❤︎

𑣲⋆｡˚ You're always on my mind BLK ; JUST A GIRL WITH IDEAS ;_ _ ݂ ᣟ 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒, *endlessly ♡* ᣟৎ˳

[deerlyenchanted]

WELCOME DEAR READER TO MY ONE LADY CIRCUS

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎 ૮ ྀིᴗ͈ . ᴗ͈ ྀིა - 9teen , IM USUALLY EVERYWHERE (MULTIFANDOM) , ANY PRNS , BLK , OMNI-SEXUAL, APPLEHEAD ADDICT , main/kpop @aerescene , PROUD FREAK !!

MASTERLIST (Not yet done LMAO)…

| CRANES IN THE SKY (MINI-SERIES)

FAQ - How do I make a request? Tap the circus under my bio on my profile. Requests I am OKAY with: sfw, nsfw (depends), I usually do fem!pov or gender neutral, i will nawt do masc!POV sorryy :(

Asks: Open Requests: Open

[deerlyenchanted]

‪‪❤︎‬ | BIRTHDAY CAKE

･ ‎ꫂ᭪݁ ⋮ AUTHORS NOTE: If you saw my last post where I talked abt drunk Michael being a mess of cake for his bday party then just know I WAS NOT KIDDING. Heres my once a month smut post :) ENJOYYYYYUHHH and COMMENT THIS IS ONLY MY SECOND TIME WRITING FULL SMUT. (kinda proof-read i got lazy halfway through who writes 6k words n actually proofreads not me.)

･ ‎ꫂ᭪݁ ⋮ SUMMARY/CW: Michael decides YOU’RE his birthday gift/cake. w.c: 5.9k (ik alot of words but worth it) fem!reader , implied black reader but any1 can read includes: drunk michael, food play (icing licking), lots of spit swapping and making out, dry humping, michaels an eater guys, switch!michael, needy michael appearance, ass slapping, hair pulling, FOOT KINK GUYS MICHAEL LOVES YOUR MANICURED FEET. I REPEAT FOOT KINK, strong usage of language, voyurism (public-ish sex), blowjobs , he uses the nickname tink/tinka for you lmk if I forgot anything I beg.

Michael had been waiting for this party for months. Not because he wanted to show off or because he loved being the center of attention, though he'd never admit that part out loud.

  He wanted to celebrate with everyone close to him. His family. His staff. His fans, the ones who'd stuck by him through everything. And last but not least, his wife. You.

 The venue was packed. Lights flashed across the crowd, music thumped through the speakers, and everywhere you looked, someone was laughing or dancing or holding up a drink in Michael's direction. 

 He moved through the crowd like he belonged there, shaking hands, pulling people into quick hugs, grinning that smile that made cameras flash a little brighter and quicker.

 You watched from a table near the stage a drink in your own hand, smile tugging at your lips. He caught your eye across the room and winked. You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling.

 He made his way over eventually, sliding into the seat beside you, his cheeks already flushed from the heat of the crowd and the drink in his hand. "Enjoyin' yourself Tink?" he asked, his voice warm.

 "I'm watching you make a fool of yourself. It's entertaining" He laughed, bumping his shoulder against yours. "It's my birthday. I'm allowed."

 "You're also a lightweight. Be careful with that." He waved a dismissive hand, already tipsy, his words slurring just slightly at the edges. "I got it under control."

 You raised an eyebrow knowing he was lying, but you weren't going to ruin this for him by worrying. "Sure you do." He downed the rest of his drink and flashed you a grin. "Watch me." You watched him.

 An hour later, he was on stage.

 Someone had dragged him up there, handed him a microphone, and left him to address the crowd. The lights were bright, the music had lowered, and Michael stood swaying noticeably, one hand gripping the mic while the other gestured loosely at nothing in particular. His feet kept shifting like he was trying to find his balance and failing.

 "So -" he began, his voice echoing through the speakers, slow and syrupy. "Wait, where they takin' my cake?" The crowd laughed. You pressed a hand to your mouth, already laughing and trying to cover it horribly.

 Someone from the side called out, "It's right there, Mike!"

 He looked down, blinking slowly at the massive cake sitting on a table on the stage. His name written across the bottom in sparkling letters.

 He stared at it for a long moment. His head tilted. Then straightened. Then tilted again like he was tryin' to see it from a different angle. "...Oh."

 The crowd erupted. You shook your head, still laughing at him. He was making a fool of himself. He squinted at the cake. "Is that... is that my name?" "Yes Michael!" someone from the crowd shouted.

 He nodded slowly, processing. "Yeah. Yeah, that's my name. I remember." Someone in the crowd howled with laughter. The DJ played a sound effect, a record scratch before cutting it off.

 Michael grinned, pleased with himself, and stumbled across stage toward the cake. He moved with the careful deliberation of someone who knew they were drunk but was determined not to show it. It was actually working surprisingly.

 He stood in front of the cake, studying it. He leaned in close, then straightened, then leaned in again. You’d got the cake personally made for him as a surprise so he hadn’t seen it at all before this. 

 "You okay over there?" you called. He turned to you, eyes glassy and warm. "I'm admirin'." "Admire faster. People wanna eat it, I wanna eat it." He waved a dismissive hand. "They can wait."

 Then without warning, he stuck his finger into the icing. Pulling it out, he examined the white frosting and brought it to his mouth. His eyes fluttered shut as he licked it clean.

 "They did good," he mumbled to himself. "Real good."

 Then he noticed you sitting nearby, and a slow drunken grin spread across his face. He lowered his hand, holding his finger out in front of you, still glistening with the remnants of the icing and his spit.

 He looked down at you through fogged, dark eyes, expectant. Waiting. His head swayed slightly as he tried to keep still. The DJ, who'd been providing commentary all night, leaned into his mic. "Ohhh, he wants you to taste it!"

 The crowd hooted. You felt heat creep up your neck, but you didn't look away from him.

 You stood slowly, smoothing your outfit down before stepping toward him. Your hand wrapped around his wrist gently, guiding his hand closer to your face.

 You held his gaze. Then you parted your lips and wrapped them around his finger. Your tongue swirled against the icing, slow and deliberate, licking every bit of sweetness off his skin. 

 His breath hitched. Eyes staying locked on yours hazy and dark, his lips parted slightly. A soft, barely audible sound escaped his throat. You pulled back with a soft pop, still holding his gaze for just a second longer.

 Then you turned toward the crowd, putting both thumbs up and nodding emphatically. "It's good!" The crowd cheered. The DJ laughed, and you swore someone wolf whistled.

 Behind you, Michael stood frozen, his face burned pink. He ducked his head, letting out a breathy little laugh into the mic, and shifted on his feet.

 He adjusted his jeans. Subtly. Or at least, he thought it was subtle. His hand tugged at the waistband, pulling the fabric away from his body, hoping to hide what was becoming very obvious. He glanced down at himself, then quickly looked away, his blush deepening.

 He barely noticed you sneaking up to him. Before anyone could react, you reached forward and grabbed a huge handful of the ice cream cake holding it up. The crowd, sensing what was coming began to chant.

 "Food fight! Food fight! Food fight!" You grinned. And then you smashed it right into Michael's face. He stumbled back, sputtering as the cold cake dripped down his cheeks, his nose, his chin. For a second, he just stood there blinking through the mess.

 Then he laughed. loud and bright, echoing through the venue as he wiped at his face only succeeding in smearing the cake further across his skin. His hands were a mess now, sticky and covered in icing, and he wiped them down his shirt without a second thought.

 "Happy birthday!" you called out, laughing. He was still laughing drunkly at that and still wiping at his face, when you stepped forward again. Before he could react, you cupped his sticky cheeks in your hands and pulled him into a kiss.

 The crowd erupted.

 It was sweet, messy, and tasting of ice cream and icing and him. His hands still sticky found your waist, pulling you closer despite the chaos. He let out a soft, muffled sound against your lips, something between surprise and contentment, and kissed you back like he'd forgotten anyone else was watching.

 When you finally pulled back, you clapped your hands together and smiled bright. "Happy birthday, baby." He stared at you, face covered in cake, eyes soft and dazed and so full of love it made his chest ache.

  He blinked slowly, like he was trying to process what just happened. "...Best birthday kiss ever." He tugged at his jeans again, adjusting himself nd hoping the cake was enough of a distraction.

 It wasn't. But he'd deal with that later. Michael didn't stay long after that. He was a mess of cake and icing, sticky from head to toe, his shirt ruined and his jeans smeared with white frosting. He thanked everyone he passed, shook hands, hugged a few fans who'd gotten close enough, and made sure to blow a kiss toward the crowd before he let you guide him toward the exit.

 "Thank you," he slurred, waving lazily at the people still chanting his name. "Thank you all. Love you. Love you guys."

 You smiled, your arm wrapped around his waist, steadying him as he stumbled toward the waiting limo. The door opened, and you helped him inside, sliding in after him as the door closed and muffled the noise of the party.

 The moment the door shut, he was on you. Not in a rush. His body turned toward yours, his hand finding your thigh almost immediately, his face buried in your neck.

