming up to cover his mouth, his chest heaving. "Look at you. You are so... you're a goddess, mama. You're so beautiful it makes me want to cry. Look at what you do to me."
He didn't wait for a response. He reached for his own clothes, his movements frantic, almost clumsy in his desperation. The iconic blue bedazzled jacket was unbuttoned and tossed carelessly onto the floor, the gold braid clinking softly against the carpet. His shirt followed, thrown aside until he stood before you bare-chested, his lean, toned muscles rippling in the moonlight, a light sheen of sweat covering his skin from the sheer adrenaline of the night.
He stepped back into your space, his bare chest pressing against yours, the heat of his skin instantly transferring to you. He swept you up into his arms, lifting you effortlessly as if you weighed nothing at all, and carried you over to the massive king-sized bed.
He came down over you immediately, pinning you into the soft mattress with his weight. He didn't give you a moment to breathe. His hands found your wrists, pinning them gently but firmly beside your head, his long fingers locking with yours.
"I need you so much right now, baby," he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion, his eyes boring into yours with an intensity that made your heart hammer against your ribs. "I've been wanting this all night. Every time they called my name, every time I stood up there... all I could think about was this. Was you. How gorgeous you looked. How much I love you. Please... let me show you."
"Michael, yes... please," you groaned, arching your hips up against his, desperate for the contact, completely consumed by his heat and his need.
He moved with an urgent, frantic energy. In a matter of seconds, the remaining barriers of clothing were gone. Michael hovered between your thighs, his body trembling, his skin hot and slick against yours. He looked down at you, his eyes drinking in the sight of your beautiful, dark skin against the white sheets, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.
"You're so beautiful, mama. So beautiful," he chanted like a prayer, his voice a low, gravelly rasp.
He didn't ease into it. Driven by hours of pent-up desire, the adrenaline of a historic night, and a deep, possessive need to completely consume you, Michael drove himself deep into you with one firm, heavy thrust.
A loud, breathless gasp tore from your throat, your back arching off the mattress as he filled you completely. It was intense, overwhelming, and utterly perfect.
Michael let out a low, guttural groan, burying his face in your neck as he began to move. He didn't hold back. He began to pound into you with a fierce, relentless rhythm, his heavy, powerful thrusts rocking your entire body against the mattress.
"Ah, god, my angel... you're so tight, so warm," he gasped out, his voice completely unraveled, stripped of any pop-star perfection. He was just a man, desperate and needy, completely losing himself inside the woman he loved.
His pace was fast, hard, and unyielding. Every time he drove his hips against yours, a soft, pathetic whimper would escape his lips, showing just how much your body was affecting him. He gripped your hips with his large hands, his fingers digging into your plush skin, anchoring you to him as he set a punishing, intoxicating pace.
The room was filled with the heavy sounds of his ragged breathing, the wet, rhythmic friction of your bodies meeting, and the soft, breathless cries slipping from your lips.
"Michael... oh my god, Michael," you cried out, your fingers digging into the muscles of his back, your legs wrapping tightly around his waist to pull him even deeper into you.
"Tell me you're mine," he begged, his thrusts growing even harder, faster, driving into you with a desperate intensity that brought you right to the edge of a cliff. He leaned down, his sweat-damp curls brushing against your face, his lips frantically kissing your cheeks, your jaw, your mouth. "Tell me, baby. I need to hear it. I need you so bad."
"I'm yours, Michael! I'm yours!" you cried out, your voice breaking as the pleasure began to crest over you.
Hearing those words completely broke whatever restraint he had left. Michael groaned, a raw, dominant sound, and increased his pace even further, his body moving in a blurred, powerful rhythm. He pounded into you, showing you with every single heavy stroke just how much he worshiped you, how much your beauty had driven him insane all evening, how much he needed to claim every single part of you.
The friction was unbelievable. You arched your back, your eyes rolling back as a wave of intense, shattering climax ripped through your body. You clamped tightly around him, your voice crying out his name into the quiet penthouse.
The tight, crushing sensation of your release immediately pushed Michael over the edge. He let out a loud, ragged cry, his body going rigid as he delivered one final, incredibly deep, heavy thrust. He buried himself as deep as he could possibly go inside you, his muscles locking up as he poured himself into you, his chest heaving violently against yours.