 "You're so pretty." he mumbled against your skin. "So, so pretty. Did I tell you that already?" "A few times tonight, yeah." "I mean it." He pressed a kiss to your shoulder. "So pretty. Best wife ever. Best birthday ever."

 You laughed, your hands coming up to wipe at the cake still clinging to his cheek. "You're a mess, handsome." "A very happy mess." He caught your wrist, kissing your palm. "'S your fault. You started it."

 "You started it with the finger thing." You played the memory back in your head. He grinned, all teeth and dimples. "Worth it." You shook your head, still laughing and reached for a napkin from the mini bar to try and clean him up. He let you for about two seconds before his hand wrapped around your ankle.

 He tugged. You let out a surprised laugh as he pulled you across the seat, your back sliding against the leather until you were in front of him.  He didn't stop there. He shifted his knees finding the seat cushion as he turned to face you properly, moving until he was on his knees in front of you.

 "Michael, what are you doin’" He didn't answer. He just reached down and pulled your heels off, one by one dropping them onto the floor of the limo without a second glance.

  Then his hands wrapped around your foot, holding it like it was something precious. "Mikey." "Hold on." He pressed a kiss to the top of your foot, sloppy and warm. "Just..hold on."

 You giggled, trying to pull your foot back. "You look ridiculous. Let me clean you up." He shook his head, still holding your foot. "No." "Michael."

 "No." He looked up at you through his lashes, his eyes glassy and dark, and reached for your hand. He guided it down, pressing your palm flat against the obvious bulge in his jeans. "See what you did earlier, pretty? Hm? You gonna take accountability?"

 Your breath caught. "Michael, we're still in public." "So?" "The driver can hear us." He pouted, his lower lip jutting out in that drunk petulant way that made him look younger. "'S my birthday."

 "I know, baby." "You said I could have whatever I wanted." You raised an eyebrow. "I said you could have whatever cake you wanted." He blinked, processing then shook his head. "Same thing."

 "It's not the same thing." He frowned, his hand sliding up your thigh, slow and deliberate. "Would be a good birthday gift."

 "Michael." "I'm not asking for much." His fingers traced circles on your skin. "Just you. Just a little bit of you."

 You glanced out the tinted window. Police motorcycles trailed the limo. You could see the outline of the driver's head through the partition, focused on the road ahead.

 "There are police outside, Mikey." He followed your gaze, then looked back at you, his pout deepenin'. "They can't see through the windows." "That's not the point."

 "It could be." He tilted his head, his hand squeezing your thigh gently. "Please? For my birthday?" You stared at him. Drunk, messy, pouty, beautiful and very convincing and sighed because you were being convinced.

 Michael's whole face lit up when you agreed.

 His eyes went wide his lips spread into a grin, and he let out a little giggle. His cheeks were flushed, his hair a mess, and there was still a smear of icing on his chin that he hadn't bothered to wipe off.

 "Yeah?" "Yeah, don’t make me take it back." He didn't waste a second. His hands found your ankle, tugging you forward until you were in front of him fully. You could feel the cake beneath you, cold and sticky against your thighs through your outfit, but he didn't seem to care. He just pulled you closer, his face dropping to press a kiss against the top of your foot.

 "Pretty," he murmured against your skin. His lips dragged down slowly from your ankle up to your knee, leaving a trail of warm, wet kisses. He paused at your shin, turning his head to press his cheek against your leg, looking up at you with those glassy eyes. "Look at these nails, mama. French tipped? On your toes? 'S so sexy."

 You laughed, trying to pull your foot back. "You're crazy." "Mhm." He nodded, not bothering to deny it. "M’ crazy for you."

 He held your foot in both hands now, his thumbs tracing slow circles over your arch. He brought your toes to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the tips, then another ,then another, working his way across each one like he was memorizing them. His eyes fluttered shut a little hum escaping his throat.

 "Been thinkin' 'bout these all night," he admitted, his voice low and slurred. "When you had 'em out in them open-toed heels. Couldn't concentrate on nothin' else."

 You felt your face warm. "You were lookin' at my feet during your own party?" "Was lookin' at all of you." He pressed another kiss to your ankle, then your calf. "'S not my fault you're beautiful everywhere."

 He wrapped his hand around your waist and pulled you flush against him, your thighs pressing against his hips. His hands settled on your waist, fingers digging into the fabric of your outfit as another giggle fell from his lips.

 "'M gonna be quiet," he promised, nodding seriously. "Real quiet. Promise." He said it with such intensity that you almost believed him. He was lying. The second your lips met his, he let out a moan that was definitely not quiet.

  It rumbled from his chest deep and needy, vibrating against your mouth. His tongue slid against yours immediately, messy and warm and tasting faintly of the drink he'd been drinking earlier. His hands roamed your back, your waist, your thighs, pulling you impossibly closer as if he couldn't get enough.

 You could feel him through his jeans, hard and heavy, pressed right against your core. You rolled your hips experimentally, and he whined into your mouth. "Yeah- fuck— yeah, just like that Tinka.."

 His hands found the inside of your thigh, fingers trailing up slowly, searching. When he reached the damp fabric of your panties, he smiled against your lips.

 "Someone's excited," he murmured, his voice low and teasing. His fingers pressed lightly against the wet spot, rubbing slow circles through the fabric. "That for me, mama? All that juice f'me?"

 Your hips stuttered but you didn't stop moving against him. The friction of his belt against your panties sent little sparks through your core, and you rolled your hips harder chasing the sensation.

 "Keep goin'," he breathed, his head falling back against the seat. His eyes fluttered open, looking up at you through heavy lids. "Don't stop. 'S my birthday, 'n I want you to ride me."

 "Your outfit's getting ruined." You noted, the outfit was worth quite a lot. It was quite literally sparkling. He let out a breathy laugh, his chest rising and falling. "Don't care. 'S worth it. Got money f'more outfits but I only got one of you."

 You kept moving grinding down against his belt and the bulge beneath it. His hand slid down to palm your ass, squeezing once before patting it gently. "That's it. Use me, mama. 'S your fault f'being so pretty."

 He reached up, his hand sliding behind your neck and guiding your lips back to his, swallowing the moan that escaped you as he bit down gently on your bottom lip. You ground down harder, chasing that friction, and he groaned into your mouth.

 "'M not gonna last long," he warned, his voice breaking. "You feel too good." "Then don't hold back." you whispered against his lips.

 His hips bucked up to meet yours, and you both moaned. Michael pulled you closer as if he wanted to consume you all at once. 

 He lifted his head, gazing up at you with those lidded eyes. A smile spread across his lips, slow and drunk and full of love. "'S my best birthday yet."

 Michael was close. You could feel it in the way his hips stuttered, in the way his breath came in shorter, hotter pants against your mouth.

 "So close, tinka," he whimpered, his forehead pressing against yours. His hands were griping your hips, fingers diggin' into your outfit like he was trying to hold on. "Not gonna last with 'y on my lap. It’s too good."

 You hummed against his lips, slowing your movements just slightly. He whined in protest, his hips chasin' yours. "Don't stop! Please —"

 You stopped anyway. He blinked, his glassy eyes focusing on your face with slow, confused realization.

  His bottom lip jutted out, pushin' forward in a pout that made him look like a hurt deer. "That was mean," he mumbled, his voice slurred and wounded. "Why'd you stop? 'M your husband. It’s my birthday. You're bein' mean."

 You smiled, running a hand through his messy hair. "I'm bein' mean?" "Yes." He nodded emphatically, his pout deepening. "Very mean. Meanest wife ever."

 You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Stay right there." Before he could protest again, you slipped off his lap and sank to your knees on the floor of the limo. The carpet was soft beneath you. 

 He looked down at you, his brows furrowed for a second before you reached for the zipper of his pants. He got it immediately. His legs fell open, manspreading to make room for you between his thighs.

  He watched with heavy-lidded eyes as you pulled his cock out, already hard and leaking, the tip slick with precum. He let out a shuddering breath as your fingers wrapped around him. "Manicured nails." he breathed, watching your french tips wrap around his length. "Look so pretty wrapped 'round me. 'S not fair."

 You smiled up at him, then opened your mouth and took him in. His head fell back against the seat, a loud moan tearing from his throat. His hand flew to your hair, tugging slightly. "Fuck— Tinka…"

 He was already close, his hips twitching as you moved your head, taking him deeper. His breath came in ragged pants, his chest heaving, his grip tightened in your hair.

 "Please," he whimpered. "Please— m'close—'m gonna—“ You pulled off just enough to look up at him, your lips still brushing his tip, your hand still stroking him slowly. "Then let go," you said softly. "Don't hold back, handsome. You've been so good all night."

 His eyes fluttered, his lip catching between his teeth. "Let me see you fall apart, pretty boy." That did it. He came with a broken moan, his hips bucking forward as he spilled into your mouth.

  His hand tightened in your hair, his body shuddering his breath came in short, uneven gasps. He was whispering your name over and over like a prayer, half-coherent and completely gone.

 When he finally stilled he looked down at you with dazed, watery eyes. A lazy, satisfied grin spread across his face. "...Love you," he mumbled. "Mean it. Even if you're mean."

 You laughed softly, wiping the corner of your mouth as you climbed back up to sit beside him. He immediately slumped against you, his head finding your shoulder. "Best birthday ever," he murmured. You pressed a kiss to his hair. "Happy birthday."

 Michael was quiet for a moment after he came down.

 Still slumped against your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck, his hand lazily tracing patterns on your thigh. You thought he'd fallen asleep, his breathing evening out. 

 But then he shifted. Lifted his head. Blinked at you slowly those dark eyes glassy but focused, like he was forcing himself to stay present. "You didn't come."

 You opened your mouth to brush it off to tell him it was fine, that you were okay, but he was already shaking his head, his brow furrowing with genuine concern.

 "No. I felt it. You were close when I…" He gestured vaguely downward, a loose wave of his hand. "Then you stopped. That's not fair to you."

 "It's okay, baby. We're almost at the hotel." It was fine, honestly seeing him come was enough for you. He pouted but he nodded. "Fine. But I'm not forgetting. Soon as we get inside, I'm takin' care of you. Promise."

 You smiled, running your fingers through his sweaty hair. "I know you will." He hummed, content, and pressed a kiss to your collarbone before settling back against your shoulder. His hand never stopped moving, tracing lazy circles on your thigh his thumb occasionally dipping closer to where you needed him just to tease.

 "I'm gonna make you feel so good," he murmured against your skin. "Gonna make you forget your own name." "You're very confident for someone who can barely stand."

 He giggled, a sleepy drunken sound. "Don't need to stand. Got a tongue. Got fingers. Got you."

 The rest of the ride passed in comfortable silence, Michael's head resting on your shoulder, his hand absently rubbing your thigh. Every few seconds he'd press a kiss to your collarbone, mumbling little nothings against your skin. "Pretty." "Love you." "Best wife." "Gonna marry you again tomorrow."

 When the limo finally pulled up to the hotel, Michael stumbled out with your help, his feet unsteady on the pavement, his hand gripping yours like a lifeline.

  The driver had already circled around to open the door, and Michael turned to him with a look of genuine apology, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "I'm so sorry," he said, his voice sincere and slurred. "For the mess. For everything. I don't usually I promise! The noises. All of it. I'm real sorry."

 The driver laughed, waving a hand. "Don't worry about it, Mr. Jackson. Happens more than you'd think." Michael blinked, his head tilting like a confused puppy. "Really?" "No, not really." The driver grinned wide, his eyes crinkling. "But happy birthday Mr Jackson."

 Michael laughed loudly, leaning heavily into your side as you guided him toward the entrance. "I like him. He's funny. Tip him extra." "I will, baby." "Like a lot extra. Double. Triple maybe."

 "Whatever you want." He pressed a kiss to your cheek, messy and warm. "You're the best."

 The hotel lobby was mostly empty at this hour, just a few staff members behind the counter who nodded respectfully as you passed. A security guard near the elevator gave a small wave, which Michael returned with a lazy, two finger salute. You kept him moving, your arm wrapped around his waist, his hand gripping yours as you guided him toward the elevator.

 The moment the doors slid shut, he was on you again. His hands found your waist, pulling you against him, his face burying in your neck. He breathed in deep, a content hum vibrating against your skin.

 "Almost there," he mumbled against your pulse. "Then I get to take care of you. Properly." "You're very determined about this."  He hummed again, pressing a kiss to your pulse point. "Determined husband. That's me. Cause I love you."

 "And very handsome." He pulled back just enough to look at you, a lazy grin spreading across his face. "Yeah? You think so?" "I know so." He kissed you then, soft and warm, his tongue brushing against your lower lip before he pulled away. "Love you."

 "Love you too, Michael." The elevator dinged. You guided him down the hall, fumbling with the key card until the door clicked open.

 The suite was quiet when you finally stepped inside. Dark, save for the city lights filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The curtains were drawn open. The bed loomed in the center of the room, massively covered in pillows you knew you'd be shoving off the floor within minutes.

 The door clicked shut behind you, and Michael turned to you immediately, his hands finding your waist. You expected him to stumble toward the bed, to collapse and sleep off the rest of his buzz. 

 Instead, he stood there, looking at you with those dark, glassy eyes, his chest rising and falling. "I didn’t forget." he said, his voice softer now, his earlier bravado fading into something gentler. "In the car. You didn't come at all. Told you I wouldn't forget"

 You shook your head. "It's okay, really. Tonight was about you Michael I told you. "

 "It's not okay." His hands tightened on your waist, guiding you backward toward the bed. "I'm gonna take care of it. Right now. That's what husbands do. That's what I want to do."

 You let him guide you until the back of your knees hit the edge of the mattress. He pushed gently, and you sat. Then laid back, your elbows propping you up as you looked up at him. He stood over you for a moment, looking down at you with heavy lidded eyes, his tongue swiping across his bottom lip.

 "Stay right there," he murmured, his voice low.

 He reached for the hem of your dress, bunching it up slowly, carefully, his fingers brushing against your skin with every inch he revealed until the dress was gathered around your hips, baring you to him completely.

  His breath caught when he saw the damp spot on your panties, the fabric dark and clinging to you evidence of how worked up you'd been all night. "Look at you," he breathed, his voice reverent. "So pretty down here, mama. You've been sittin' in this all night, haven't you? All wet for me, huh?"

 Your face heated up. "Michael."

 "Don't be so shy Tink." His thumbs traced slow circles on your inner thighs. "I'm your husband. I got every right to see what's mine. And this," he pressed a kiss to the damp fabric, "this is mine."

 He dropped to his knees in front of you, his hands gripping your thighs and pulling you to the edge of the bed. He shifted, getting comfortable settling in like he planned to be there for a while.

 "I'm gonna take my time with you," he murmured. "Gonna taste every inch of you 'til you're beggin' me to stop."

 He pressed his mouth to the wet spot on your panties, hot and open, his tongue flat against the fabric. A low moan rumbled from his chest, vibrating against you, and you gasped at the sensation.

 "Mmm..—" He pulled back just enough to breathe, his lips slick. "Taste you through the fabric, mama. It's still so good. Sweet and wet. Could drink you up like this all night and die happy." He pressed another damp kiss to your panties.

 But he didn't pull them off yet. Instead, he lifted your foot, bringing it to his lips. He pressed a kiss to the top of your arch, soft and slow. Then another on your ankle. Then he opened his mouth, dragging his tongue lazily along the side of your foot, leaving a trail of warm spit in its wake. "Mikey —"

 "'S pretty," he mumbled against your skin, his voice muffled. "Every part of you is pretty." He pressed wet, sloppy kisses to your toes, his mouth open and warm, drool slicking your skin as he went. He sucked gently on your big toe before pulling off with a soft pop, his chin glistening.

 "Taste good everywhere," he murmured, almost to himself. "Even your feet taste like you." He set your foot down gently and lifted the other, repeating the same ritual kisses, licks, open-mouthed drags of his tongue, leaving you shiny and wet and completely his.

By the time he set that foot down, you were a little breathless, your heart pounding.

 He looked up at you through his lashes, his lips swollen and slick. "Now." he said, his voice rough. "Lemme see what's underneath."

 His fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down slowly, watching as they peeled away from your slick skin. He dragged them down your thighs, past your knees, over your ankles, and tossed them somewhere behind him without looking. His eyes were fixed on you, dark and hungry.

 "There she is," he breathed. "There's my pretty girl. All bare for me. You're so beautiful like this, you know that? All spread out, waitin' for me."

 He pressed a kiss to your inner thigh. Soft. Warm. Then another, higher. He worked his way up inch by inch, kissing and licking at your skin, leaving a trail of warmth wherever his mouth touched. When he reached the apex of your thighs he paused, his breath hot against your core, making you jump.

 "You good?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. "Michael, just kiss me already." He laughed softly, the vibration tickling your skin. "So impatient. I like that about you."

 Then he pressed his lips against you, firmly. He started slow. Gentle. His tongue dragged up through your folds in one long, languid stroke, from your entrance to your clit tasting you like he had all the time in the world. A deep moan rumbled from his chest, his eyes fluttering shut.

 "Fuck," he breathed against you. "Taste better than I remembered. All mine." He had you pulled right to the edge, knees slung over his shoulders, your body pressed to his mouth. It was sloppy and drunk and he groaned with every movement of his jaw. 

 He was using his whole mouth, not just his tongue sucking, kissing, licking like you were a meal he'd been starving for.

 His lips pressed against you as he spoke, his words muffled but clear enough. "Could stay here forever. Just live right here between your thighs. You'd let me, wouldn't you, mama?"

 A low, rumbly growl tore from his throat. He doubled down on his efforts, pulled your thighs forward until his nose was flush against your clit, his tongue fucking into you with rapid, shallow strokes, absolutely sloppy with it. His grip on your hips left marks.

 "You taste," he said between kisses and licks and swirls, "so fucking good, mama. Like you were made for my mouth. Made for me."