For a long, breathless moment, the world stopped moving. There were no Grammys, no fans, no records broken. There was just the two of you, tangled in the sheets, breathing heavily in the moonlight.
Slowly, the tension left Michael's body. He collapsed against you, burying his face in your hair, his breath still coming in ragged, shaky gasps. He didn't pull away; instead, he wrapped his long arms tightly around you, pulling you impossibly closer to his chest, as if he still couldn't get enough of you.
"Oh, god," Michael whispered into your hair, his voice incredibly soft, returning to that sweet, vulnerable tone you knew so well. He was still trembling slightly. "My baby... thank you. Thank you so much."
You smiled softly in the dark, your hands gently rubbing his back, feeling the slow, steady heartbeat beneath his skin. "For what, Michael?"
He shifted slightly, lifting his head so he could look down at you. In the moonlight, his eyes were soft, wet with emotion, and filled with a love so profound it took your breath away. He reached up, his bare hand gently caressing your cheek, brushing away a stray curl.
"For being my real prize tonight," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Those trophies... they don't mean anything compared to this. Compared to you. You're the most beautiful thing in my world, baby. Never forget that. I love you so much."
You pulled his head down, kissing him sweetly, completely secure in the knowledge that no matter how big the world got out there, right here, in the dark, you were his entire universe.
“I’m sorry to tell you this sir but…” Connie’s elderly neighbor whispered to him as he walked towards his front porch. He had just gotten off of another 14 hour shift and the only thing he wanted to do was get wrapped up in you.
“Well young man, I think your lady is cheating on you.” She says. Her brows pull together tightly and her clammy hand grips his forearm. Connie blinks a few times. “Excuse me?” He asks. “I’m so sorry but I had to say something. I’ve seen a few gentlemen callers coming in your home when you’re at work. Quite frankly, it’s mighty disrespectful. This is a peaceful neighborhood around these parts. And well. I see you’re working hard and I figured you should know.” She finished up her speech with a firm press of her lips. “Uh…” Connie didn’t know what to say or how to feel. “Well, thank you so much for telling me. You have a great night.” Connie pats her hand softly and walks back towards his front door.
Dropping his bags at the entrance he walks to the kitchen, the sound of R&B music playing softly on the speaker. He calls out to you. “Baby…” his eyes turn the corner and there you are dancing around the kitchen. Connie stills at the entrance to take in the sight before him. Your hips sway to the music eyes closed and head lifted up. A thick pair of muscular hands are wrapped around your waist moving with you to the beat.
Connie can do nothing but process it. You’re in bliss for a few more seconds before your eyes peel open and you see him standing in the doorway. “Connie. You’re home early baby.” He quietly walks closer to you. Ony steps back from your body and allows you to move around the counter. You walk towards him and wrap him in your embrace. His body relaxes immediately at your touch. He buries his face in your neck and sighs. “You seem tense baby what’s wrong.” Connie mumbles into your shoulder. “Connie. I can’t hear you.” You giggle. “Long day at work. Our neighbor things you’re cheating on me by the way.” He says as he finally lifts his head.
Your brows furrow. “Cheating on you?” You say, shock across your face. A deep chuckle rings out from behind you. “Damn you cheating on us baby.” Ony chimes in. Connie can’t help but laugh. “She said she’s been seeing…what was it? Oh. Gentlemen callers coming into our home.” Connie says. He recaps the entire encounter with you and Ony. “Nosey ass lady.” Ony says rolling his eyes. “Oh my god that’s so embarrassing.” You go back to cooking dinner. “Aye. It’s better she stopped me than Eren. He would’ve cussed her out.” Connie laughs out loud. “Oh shit. He will lose his mind if she walks up to him and says that.” You say.
It’s true that your relationship was…unconventional. I mean you’re married to three men. And when you all moved in both Eren and Ony were out of town so the assumption that it was just Connie made since. Still it didn’t make it any less weird that your neighbors think you’re cheating on your husband. “I’ll have to figure out how to explain it to her somehow.” You say shaking your head. “Connie baby go get cleaned up. Dinner is almost ready.” He nods kissing your forehead and dapping up Ony before he goes up the stairs to clean up.
He was down just in time to help set the table when the front door opens and Eren storms in.
“Man, why the fuck did our neighbor stop and call me a home wrecker on my way inside.”
This shit came to my head at random lmfao. Don’t ask questions.
Dance with me in the rain~ @bluecakes1978 - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