 His tongue flicked over your clit again and again. You could feel the vibration of his groans, the way his nose pushed into you, and the way your thighs started to shake and squeeze around his ears.

 "Yeah, that's it. That's my girl. Squeeze my head with those pretty thighs. Love it when you do that."

 His lips closed around your clit and he sucked, gentle at first, then with more pressure, his tongue flicking against it while he did. Your hips bucked against his mouth, and he moaned in approval.

 "That's it, baby. Rut against my face. Use me. I'm yours."

 You came undone, tipped over the edge with the next roll of his tongue, but he didn't stop. He coaxed you through it, gentling his touch, his tongue slowing to soft, soothing laps as you shuddered above him. He pulled back slowly, his mouth glistening, his lips swollen. He pressed a kiss to your thigh with a lazy smile, his chin slick.

 "One more," he said, his voice rough, like he'd gargled gravel.

 "Michael…" "One more." He dove back in without waiting for your answer, his tongue plunging into your core.

 This time he wanted it messy. Wanted to taste you again, now that he had a fresh coat of you on his tongue. He sucked hard on your clit, drawing a broken moan from your throat as he drove his tongue in and out, into the weeping place between your thighs.

 His mouth was on you again, warm and insistent, his tongue dragging through your folds with that same sloppy, drunken rhythm. You were still sensitive from before, every pass of his lips sending sparks through your oversensitive nerves, and when he circled your clit with the flat of his tongue, you gasped your hips sliding up the mattress instinctively.

 Too much. It was too much.

 But his hand came down on your ass with a sharp slap, the sting blooming across your skin, and he pulled you back down against his mouth without missing a beat.

 "Unh uh," he murmured against you, his voice rough and muffled. "Where you goin'?"

 "Mikey— 's too much—"

 "Don't care." His hand gripped your hip, holding you in place, his tongue diving back in. "Stop runnin'. Take it, acting like you can’t."

 He pressed a sloppy kiss to your clit, his chin slick, his eyes half-lidded as he looked up at you from between your thighs.

 "You can take it. You're my good girl, right? My good wife?" You nodded weakly, your fingers tangling in the sheets. "Then lay there and let me love you."

 He moaned against you, his tongue pressing deep inside, then sliding up. "Cum for me again, pretty mama. Let me taste it. Let me drink every drop." His tongue kept working you, keeping you right there, close, until you shattered again. He swallowed every bit of it, moaning like it was the best thing he'd ever tasted.

 The third time because yes there was a third time, he changed the angle.

 He lifted your hips onto his shoulders, your entire body pulled flush to his mouth. He wanted to taste every drop. Licking and drinking as you fluttered against him greedy. He didn't relent until he'd took a third orgasm from you, your trembling thighs locked around his head.

 "You're so beautiful when you cum," he murmured against you, his voice wrecked. "Best thing I've ever seen. Best thing I've ever tasted. I'm never gonna get enough of you."

 You fell back onto the mattress, breathless and shaking, your body humming with the aftershocks of pleasure.

 When he finally pulled away, he rested his cheek on your thigh, still on his knees, blinking up at you with those big, drunk, adoring eyes. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and smiled, his lips swollen and slick.

 "You okay?" His voice was hoarse, barely a whisper. You nodded weakly, reaching down to brush your fingers through his hair. "Yeah. I'm more than okay." He grinned, proud of himself, and pressed a kiss to your knee.

 "Good." He pushed himself up. "Good. Mission accomplished." "It was your birthday, remember?"

 He gestured down at the mess he'd made of you. "Best gift I could've asked for." You were too spent to even consider a witty comeback.

 He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest, his lips pressing soft, lazy kisses to your forehead, your temple, the corner of your mouth. That was his second language with you slow, featherlight touches after everything.

 "Thank you." he said, quiet but sincere. "For tonight. For everything. I don't say it enough but you're my whole world, mama." You pressed a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. "Happy birthday, Mikey."

 He smiled, sleepy and satisfied. "Best one yet. Wonder how y’gonna top this next year…maybe you’ll finally let me get you pregnant?" You put a singular hand up to his lips, shutting him up. “Boy. Don’t ruin the moment. Go to sleep.”  

[deerlyenchanted]

currently cooking up the FREAKIEST smut fic I’ve ever done and also the second(?) longest fic I’ve done, I’ve outdone myself! I’m so proud. Will maybe release tomorrow if I can proof read in time. IM really excited though tbr.

[deerlyenchanted]

oh my someone hold me back. This clip makes me ovulate. And also has my brain cogs turning #1. saw a comment that said he looks like he pulls hair and 👀👀 2. imagine licking all that icing off him 👀👀👀 I love drunk michael. Gotta go write this down

clip from .clqrv on tiktok!!

[deerlyenchanted]

‪‪❤︎‬ | I LUV YO GIRL 2

･ ‎ꫂ᭪݁ ⋮ AUTHORS NOTE: I kinda hate this chapter? Idk, I feel like I could have done better tbr, lol i’m not really into writing rn and feeling burnt out bc of all the hatecriming towards me in my dms and just towards black authors in the tag in general :) ANYWAYS ENJOYYY AND TYSM FOR ALL THE SWEET WORDS IN MY DMS

･ ‎ꫂ᭪݁ ⋮ SUMMARY/CW: theres this story about this lady who when to the dyrtt recording bc her bf was the producer and he went up n asked her boyfriend if he could borrow her for a movie date. SO I wrote about it. Fem!pov, sfw, they do kiss idk, hand holding? w.c: 2.6k (I DO NOT IN ANY WAY ENDORSE CHEATING THIS IS FICTION GOSH) black!reader but anyone can read

You were very thankful your boyfriend worked such long hours.

Normally you hated it. He'd leave before the sun was fully up and most nights didn't stumble through the front door until long after dinner, exhausted from another day on set.

Today it worked in your favor. The house was quiet when the phone rang. You wandered over, absentmindedly picking up the receiver, expecting it to be your boyfriend calling to say he'd be late again.

"Hello?" There was a small pause before a familiar laugh came through the line. "...Hi." You froze, pulling the receiver closer. "...Michael?" "Yeah." He sounded almost relieved that you'd answered. 

"Hope I'm not botherin' you." "No, not at all." "I would've called sooner," he explained quickly. "But things got kinda busy after filming. We started rehearsin' again almost immediately, then interviews..." He sighed dramatically. "I didn't want you thinkin' I forgot."

You smiled to yourself, the fact he'd even worried about that surprised you. "I figured you would've." "What?" "Forgotten." "No." He sounded genuinely confused by the idea. "I told you I'd call."

There was something about hearing his voice over the phone that was different. On set he'd been all bashful smiles, nervous laughs and stolen glances.

Now he sounded... confident. "So..." he continued, "I was wonderin' if you'd still wanna come over sometime." "For the movies?" "Mhm." "I thought you were joking." "I wasn't joking."

He chuckled softly before his voice dropped just enough to make your heart skip. "...Can I tell you somethin'?" "Sure." "I think you're really pretty." You closed your eyes. "...Michael." "What?" "You can't just say things like that." "Why not?"

"You know why." "'Cause you've got a boyfriend?" "Exactly." "I know."

The line got silent, there wasn't even a second of hesitation. "I've met a lotta people..." he admitted quietly. "...I don't think I've ever met anybody quite like you."

That was incredibly sweet but also very inappropriate.

"You flirt with everybody?" "No." You heard a small giggle on the other side of the line. There was another brief silence before he asked again, this time sounding almost hopeful. "So..."

"You'll come?" You looked around the empty house. You had nothing else to do. "...Yeah." The excitement in his voice was impossible to miss. "Really?" "Really." "I promise you'll have fun."

Michael spent the next few days preparing far more than he needed to. Originally he'd planned on putting in one horror movie. That somehow turned into ordering boxes full of them.

Classic monster films. Old psychological thrillers. Slashers. Anything you'd mentioned liking during your conversation on set.

When one of his assistants pointed out there was no possible way the two of you could watch all of them in one night, Michael simply smiled. "I know." "...Then why'd you order all of 'em?"

"'Cause she might wanna come back."

Neverland was somehow even more beautiful in person. The second your car pulled through the gates, Michael was already waiting outside. He smiled the instant he saw you. "You made it."

"I said I would." "I know." He looked like he wanted to hug you before awkwardly deciding against it, instead stuffing both hands into his pockets.

"So." You narrowed your eyes. "What?" "How's your boyfriend?" You stared at him tilting your head slightly.

"...Seriously?" "What?" "You saw him yesterday." "Mhm." "You know exactly how he's doing." "I do." "So why are you asking?"

Michael shrugged, completely unbothered. "I was curious." He smiled to himself before motioning toward the house. "C'mon." "I thought we were watching movies." "We will, but first..." His eyes lit up. "I wanna show you somethin'."

The movie theater was forgotten almost immediately. Instead, Michael spent the next hour giving you a full tour of Neverland. Every few minutes he'd remember something else he wanted to show you. "This way." or "Oh, wait till you see this."

He practically bounced between different parts of the property, showing you the amusement rides, the gardens, the little train, the animals, talking with the excitement of someone showing off their favorite childhood memories instead of one of the most famous homes in the world.

Eventually he led you into a room lined wall to wall with awards. Grammys. American Music Awards. Platinum records. Gold records. Framed plaques. You slowly turned in a circle. "...Michael."

"What?" "There are so many." He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking almost embarrassed. "...I'm really proud of 'em." There wasn't any arrogance behind it, just pride.

"I worked really hard." You nodded. "You should be proud." His shoulders relaxed. "Thank you." For the rest of the tour he slipped back into being that adorably awkward version of himself.

Whenever you caught him looking at you, he'd immediately pretend to be interested in literally anything else.

But every time you turned away, you could feel his eyes on you again. You tested your theory once, pretending to admire one of his Grammy awards before glancing sideways.

Sure enough. He was already looking at you. The second your eyes met, he jumped ever so slightly. "What?" he asked far too quickly. "You keep staring." "I wasn't." "You were."

"I was lookin' at..." He glanced around desperately before pointing at absolutely nothing. "...That." "There is no 'that.'" "There is." He let out one of those shy little giggles, lowering his head as a blush crept across his cheeks.

"...Sorry." He looked back up at you through those impossibly big doe eyes, smiling so sheepishly it was almost impossible to believe this was the same man who'd confidently called you pretty over the phone just days earlier.

"I just..." He laughed under his breath. "...I think you're nicer t'look at than my awards." For a moment all you could do was stare at him. Then you shook your head, laughing despite yourself. "You really don't know how to flirt with someone who's already taken, do you?"

Michael smiled. "...Probably not." Judging by the look in his eyes. He  also didn't seem particularly interested in learning.The movie theater was everything you'd imagined and more.

You stood in the doorway, slowly turning in a circle. "Michael. This is insane." He grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. "You like it?" "Like it? I've been to actual theaters that are smaller than this."

He let out a pleased little laugh, then grabbed your hand and tugged you toward the back. "C'mon. You haven't seen the best part."

He led you past the seats to a small hallway you hadn't noticed, tucked behind the last row. 

Shelves lined with every kind of candy you could imagine. Michael spread his arms. "Anything you want. It's all yours." You looked at him, then back at the snacks, then back at him. "Anything?"

"Anything, yes." You grabbed a box of gummy worms and a soda, and he smiled like you'd just made his entire week. The movie started a few minutes later. Some horror flick he'd picked out, You settled into the seats, side by side, the lights dimming as the opening scene played.

But he wasn't watching the screen. Every time you glanced over, his eyes were on you. Watching your face during the scary parts, smiling softly when you jumped, studying your reactions like you were the main attraction.

During a slower scene, when the tension had faded, his voice broke the quiet. "What's it like?" You turned to him. "What's what like?" “Bein' in a relationship."

The question caught you off guard. You figured he was just curious. He never got to date freely, not really. Which sort of made sense but was still sad.

You shrugged, settling deeper into your seat. "Honestly? I wouldn't really know. My boyfriend's always producing, barely has time to breathe, let alone spend time with me. I don't mind, though. It's just how it is."

Michael hummed, turning back toward the screen. For a moment, you thought that was the end of it. Then he spoke again, his voice low and casual. "Well... if you were my girlfriend, I wouldn't let you outta my sight." You blinked. Turned to look at him.

He was still staring at the screen, a small smile playing on his lips. Like he hadn't just said something that made your stomach flip “You shook your head, laughing quietly. "You don't even know me like that."

"I know enough." You didn't have a response to that. The movie played on. But somewhere between the second act and the final scare, Michael had inched closer. His shoulder brushed yours. His arm rested on the armrest next to yours, his pinky grazing your sleeve. You pretended not to notice.

He pretended not to notice you pretending.By the time the credits rolled, the two of you were close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him. "Good movie?" he asked, stretching.

"It was okay." He chuckled. "Just okay? I picked it special for you." "You picked it because you wanted to see me scream." "...Maybe."

You shook your head, standing to stretch your legs. The sun had fully set while you were inside, the room lit only by the dim lights. Michael checked his watch, then looked up at you with that spark in his eyes again. "I got one more thing to show you."

"Michael, it's dark out." "I know. That's the point." Before you could argue, he grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the theater, through the winding hallways of Neverland, until you emerged outside into the cool night air.

The amusement park stretched before you, lit up like a dream. Every ride was glowing, brightly at that. You stopped walking, staring at the scene in front of you. "You turned on the whole park?"

"Just for you." He said it so simply, like it was nothing. Like illuminating an entire amusement park for one person was a normal Tuesday night. He looked at you, hopeful. "Wanna go on a ride with me?"

You should have said no. Should have reminded him you had a boyfriend. Should have kept things appropriate. Instead, you heard yourself say, "Which one?" His face lit up. "The Ferris wheel. It's my favorite. You can see everything from up there."

He led you through the park, past the glowing rides and empty stalls, until you reached the base of the Ferris wheel. It towered above you, its lights reflecting in Michael's eyes as he looked up at it."After you," he said, gesturing toward the ferris wheel.

You climbed in, and he followed, settling beside you this time instead of across. Close enough that his knee brushed yours when the ride lurched into motion.

The park shrank beneath you as you rose, You could see the whole property from up here. "Told you," Michael said softly. "You can see everything." You nodded, taking it in. "It's beautiful." "Yeah." But when you glanced at him, he wasn't looking at the view.

He was looking at you. "You're very pretty," he said, quiet and sincere. "You know that?" You felt your face warm. "You've mentioned." "Good. I'll keep mentionin' it 'til you get tired of hearin' it."

He smiled that soft, shy thing that made him look younger.  "I had fun today," he added, his voice light. "Really." "Me too.” He pointed suddenly toward the sky. "Oh, look at that!" You turned, following his finger, but didn't see anything. "What?"

"Keep lookin'. It's right there." You squinted, searching the darkness. "I don't see anything, point better!" When you turned back, he was closer. His face was inches from yours, his eyes soft and warm, his breath brushing against your lips. 

"Michael," you whispered. "Just one," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "Just to see if you’re as sweet as I imagine." Before you could think, before you could remember all the reasons this was a bad idea, he closed the distance.

The kiss was soft. Gentle. His lips were warm and tasted faintly of the orange juice he'd had earlier. He didn't rush, didn't push just let the moment linger, like he was savoring it. His hand came up, fingers brushing against your jaw, lightly.

When he pulled back, his cheeks were flushed, his eyes dark and soft. His thumb traced a slow line along your cheek before he dropped his hand. He didn't say sorry. He just looked at you a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips.

"You taste like gummy worms," he said quietly. "S'good, I dont really like gummies that much though." You sat there, frozen in place.

And then you remembered. You had a boyfriend. You looked away, your hand coming up to touch your lips. "Michael..." "I know." His voice was quiet and steady. "I know you do."

Neither of you said another word for the rest of the ride. But his hand found yours in the dark. His fingers laced through yours, gentle and careful, like he was asking permission. And you didn't pull away.

[deerlyenchanted]

its weird as fuck how you only ever write black reader lol n i sent u a dm asking about thag and you ignored me when i wasnt rude??? kys stupid hoe, your fics are trash anyways dumb black bitch

so well oh well mhm… im — right then going to laugh about this cause ionk what else to do?? mjblr a mess 😭😭

[deerlyenchanted]

Soooo in your “enemies to lovers” with Michael story… I need reader to lock tf in and sell 1B copies…

Also another prank (sort of) her putting billboards up infront of his house of herself? (Maybe of the announcement that she sold 1B copies and is the first ever female singer to do that).😏

And/or maybe being petty like Lana Del Rey with her ex (on one of her most recent albums) she only promoted her album in his town, like putting up billboards and stuff. To make sure he sees it😭

🫡🫡 she will lock in next fic i publish I swear. I have a bunch of ideas from you guys and I’ve been writing them nonstop

[deerlyenchanted]

‪‪❤︎‬ | I LUV YO GIRL

･ ‎ꫂ᭪݁ ⋮ AUTHORS NOTE: ANYB notice michael LOVED songs from other artists where they sung abt being the side piece/stole others girls like GOODNIGHT MICHAELLL. this was fun to write tho so lmk if we want a part two n comment. I love reading them.

･ ‎ꫂ᭪݁ ⋮ SUMMARY/CW: theres this story about this lady who when to the dyrtt recording bc her bf was the producer and he went up n asked her boyfriend if he could borrow her for a movie date. SO I wrote about it. Fem!pov, sfw, w.c: 1.6k (I DO NOT IN ANY WAY ENDORSE CHEATING THIS IS FICTION GOSH) black!reader but anyone can read

The set was hectic.

People hurried from one end of the soundstage to the other carrying lights, cameras, costume racks, clipboards, anything that looked important. Makeup artists darted around with brushes in their hands while dancers rehearsed in little groups off to the side. It seemed like every five seconds someone was shouting for another take.

You, meanwhile, stood quietly near the director, watching everything with wide eyes.

Your boyfriend had insisted you come visit the set, claiming you were always asking what he actually did at work. Now that you were here, you had to admit it was pretty interesting. There was so much happening all at once that you hardly knew where to look.

"...Hold still, Michael."

Across the room, Michael Jackson sat patiently while a makeup artist dabbed powder across his forehead. At least he pretended to be paying attention. His eyes had wandered, right to you.

He frowned slightly. He'd never seen you around before, you definitely weren't one of the dancers…not crew either. His curiosity immediately got the better of him. The second the makeup artist stepped away to grab another brush, Michael slipped out of his chair before anyone could stop him.

"I'll be right back." Nobody questioned it, lots of people were always on set during Michael’s recordings. He walked straight over to where you and the director were standing, wearing the sweetest smile you'd ever seen. "Hi.." he greeted politely. "I don't think we've met before."

The director chuckled. "Oh, right. Michael, this is—" You introduced yourself before he could. Michael repeated your name quietly to himself, almost like he was making sure he'd remember it. "It's nice t'meet you," he smiled. He reached out to shake your hand.

You took it, his hand completely swallowed yours. Instead of giving one quick shake like a normal person, he held onto it for another second... then another... his thumb absentmindedly brushing across your knuckles before his hand slowly slid away.

"...Nice to meet you too, I uhm know who you are." you answered, trying not to overthink it. Michael grinned. "Oh," the director added casually. "She's my girlfriend. I invited her to see the set." Michael blinked. "...Your girlfriend?"

"Yeah." There was the smallest pause. "...Oh." His smile never disappeared. "Well," he nodded politely. "Hope you're enjoyin' everything." Then he walked away, the producer didn't think twice about it.

He quietly repeated your name under his breath again. Girlfriend. Director’s girlfriend. That was... unfortunate, for the director not him. About an hour later everyone broke for a short rest.

Your boyfriend had wandered off to discuss something with another crew member, leaving you standing by yourself near one of the massive lights. "...Hey." You turned around.

Michael, again. "So..." he smiled, rocking back on his heels. "Whaddya think so far? Like the music video?" "I do," you nodded. "It's really cool seeing how much work goes into all this."

He beamed. "I know, most people don't realize. It’s really a lot." That somehow turned into a twenty-minute conversation. One question became five. "What kinda movies do you like?"

"Oh, horror mostly." His eyes lit up. "No way." "What?" "I love horror movies." "You do?" He nodded excitedly. "'Specially the old ones, I uhm — that’s how Thriller got made." You hummed.  The conversation kept going. It was surprisingly easy talking to him.

He was funny, awkward too. A little dorky, honestly. Then he made his move. "I actually..." He rubbed down his thigh, trying to sound casual. "I got a movie theater at my house." "Oh?" "Yeah."

He looked around before turning towards you more. "...You should come watch one sometime." You smiled politely. "That sounds fun." Before either of you could say anything else. 

"Michael?" Your boyfriend walked back over. Perfect timing. Michael looked between the two of you. Then, without even the slightest bit of shame...

"Hey," he smiled at the director. "I was wonderin' if I could borrow your girlfriend for a movie date." Silence. You stared your lips pressing into a flat line. Your boyfriend stared at you then at him a bit confused.

Michael stared right back like he'd said the most normal sentence in the world. "...A movie date?" your boyfriend repeated slowly. Michael let out the tiniest giggle. "Oh!" He waved his hands in the air. "No, no. I meant... like... invite her over t'watch movies."

Another pause. "...Not a date." He absolutely meant date. He hadn't stumbled over his words the first time. He'd said exactly what he wanted to say. Your boyfriend narrowed his eyes for a second before sighing.

"...I mean..." He looked at you. "You wanna go?" You shrugged, it’d be rude to say no. "Yeah." Michael smiled far wider than he probably should've. "Great." The rest of the afternoon somehow got even worse or better. Depending on who you asked.

Every chance Michael got, he wandered over to wherever you were standing. "Hows my makeup?" he'd ask after makeup artists had spent fifteen minutes fixing it. "It looks nice." "Really?"

"Yeah, it really does." Five minutes later:

"Did that dance move look okay?" "Well it looked difficult."

"It is! But I really wanna do somethin’ different" He laughed at almost everything you said and you knew damn well you weren’t that funny.  If he needed to guide you through a crowded part of the set, his hand somehow always found the small of your back.

If your hands brushed while someone passed equipment between you, he'd linger for just a second too long before pulling away. Whenever your boyfriend got called off to deal with something… Michael magically appeared.

Almost like he'd been waiting. The thing you noticed most, though...was the way he looked at you.

Those ridiculously big doe eyes never seemed to leave your face whenever you were talking. Most of the time they were soft and curious, but every now and then, usually after saying something that was just a little too flirty, they'd darken ever so slightly before he'd smile to himself.

By the end of filming, the crew had started noticing. Your boyfriend… was trying very hard not to notice. By the end of the recording, Michael had completely stopped pretending he was just being friendly.

The poor crew had watched him drift toward you every chance he got, whether it was between takes, while makeup artists fixed his hair, or when everyone broke for lunch. If he disappeared, someone usually joked, "Check wherever she is," because without fail that's exactly where he'd be.

Your boyfriend had started noticing too. He tried not to think much of it. Michael was naturally affectionate, everyone knew that. He hugged people, complimented people, asked a million questions. That was just... Michael.

At least that's what he kept telling himself. As everyone began wrapping up for the day, Michael wandered over once again, hands tucked into the pockets of his military jacket.

"So..." he smiled, looking directly at you. "Can I have your phone number?" You stared at him for a second. "My phone number?" "Mhm." He nodded. "I wanna call you." Your boyfriend looked up so fast he nearly dropped the clipboard he'd been holding.

"...Excuse me?" Michael glanced over at him with that same innocent smile. "I said I wanna call her." "I heard what you said." "Oh." Michael looked back at you. "We didn't get t'finish talking today." You laughed awkwardly, unsure whether he was joking anymore.

"I don't know..." "C'mon," he said, pouting just enough to be dramatic. "I still wanna hear about those horror movies you like." "Michael." "I'm bein’ serious." 

Your boyfriend finally stepped closer, folding his arms. "...You're asking my girlfriend for her phone number while I'm standing right here."

"Mhm." He nodded once.  There wasn't an ounce of embarrassment on Michael's face. In fact, he looked genuinely confused as to why that mattered. 

"I'll probably be on the phone awhile too," he continued, reaching out for a pen, his staff handed it to him and he held it out to you. "So I'll pay your phone bill."

You blinked. "...You'll what?" "I don't want you gettin' charged because I'm usin' the phone." He said it so sincerely that for a second nobody spoke. Your boyfriend slowly turned to look at you, a brow raised.

" He just offer to pay your phone bill?" Michael nodded matter-of-factly. "It's only fair, I have a habit of talkin’ a lot." Against all common sense, you reached for the pen because you weren’t going to say no! He was so kind today.

Your boyfriend watched in complete disbelief as you scribbled your home landline onto a scrap of paper before handing it back to Michael.

He looked down at it with the biggest smile you'd seen all day, carefully folding it before slipping it into his pocket like it was something priceless.

"I'll call soon." "Not too late," you teased. "I'll try." He looked at your boyfriend then, smiling just as politely as he had when he'd first introduced himself that morning. "Dont think I eva’ told you thanks." "...For what?" "For lettin' me borrow your girlfriend all day." Your boyfriend's eye twitched. "You weren't borrowing her."

Michael let out a quiet little giggle looking your boyfriend up and down before turning on his heels. With one last wave, he walked off toward his trailer, humming lyrics to himself like he'd just won something.

PART TWO MAYBE GUYS? 

[deerlyenchanted]

Yo we genuinely need to have a like conversation what the FUCK is going on within the MJblr tags. Like genuinely whats wrong with this fandom, there’s drama every single week. Racism every single DAY, AND weird fics. This is toooo much.

I hate to kink shame because every (almost) every kink is valid to some degree but GUYS let’s not go too far with the fics because Michael was a real person!! And all the Jackson’s are real people. You genuinely have to understand that and know when you’re going over the line.

So no you cannot write fucking scat n puke fics NOR noncon/dubcon about them. (ahem @/ jacksonsdearest ) guys please report their account even if its rage-bait its disgusting. It’s weird and borderline mental, I’m actually about to take another break because its insane how we cannot go one day without a problem?? Its like hell. It’s insane because we already get hate for existing as a fandom that’s just adding the cherry on top. ALSO NO IM NOT SAYING YOU CANT WRITE SMUT. YOU CANNNN I WRITE IT MYSELF. just be mindful okay?

p.s guys stop sending death threats and racist remarks in my dms under anon i turned anon chat back on bc i wanted to talk w my shy followers. its kinda annoying and draining this is my first time ever being an author on tumblr and nb has manners like did everyone skip over the wattpad phase. be respectful, have etiquette.

p.s.s jermajesty fic coming tmrw. now let me stop yapping im so sorry guys. im just irritated we just got over the ebonymuse drama like can we have a break.

[deerlyenchanted]

For your Michael enemies to lovers story I have a suggestion or simply a thing I thought would be VERY FUNNY to add.. imagine reader releasing a song like Obsessed by Mariah Carey and she does the same sort of music video about Michael😭 perhaps instead of dressing herself up as Michael (like Mariah did with Eminem) she hires a impersonator and releases it on MTV.

(Also I am actually obsessed with that story it’s so scrumptious).

⋆˚࿔ — Thank you so muchh for the compliment!I so enjoy seeing your guys funny comments n ideas. I LIKE THAT IDEA!! LEMME WRITE THIS DOWN, It’s absolutely going on my to write list tysm because it’d definitely be funny I imagine in response he writes his own diss against her maybe like she drives me wild (?). Regardless love the idea and will be stealing it.

[deerlyenchanted]

SOOO I GOT TO THINKING ANDDD heres a small blurb of Michael being petty and pissing singer!reader off more. Its from my enemies to lovers series.

WHEN I TELL YALL HE IS SO PETTY IM SICK (these are so fun I love petty Michael core)

݁ ˖Ი𐑼ֶָ֢ - Tonight was supposed to be your night. You'd spent weeks getting ready for the Grammys, practicing acceptance speeches in your bathroom mirror until your neighbors probably thought you'd lost your mind. Your stylist had somehow worked magic. You wore heels that didn’t look walkable, your makeup looked flawless, and your manager hadn't stopped reminding you that this was the biggest night of your career. You were nominated in enough categories that everyone expected you'd walk away with at least one award. Nothing was ruining tonight. Well that was before your life got ruined.  About two hours before the ceremony officially began, your manager came rushing into your dressing room with an expression that immediately made you suspicious.

"...What." She smiled far too brightly. "So..." "Nope, next." "I didn't even say anything." “But I know you well enough." She sighed dramatically before handing you a clipboard. "The producers need a replacement announcer." You blinked. "...For what?" "The original presenter backed out last minute." "So get another celebrity." That wasn’t you.  "They did." "...Who?" She pointed at you, you stared at her pointing to you before looking around. "...Absolutely not." "Oh, come on," she groaned. "It's good publicity." "I was nominated." "You still are." "I wanna sit, do you see my heels." You pointed at them, no way were you standing for longer than five minutes. "You'll still sit." "I don't wanna stand." "You'll stand for, like, ten minutes." You crossed your arms looking off to the side. "I don't like helping people." She rolled her eyes. "You like attention." "...That's different." After nearly ten minutes of convincing, bribing, and reminding you that millions of people would be watching, you finally gave in.

…

݁ ˖Ი𐑼ֶָ֢ - A producer quickly walked over, thanking you about six different times before placing a stack of cue cards into your hands. "These are the categories you'll be announcing." "Okay." You casually flipped through the first card. Your smile disappeared quicker than you’d blinked. Best Male Pop Vocal Performance. Nominee… Michael Jackson. "...Hm." You flipped to the next. Album of the Year. Michael Jackson. The next. Record of the Year. Michael Jackson. Song of the Year. Michael Jackson. Your eye twitched. "...Is this a joke?" The producer frowned. "What?" "Every category has Michael Jackson." "Oh!" he laughed awkwardly. "Funny coincidence." You slowly looked at him. "...Sure."

There was absolutely no way this was a coincidence. But you weren't too worried, Michael wasn't going to win every category. You almost felt excited imagining the awkward look on his face after losing one. Unfortunately… the universe hated you. "Ladies and gentlemen," you smiled professionally into the microphone, ignoring the growing irritation bubbling inside your chest. "The Grammy Award for Best Male Pop Vocal Performance goes to..." You opened the envelope. "...Michael Jackson." The audience erupted. You looked toward the crowd just in time to see Michael stand up. He looked directly at you and smiled.  Not a normal smile. The biggest, most obnoxious grin you'd ever seen in your life. He actually waved. Oh, he's enjoying this.

݁ ˖Ი𐑼ֶָ֢ - He took his sweet time walking to the stage too, stopping to hug people, shake hands, wave at fans in the audience. Anything to make you stand there longer. By the time he reached you, your cheeks already hurt from fake smiling. "Congratulations," you said through gritted teeth. "Thank you!" he replied sweetly before taking the trophy. Actually snatching was a better word. His fingers wrapped around it before you could even finish handing it over. He leaned toward the microphone to give his speech while you stood behind him politely clapping like every good presenter was supposed to. Ten minutes later… "...And the Grammy for Album of the Year goes to..." You already knew. "...Michael Jackson." The audience screamed again, he stood up and smiled at you again. Walked VERY slowly again.

By the third award people had started laughing every time your category came up. By the fourth… You wanted to quit music altogether. "And the winner is..." You sighed before even opening the envelope. "...Michael Jackson." The cameras caught the tiniest eye roll before you could stop yourself. Michael noticed, his grin somehow got wider. He climbed the stairs, accepted the award with a dramatic little bow, then whispered just loud enough for you to hear. "Nice seein' you again." You smiled through clenched teeth before you whispered. "I hope you trip." "So mean." "You deserve it." He laughed all the way to the microphone. By the end of the ceremony your hands actually hurt from applauding him. The second he disappeared backstage carrying what felt like his fifteenth trophy of the night, you shoved your cue cards into someone else's hands and followed him. "Michael."

݁ ˖Ი𐑼ֶָ֢ - He kept walking. "Michael." His ass heard you the first time with those huge ass ears, is what you wanted to say but sadly his ears were perfect.  "Michael Jackson." He finally slowed, turning around with the most innocent expression imaginable. "Oh." He tilted his head. "Were you talkin' to me?" You stopped in front of him, folding your arms. “You think you're funny." He considered the question for a moment. "...Not really, no." His lips twitched. "...Maybe a little." "You did this." "I did what?" "You know exactly what." "I won awards?" "You had me announcing every single category you were in." Michael gasped dramatically. "What a coincidence." "You are such a liar." He placed a hand over his chest. "I would never." "Yeah right, admit it already." "I absolutely would," he admitted with a laugh. You pointed at him.

"I knew it." "I might've..." He shrugged innocently. "...called in a couple favors." "Stop playin’ with me." "Three."  "You are insane." "I've been called worse." "You made me hand you every single trophy." "I know." "You were enjoying it." "I was." "You took forever walking up those stairs. Boy do you see my heels, these are sitting heels not standing heels!" "I wanted the moment to last." He blinked wistfully.  Neither of you spoke for a second before Michael quietly chuckled. "This was a fun conversation," he said, adjusting the awards in his arms. "I really enjoyed it." You narrowed your eyes. "But..." he continued, stepping around you as crew members hurried past with cameras and cables, "...don't you have another category to announce?" Just then a producer came to find you tapping on your shoulder to tell you someone's performance was coming to an end and it was time to announce another award winner.  By the time you turned back around Michael was already down the hallway talking to someone. You could feel your teeth actually grinding against each other and your face morphing into something similar to pure anger like you looked like you were going to implode. 

[deerlyenchanted]

Michael biopic first to ever hit $1B THANKYA! Michael ending everybody once again with ease. I used to pray for times like this

He made it to July like he said would!

[deerlyenchanted]

Bro I can't believe I requested stuff from that ebony chick, I feel so betrayed rn

don’t worry because while she is problematic, I can admit she had some good reads that I loved. I even took inspiration from her 🫩. Would I do it again with all this information in mind? NO. Ts crazy but two things can be true at the same time, so while she is a good writer shes a horrible person

[deerlyenchanted]

could you please do a one-shot that’s kinda like the scene like wolf of wall street (the whole “there’s gonna be nothing but short skirts around the house”) it doesn’t have to be smut but more so like angst-comfort with allusions to sex? But it would be pretty cool to see him yearn

⋆˚࿔ — ouhhh i’d hate to be a poser so i’m gonna come outta the cut and say i’ve NEVER seen wolf of wall street but i will find that specific scene out of the movie and watch it because yearner Michael mentioned 🤥🤥. Will write this when I finally feel up to publishing smut because every time I stare at my docs my mind goes blank when it comes time to write smut.

Also off topic I love your username it reminds me of yves the former loona member/soloist

[deerlyenchanted]

‪‪❤︎‬ | FOREVER MY LADY | M . J

･ ‎ꫂ᭪݁ ⋮ AUTHORS NOTE: despite all the drama in the mj tags rn I HAVE A FIC! also guys if you havent go read my last post addressing said discourse. Yes its fluff because im TIRED of writing smut ik it got me fucking popular but your girl needs a break every now n then okay?

･ ‎ꫂ᭪݁ ⋮ SUMMARY/CW: You and michael get married in secret but both agree you'll reveal when ready, during a tour date while hes giving his thanks he basically introduces and thanks his wife and thanks you for sticking beside him n stuff

･ ‎ꫂ᭪݁ ⋮ WORD COUNT: 1.2k (short fic b4 bed)

･ ‎ꫂ᭪݁ ⋮ GENRE: FLUFFIEST FLUFF EVER - fem!reader n implied black!reader.

You stood just off to the side of the stage, quietly watching as Michael finished the final song of the tour. The crowd was deafening, thousands of fans singing every word back to him while he smiled brighter than you'd seen in weeks. He'd specifically asked you to come to this show, saying he had a feeling you wouldn't come unless he personally invited you.

He was right.

As much as you loved watching him perform, you hated being seen beside him these days. Ever since rumors about your relationship started spreading, the media had made it their personal mission to decide what was going on between the two of you. Every magazine claimed you'd broken up, every tabloid insisted he was secretly dating someone else, and every interview seemed to end with someone asking one of you about the other.

The funny part was…they couldn't have been more wrong. If anything, your relationship had never been stronger.

A few months ago, tucked away from flashing cameras and screaming fans, the two of you had gotten engaged. It wasn't some grand public proposal or headline catching moment, just the two of you, exactly how you'd both wanted it. The only people who knew were your families and a handful of close friends. Everyone else would find out when the two of you were ready.

Or… when Michael was ready.

A few nights ago, you'd brought it up while the two of you were getting ready for bed, wondering if maybe it was finally time to stop hiding something that made you both so happy.

Instead of smiling, Michael had gone quiet. His brows slowly pulled together, his bottom lip disappearing between his teeth as he stared down at the ring on your finger.

"Tink..." he sighed after a long pause, rubbing down his thigh. "I dunno. I mean... I do, but..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "I'm just worried." He wasn't worried about marrying you.

He was worried about what the world would do once they found out.

As the final note played through, Michael stood there catching his breath. His chest rose and fell with each deep inhale, curls damp with sweat and sticking to his forehead, yet the biggest smile still stretched across his face. 

Performing had always left him exhausted, but it was the kind of exhaustion he loved. Thousands of fans were still screaming his name, waving signs and reaching toward the stage as if they could somehow pull him back for one more song.

He stepped toward the microphone, laughing softly under his breath as he caught his breathing. The cheers only grew louder. "Thank you," he smiled, giving the audience one last wave before waiting for the noise to die down just enough for his voice to carry. It never really became quiet, not at a Michael Jackson concert but it got quiet enough.

"This is my last date on the tour," he began, his voice still slightly breathless and shaky. "so... I just wanna end it by sayin' thank you. First, I'd like t'thank God, 'cause without him none of this would've been possible. My production team, my band, my dancers, everybody workin' behind the scenes..." He paused, looking around the stage with a grateful smile. "You all work so hard every single night, and I appreciate it."  

The crowd screamed.

"And..." he laughed as they slowly quieted. "...my fans." He rested a hand against his chest. "Thank you for supportin' me all these years, for buyin' the records, comin' to the shows, prayin' for me... I love you all very much."

"But..." He glanced toward the side of the stage where you stood hidden behind the curtains, his smile becoming smaller, warmer. "Most important of all....my fiancée." For a split second the entire stadium seemed confused before the screaming somehow became even louder.

Michael couldn't help but laugh, covering his mouth with his free hand as his cheeks turned pink. "Hold on," he giggled, shaking his head while trying to collect himself. "Guys!... lemme finish."

The audience refused to calm down. When they finally quieted enough, he looked back toward you again.

"She's been with me since the very beginning." he said softly. "She's my biggest supporter... honestly, bigger than I am sometimes." His eyes stayed locked on yours, his smile so genuine it made your chest ache. "She's the reason I can come out here every night and do what I love."

He paused, suddenly looking a little nervous.

"...Would she come out here for a second?" Lifting one hand, he smiled and crooked his finger toward you in a silent come here. "Tink..." he laughed bashfully. "C'mon.” 

"She's a little nervous," Michael laughed into the microphone, glancing toward the side of the stage where you still hadn't moved. He held up one finger to the crowd as if asking for just a second before lowering the microphone and jogging over to the wings himself.

The second he reached you, his whole demeanor softened. "Tink," he murmured with an encouraging smile, "they wanna see you. Don't be nervous, they love you."

You looked out at the sea of people, your stomach twisting into knots. There were thousands of them, all waiting, all cheering louder now that they knew someone was coming out.

"I don't know..."

"You do."

Before you could protest again, Michael reached for your hand. His fingers slipped between yours naturally, his thumb brushing over your engagement ring without even thinking about it. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze before leading you out into the lights beside him.

The second you stepped onto the stage. The cheering somehow became even louder than before. Michael couldn't stop smiling. He lifted your joined hands into the air with so much pride it almost made you laugh, bringing the microphone back up to his lips.

"My fiancée, everyone," he announced, looking at you for a brief moment before facing the crowd again.

Another wave of screams echoed through the stadium.

"I just wanna thank everybody one more time," he said once the noise settled enough. "Thank you for supportin' me through this whole tour, thank you for being here tonight..." His voice softened as he looked at you again. "And thank you to her, my forever lady."

His fingers tightened around yours.

"She's been beside me through every single step of this. When I was doubtin' myself before rehearsals, when I stayed up practicin' until three in the morning, when I thought maybe I couldn't do it..." He smiled eyes never leaving yours. "...She never stopped believin' in me, even when I didn't believe in myself."

Your eyes immediately began to sting BUT you were not going to cry in front of thousands of people, your mother raised you better than that.

"So..." he laughed quietly, trying to hide how emotional he was becoming, "...with that, I'd like to wish you all a safe trip home."

He gave the audience one final bow, still holding your hand the entire time. The crowd cheered one last time. Michael turned back toward you, gently cupping your cheek. "I love you, my forever lady" he whispered, just loud enough for you to hear. Then without another thought, he leaned in and kissed you.

For just a few seconds, the screaming crowd, the cameras, and the flashing lights all disappeared.

It was just you and him as it’d be forever. (STOP THIS IS SO SWEETUHHH) 

[deerlyenchanted]

⋆˚࿔ — A little late but I’m at a lost for words. Never have I EVER seen a non poc be aware of the word ‘ebony’ and think thats a great username because ebony = the black color of my hair. if you are unsure of the double meaning behind a word, which at your grown ass age is odd…babes just search it up! But IK you are aware of what ebony means. So don’t even try to lie about that.

genuinely tired of white people invading predominantly black spaces with bullshit sigh the audacity of non poc to be uneducated to this day 😮‍💨 my two bits on the whole drama okay bye now more fics n blurbs coming tomorrow. also guys send requests in even if its not a fic idea i love chatting w u all!! (NON SMUT I BEG IM TIRED)

[deerlyenchanted]

Singer!Reader x Michael

enemies 2 lovers headcannons pt2

𑣲. authors note: || no guys these arent in order i just write when the idea comes to me. but you guys loved the 1st one so heres more headcannons n stuff . (also making a blurb about what their phone calls sound like later)

- ݁ ˖Ი𐑼⋆ Singer!reader who lowkey becomes Michaels #1 enemy after the amount of stunts they pull on each other out of pure pettiness, the other just refuses to stop. Lets review some of their stunts over the years.

Singer!Reader who saw that Michael was on tour and bought tickets for the first 5 rows for both nights of his tour. She ended up giving the tickets away for free during night 2 but just wanted him to perform to empty rows of people. You could only imagine the look on his face and hoped it was one of anger. 

- ݁ ˖Ი𐑼⋆ Michael in return pulled a couple favors and got you to announce him winning an award during an award show for EVERY single award he won. Along with the fact that you had to say a speech every single time. You were FUMING. And he walked up every time with the biggest smuggest grin on his face, mind you he won like…8 awards that night. You were past irritated by the last award.

Michael who also keeps sending you signed albums, like constantly for every single release even if its a single of his and sends you invites to the release parties. Even funnier because he releases albums around the SAME TIME YOU DO. The first time was an accident, everytime after that was on purpose.  (he's well aware you're not gonna show up half the time and probably going to curse him out.)

- ݁ ˖Ი𐑼⋆ Singer!reader who's got fed up with him sending you albums so you send him a bunch of prince albums. Multiple copies of the same one for every single award he wins, the next day there's a box of prince albums on his doorstep. 

- ݁ ˖Ი𐑼⋆ You both go on award shows and insult each other, the media has no idea if theres an actual feud or not between you two since you both smile and laugh when the other retaliates. “So Michael, how do you feel about __” “I did not circle that question.” “___. Are you happy to be hosting the grammys? I heard some big names will be there like Michael Jackson?” “Yeah, I don’t know if you can tell but I couldn’t control the handout of invites or else he wouldnt be on said list.” You guys literally dance circles around each other. 

Of course your managers try their hardest to squash the beef between you two trying to seat you both near each other during award shows which doesn't work. You’ll smile for the cameras then as soon as the cameras pan over you both to someone else he pulls his shades down a bit looking you up n down, biting his lip with the smirk combo before pushing them back up. THE AUDACITY OF SOME PEOPLE. 

- ݁ ˖Ი𐑼⋆ Singer!reader who sent a passive aggressive letter in the mail basically telling Michael that it’d be best for you to squash the beef because your career is getting too serious for him to be that annoying, he called you later that night. By the way you have no idea who gave him your personal number…And he calls and asks if you're doing okay and when you say yes. He tells you no you guys cant stop being enemies and there is no coming to terms with anything else then hangs up. Like oh so well mhn  - you're so confused you don’t even know what to say he's so annoying.